#I’ll get back to serious art once I figure out how to get the brushes I want to color stuff

[sqwdkllr]

Loved the cake so much they ate it in a single bite ❤️ a bit of self indulgent art catered to me and the 2 other fans

I think this is the first time I have ever drawn the brothers all in ONE drawing, I mean Baribal is there too technically,,, even if just arms,,, also happy birthday to me !! I’m so happy to have gotten this old goddamn

[findingnemosworld]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐬

. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬

( 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 "𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞" 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 ��𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟𝐜 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲.)

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 '𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬' 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 )

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 .... 😳

Y/N was in the midst of adding the final touch to her most recent painting when her thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt shrill of her doorbell, she placed her brush and color palette down before sauntering towards the front door to open it, meeting the ever so charming face that belonged to her closest friend, Real Madrid’s Sergio Ramos.

" Hola hermosa " He greets her with an embrace followed by a kiss on the cheek.

" Hola " She responds before closing the door behind them, " Aren’t you supposed to be out with your teammates, celebrating that impressive win over Osasuna? " she wonders with a smile.

" I should be " He nods before shrugging with a soft smile, " But I figured it’ll be better to spend time with my best girl "

My best girl, the phrasing caused a wave of warmth to spread through her body, her cheeks coated with a faint dust of pink. " I’m a boring person Sese, all I do is paint "

" I believe you mean, creating masterpieces " He corrects her, striding towards her kitchen as he’d been at her house more than once, " Hermosa, you know I love everything you do so to me, spending time with you while you paint is better than getting drunk "

A soft smile adorns her lips, " If that’s the case then maybe you can help me with the next subject of my painting, which is kind of private because -erm- " she chews on her bottom lip, inadvertently drawing his attention to them for a mere second, " it’s an experiment in some sense "

" An experiment? " He echoed, his curiosity peaked. " How so? "

" You know that I usually use realism in my art, right? " She starts with a shaky voice.

" Yes " He nods softly, " That’s what I love about your art "

She smiles, " Well I’ve been thinking of trying something new but I’m not sure what it is, so I need help "

He nods once again, growing silent for a brief moment – before his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint, " I think I have an idea "

" What is it? " She wonders.

" Paint me " He said with a soft tone.

Her eyes widen, taken back by his suggestion. " Paint you? " she echoes with a confused expression.

" Yes, paint me but … " He trails off, " naked? "

" Naked! " She exclaims with pure surprise, they were close friends and had never crossed such a line like this, sure they’ve hung out on a beach or in a swimming pool yet this was entirely different, " Are you serious? "

" Yes " He nods with a grin, " Realism hermosa, the human body is real … so I’m offering my services to be the subject of your private painting, and … " his grin widens, " I’ll purchase the painting "

To say she was speechless would be a complete understatement, she held a profound love for Sergio, the pair had met through Nacho, who introduced them during a summer party he and Maria had hosted, and since then they’d become so close that often times they were teased about their bond that they both insisted was purely platonic yet there was always a hint of tension underneath.

She swallows the lump which formed in her throat, " Sergio? I … I don’t know " she said with a small voice.

The Andalusian reaches over to grab her hand to give it a gentle squeeze, " Hermosa, let me help you ... " he said with a gentle tone followed by a soft smile, " Please "

The sensation of his much larger hand grabbing her small hand coupled with the way he spoke to her had caused a fluttering to settle in her lower abdomen, she looks up to meet his gentle gaze and a soft smile adorned her lips, " Fine, I'll do it " she said.

His cheeks were aching from smiling as he tugs her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her waist then pressing a kiss to the top of her head. " How about tomorrow? " he suggests.

She pulls back slightly to look up, " Tomorrow night? "

" Yes, after training " He nods smiling.

" Ok, it's a date ... " She said before her eyes widened, " I mean an appointment "

He laughs, pinching her cheeks. " You're so cute "

______________________________________________________________

At six in the evening sharp, her doorbell rings; and to say she felt a bundle of nerves in her lower abdomen would be an understatement, she was mere moments away from painting her best friend in all of his glory, bare of any clothing - it shouldn't be that nerve wrecking yet this was Sergio, and she wasn't blind, he's handsome, physically fit and has a body that is sculpted to perfection, she inhales then exhales a few times before she made it to the front door, she twists the knob to open it, smiling when Sergio appeared in front of her.

He greets her with a kiss on the cheek which lingered for a moment before he pulled away and said, " How was your day? "

She exhales a soft breath, closing the door behind them before she responds. " Uneventful, I cleaned the house, made some food and now I'm ready for tonight " she said with a soft chuckle. " How about you? "

" It was alright, you know how draining training can be? but today felt different cause I was looking forward to seeing you " He states with a smile.

His confession elicited a smile across her lips, " In this case, let's start with the painting then "

He smiles, " Where are you going to paint? "

She grows silent for a moment before nervously responding, " How about the bedroom? " she said, gauging his reaction which seemed unreadable at first. " It's more fitting since the main subject is sensuality "

He nods in understanding, " Ok, let's do it "

They take leisure steps to her bedroom, the air between them grew thicker with each step - there were several inquiries that hung up in the air up until they pass her bedroom door, she was silent for a moment before she said. " I'm going to get the canvas and the other tools, you go ahead and um ... undress " she smiles.

Around ten minutes later, she returns to her bedroom and there he was - sitting on her bed, bare of any clothing articles, the impressive length and girth of his cock on full display, she avoids his gaze to set up the canvas before finally mustering up the courage to say, " Um, Sergio " his name comes out in the form of an audible whisper.

" Yes " He said, resisting the urge to smile at how flustered she appeared.

" Can you ... ? " She swallows the lump in her throat, " Can you -um- lay down, with your back against the pillow? and your hands behind your head, like you're staring out the window "

" Ok " He nods, complying to get in the position she requested.

It's fine, it's fine ... he's your best friend, you shouldn't feel nervous. She chastises herself before slowly brushing the colors over the bare canvas to begin the painting.

" Y/N " He says with a soft tone.

" Hm? " She hums in response.

" Is this the first time you paint someone naked? " He asks curiously.

She giggles, " Yes, this is indeed my first time, why do you ask? " she said.

" No reason " He said with a playful tone, " Just glad that I'm your first "

She hides her face behind the canvas, praying that whatever she felt in that moment disappears quickly, around halfway through the painting she sighs, " I think we both deserve a break " she said with a chuckle, " I mean you must feel numb sitting like this " she meets his gaze and is surprised to see that his pupils were blown out entirely.

" Not necessarily numb " He responds, " I would say I'm starving "

" Starving? " She echoes before gesturing to the doorway, " I can go and heat the food if you're hungry "

He chuckles at her cluelessness, " No hermosa, I'm starving for something else "

" What do you mean? " She asked in one soft breath despite having an inclination of where this was going.

" Come here " He beckons for her to come closer, sitting up properly when she walked up to the edge of the bed, " Sit down hermosa " he pats his lap.

Her face grows warm, she opens then closes her mouth a few times to try and formulate a response.

He tilts his head, then playfully pouts. " Por favor hermosa " he takes her hand, carefully helping her up until she sat directly on his lap, the oversized t-shirt she wore was hiked up displaying the white lace panties she wore, " There " he sighs smiling, " much better ", one of his hand reaches, his thumb pads over the apple of her cheek while his hand rests over jaw. " You're perfect, do you know that? "

She instinctively nuzzles her cheek against the palm of his hand which elicited a smile from him, " I'm not " she whispers.

" Oh you are perfect " He retorts with a stern yet soft tone. " You are so fucking perfect, and it shows through your art ... it's why I volunteered to be your muse, because I wanted any and all excuses to be near you and ... " he whispers leaning closer to her lips, " To do this "

Before she can react, his soft lips captures hers in the sweetest most gentle kiss, similar to the sensation of placing your head on top of a pillow, she lets out a soft whimper which in turned spurred him on to deepen the kiss then tug her closer to his embrace by wrapping an arm around her waist whilst she wrapped her arms around his neck.

His tongue swipes against her lower lip and she gleefully granted him access to her mouth, a soft moan travels from her mouth to his when their tongues collided, the moan shifting into a cry of pleasure when she felt the length of his cock poking her inner thigh, " You have ... " he said through labored breaths, " No idea how long I've been waiting for this moment "

" How long? " She asks with a small voice, resting her forehead on his.

" Too long " He sighs with a chuckle, lowering his face to pepper kisses on her neck, " Too long hermosa "

Her eyelids grow ponderous, she tilts her head to grant him more space while her digits thread through his hair, " Oh " she sighs softly.

" You're all I think about when I'm alone " He confesses, tugging her shirt to remove it over her head, her nipples harden from the crips air in the bedroom, and with a soft smile; he dips his head and wraps his lips over one of her nipples while his digits pinch the other one, " I can count plenty of times where I touched myself to you, imagining how your mouth would feel around my cock, and how your pussy would become my favorite place to be in " he gently bites her nipple eliciting a moan from her. " I want you so badly, and now I have you in my arms, I'm never letting you go "

" Fuck " She whines, tugging on the ends of his hair eliciting a groan from him. " Don't, please "

" I won't baby, I won't " He assures her, helping her remove her panties before he hoists her back on top of him to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss, one arm wrapped around her waist while the other snuck to rest over her slick pussy. " Already wet aren't you? you wanted this didn't you? you wanted to see me naked "

She nods with a smile that seemed to carry both innocence and a hint of mischief. " I actually ... " she giggles softly, " After you left yesterday, I ... " she looks down.

He hooks his digit and lifts up her chin, " come on sweet girl, use your words "

Her cheeks were flushed when she said, " I touched myself when you suggested that I should paint you naked " she then nuzzled her face in his neck which elicited a chuckle from him.

" You're so cute " He cooed, gently lifting her face up to kiss her lips.

She whimpers against his lips in response, wrapping her arms around his neck again.

" Let me make you feel good, then we can finish the painting tomorrow " He whispers softly, laying her down on the bed before he caged her between his arms.

She looks up at him and smiles, " Ok " she whispers.

He taps her legs, " Spread those legs hermosa " he commands, folding them over while he grabbed his hand around his cock, gently stroking the length with the spec of precum that leaked through his slit, he then teased her pussy which made her squirm, " Are you ready for me? "

She nods with a shaky breath, " Yes "

He leisurely thrusts in, the two of them gasping in unison. " Jesus " he sighs, carefully thrusting his entire length all the way inside of her slick walls, " It's better than I imagined " he said though a strangled moan before closing the distance between them to kiss her lips.

" Sergio " She whined against his lips.

" Patience hermosa, let me settle in " He cooed and pecked her lips to calm her nerves, " Fuck you're tight "

For what felt like an eternity, he starts to thrust in and out in a leisure pace, his gaze averting down to absorb the erotic sight of his cock disappearing inside of her pussy, " Look at yourself " he moans, " You are taking my cock so well "

She whines, " It feels so good "

" I know it does " He smirks, " That's cause your pussy was made for me, it was made for my cock ... " his hand snakes up to wrap around her throat, " You've wanted this for a while haven't you? I've always noticed how you stared at me whenever we would swim together, or whenever I stay over and step out of the shower, you wanted me to fuck you senseless "

" Yes " She gasps, the sensation of being full by his cock ignited a flame inside of her, " Yes, right there "

" Oh hermosa " He moans, " you've always been my girl, even when you didn't know it, there were so many times I wanted to crash those stupid dates you were on and tell all those idiots that tried to impress you that only I can fuck you like this, that only I can make you squirm like the cock drunk slut you truly are, tell me hermosa, tell me that you're mine "

" I'm yours " She whines, the corners of her eyes brimmed with tears of pleasure threatening to fall. " I'm all yours Sergio "

" Fuck yes " He groans, his cock twitching inside of her. " You're mine, from now on, you're all mine "

" Sergio " She whines, " I'm close, I'm going to cum "

" I know hermosa, cum for me ... cum all over my cock " He encourages her, rubbing her clit with the pad of his thumb. " cum all over my cock baby "

The knot in her abdomen explodes and she cries with pleasure at the way he continued to thrust and help her ride through her orgasm, she pries her eyes open and is met with his soft gaze, his body covered with a sheen layer of sweat, a few hairs sticking to his forehead. " Ah, feels so good " she whines.

" I know baby, I know " He moans, " You think you can let cum inside you hermosa, please? " he pleads with a soft voice.

The mere notion caused her walls to clench around his cock. " Fuck, please ... please " she whines.

That was all he needed for his cock to spasm and spill ropes of warm cum inside of her, " Fuck " He growls, biting down on her shoulder.

A few minutes later, he pulls out then lays down next to her. She takes a minute to compose herself before saying, " Was this why you asked to be the subject of my painting? "

He chuckles. " part of the reason "

" Do you still want the painting? " She wonders.

" Of course I do " He smiles, " I told you, we'll finish tomorrow but in the mean time " he slides himself down and spreads her legs, " I'm going to fulfill every wish I have "

" Bring it on " She smiles.

[eadanga]

The Press Secretary Part 6

Summary: Chris the mayor of town is married to his wife Becca.  When he hires a new press secretary who happens to be his lost love old  feelings resurface and Chris finds it hard to resist the desire he once  had for her

Parings: ChrisxMC

Chris carried her to the bedroom and gentle placed her on the bed he climbs on top of her and kisses her deeply. Emily moans as his hand roam up and down her body.

“You’re so beautiful Emily” He kisses her neck “Just like that night in the dorms I couldn’t stop thinking about it”

You too huh?”

Chris smiles as he cups her cheek “I should have said something after it I regret not doing that everyday”

“Yes me too you just said you didn’t want anything serious and I didn’t want to ruin anything by being pushy”

“I understand”

Emily wraps her arms around his neck “Let’s recreate that night then”

Chris smirks “I think it went like this” He kisses her deeply then pulls away to take off her pjs. He unbuttons his shirt then pulls it off along with his pants

Chris kisses her breast as she sighs with pleasure. His hands go between her legs “Fuck you’re so wet for me Em”

“I want you Chris” Chris grins then slowly enters her she moans “Chris you feel as good as I remember”

“So do you Em”

He thrusts slowly then begins to pick up the pace. Her cries of pleasure get louder

“Mmm Chris just like that!”

“I want you coming for me Emily”

“Chris!” They come together as Chris holds her tightly he stares at her then kisses her deeply she rests her forehead against his “Will you stay with me Chris just for tonight”

Chris smiles “I’m not going anywhere”

****

Chris wakes up the next day and sees Emily sleeping peacefully beside him. He smile and kisses her on the forehead “Wake up beautiful”

Emily slowly opens her eyes as she smiles “Morning Chris”

“Morning you sleep well?”

“Yeah cause you’re next to me I remember how much I enjoyed that”

Chris grins then sighs “We do have to talk about last night”

“Yeah I know honestly Chris I feel bad that I did this while you’re still married I don’t wanna be a homewrecker”

“Trust me Em you’re not ruining anything things are already ruined between Becca and I though we shouldn’t have done this while I’m still married to her I know I started it I just couldn’t help myself”

“I know Chris me too”

“Until I figure out things with Becca can we keep this between us?”

“Of course Chris I really don’t wanna be a side piece”

Chris wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer “You’ll never be that to me” He brushes his thumb against her cheek “I just got you back in my life I don’t wanna lose you again”

“I’m here to stay Chris”

Chris smiles then throws the covers off and stands “Come on” He takes both her hands and lifts her up “Let’s get some breakfast”

Emily giggles “Of course Chris” They head to the kitchen and start making breakfast “Chris did you buy your ticket and everything for the wedding?”

“I did just need to get my tux it’s gonna be great seeing everyone again though I’ve been wondering why they’re getting married now I mean they got engaged right before graduation”

Emily sighs “Well they had some financial difficulties”

“Wait what? What happened?”

“Jobs were hard to come by Chris Tyler spent moments looking and tried to sell his app and Abbie got a job teaching art but it wasn’t enough it wasn’t until someone finally bought Tyler’s app it has over a million downloads now”

Chris frowns “I didn’t know why didn’t they tell me I could helped them”

“They thought you were too busy and their problem was minor at least that’s what they told me”

Chris grabs a plate of food and hands her one “No problem is minor especially when it involves my friends I’ll talk to them about it”

“Good now I’m after we eat I’m gonna go make sure my dress fits again”

Chris laughs “You said you tried it on 4 or 5 times Emily the dress is fine”

“But still Chris I’m making sure I’m not gaining weight so I can fit in it”

Chris takes her hand “You’re beautiful the way you are I’m sure it’ll fit you fine”

“Thanks Chris I’m just so excited for this wedding”

“I know me too I’ve cancelled everything for it nothing is stopping me from going”

“Good Chris this is gonna be fun”

****

“Come on zip” Chris struggled to zip his suitcase closed “Damn maybe I packed too much” He shook his head “No it’s gonna close” He tried again and the suitcase zipped shut “Finally”

Becca comes into the room and leans against the door “I hope this wedding is worth you cancelling everything”

“It’s worth everything”

“Can’t you just send them a gift look some of my dad’s best clients”

“Becca just let me go to this wedding ok I’ll be back by the end of the week”

Becca scoffs “Whatever Chris enjoy the poor wedding I guess”

“Really Becca you don’t have to say that it’s not a big deal”

Becca shrugs “I call it as I see it” The doorbell rings “Who’s at the door?” Becca heads downstairs and opens it “Emily? What are you doing here?”

“Oh hi Becca is Chris here? The cab is waiting”

“What cab? Are you going to the wedding too?”

“Yeah didn’t Chris tell you I’m a bridesmaid and Chris is a groomsman”

Chris comes down the stairs “Of course I told her” He sets his suitcase down

Becca turns back to Emily “Can you give us a moment please”

“Sure”

Becca closes the door “Why is Emily going with you?”

“Because our flight is the same plus this is our college friends getting married everyone of our friends will be there”

“Chris she should be here you know working on your image and your reelection”

Chris rolls his eyes “Not everything is about work Becca we’re not robots we can take vacations if we want to”

“Chris why don’t we”

“Forget it Becca I’ve already paid for the hotel and the flight I’m not about to waste my money” He picks up his suitcase “I’ll see you in a week”

Becca huffs as he walks out the door

Chris heads to the cab where Emily is waiting “Sorry about that” He puts his and her bags in the trunk “Now you ready to go”

“Yes Chris this is gonna be fun”

Tags: @indiacater​ @mfackenthal​ @the-soot-sprite​ @darley1101​ @jared2612​

[myherowritings]

PART 3. ACCIDENTAL SUGAR DADDY?

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. happy new year y’all! :3 i hope you have a good 2021 and here is some flirty ceo!shouto for u to enjoy as we enter the new year hehe ;) thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

“I heard you dropped by this weekend,” you said as a greeting, a playful smile on your lips. “Looking for me?”

If the tips of his ears didn’t tinge pink, you would have guessed Shouto was completely unaffected by your words. 

“Mn.” He drew his attention away from your gaze and pointedly adjusted his cufflinks. “Good morning to you too.” 

You laughed, accepting you wouldn’t get anything out of your attempt at teasing. “Morning, Shouto. How was your weekend?” 

The cafe was quite busy this hour, but Miyazaki took over the other register to alleviate the stress (though, what she really said was so you and pretty boy—who happened to be rich rich—could talk). Whatever the reason, you were glad for a small break whenever you could get it.

“You could say it was busy,” he replied, sounding a bit tired. For the first time since you met him, you actually noticed how exhausted he looked. You wanted to put cucumbers on his eyes and lay his head down on your lap to coax him to sleep. Nonetheless, he smiled softly at you. “And yours? I hope you were able to have time to rest and relax.”

You nodded. “I just slept a lot and caught up on the shows I missed throughout the week.”

“The real way a weekend should be spent.” 

His voice was teasing but he didn’t sound mocking. Just...somewhat playful. There was something about his tone that made you want to hear it again.

“Something tells me you need a weekend away where you could just relax and do nothing,” you commented, tapping the back of your pen to your chin. “Do you not have any days off at work?” 

He considered this. “Depends what you mean by day off.” 

“If you have to ask that, that probably means you don’t have a day off, huh?” you said with a frown, holding your hand over your chest as you sighed dramatically. “You poor thing. Overworked and tired. Maybe I should steal you away one weekend and get you to just relax.” 

You were only half-serious.

“Maybe you should,” agreed Shouto, sounding full-serious.

“Maybe I will,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. Maybe you could if you actually had his number… Then, feeling shameful you said, “But, ah, anyway, what can I get for you today? We actually have cheese danishes again!”

His face brightened. “You do? I’ll take five dozen.”

With a laugh you took down his order. You really weren’t sure where all these pastries were going when he bought it, but judging from his expression, you figured it must be somewhere good. 

“And for your drink?”

“This time I’ll have a large green tea with almond milk, please.” 

You nodded but tilted your head to the side in question. “No coffee with extra shots of espresso today?” 

“I add too much sugar and creamer to my coffee,” he admitted sheepishly. “And with all the baked goods I’ve been eating I realized I may have had an excess amount of sweets lately.” 

With an understanding laugh you patted his hand that was resting on the counter woefully. “I can definitely relate to that. If too many sweets are bad for you they shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Shouto glanced down at where your hands touched, an expression you couldn’t quite discern on his face. Averting your gaze, you quickly pulled your hand back. Was that inappropriate of you? Did he find it too pushy?

“Oh— Sorry about that,” you said, rubbing your elbow with your opposite hand. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

“No, it’s fine.” He blinked once. “I didn’t mind.”

Unsure if he meant anything by that and unsure if you were reading too much into things, you simply brushed the topic off and moved on to getting his order in telling him the price. 

“Paying by card again, I’m assuming?” you asked before hitting the appropriate button on the screen.

“Correct.”

By now the sight of the sleek and pretty credit card was one you grew rather fond of as he scanned over the payment terminal and signed his name. Was it weird you wanted to examine his signature more closely? Shouto seemed like the type of person who would have a fancy signature that somehow looked like art. 

As per routine, you told him his order would be ready for pick up at his right and, before he left the register, he thanked you and gave you another $100. 

Did it feel any less strange than the first time he tipped you? Not really, no. But you still weren’t going to complain about a generous tip from a willing customer.

Before he left with his cheese danishes and cup of tea in hand, he stopped by next to you with a small smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You grinned back. “Can’t wait, Shouto!” 

— ✩ —

This went on for a whole other week. By this point, he had given you over $1,000 in tip and you were starting to feel like you should give him something in return despite him assuring you he didn’t expect anything. 

When you told your friends about the nice guy you met while you were working and they asked for the details, the first thing they said in response to your situation was, “Sugar daddy?” 

Before they planted that thought into your head, you just took it as a rich businessman who hated the rich and believed in redistribution of wealth—you couldn’t complain about that. That made him even more appealing, if you must say. But once Kaminari and Ashido whispered those two words, you couldn’t help but see the comparisons. 

You had no issues with sugar daddies or sugar babies; as long as they were two consenting adults, what did it matter to you? It just wasn’t something you were looking for at the time and you didn’t want Shouto to get the wrong impression or involve yourself in something you weren’t ready to. 

As you commuted to work for your next morning shift, you told yourself today was the day you’d thank him one final time for the tips, but tell him you couldn’t accept anymore. You were sure he’d be understanding but you also hoped it wouldn’t deter him from coming to see you. That was the last thing you’d want. 

“Mrs. Miyazaki,” you said between customers. “When Shouto comes in, do you think I can step away from the register to talk to him for a little? I promise it’ll be brief!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. Are you finally going to ask him out or something?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Or something, yeah.” 

Thankfully, by the time Shouto arrived today, it was later than he normally came, meaning rush hour was almost dying down. 

“Good morning! Someone’s a little late today,” you teased. “Overslept?” 

“I wish,” he sighed wistfully. “I had a meeting early this morning and it just ended. Didn’t have a chance to pick up some coffee or pastries beforehand.” 

You frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whoever was hosting the meeting at least provided you guys drinks and snacks!” 

He paused. “He did, but… I just thought yours were better.” 

Smiling at the compliment, you preened. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. And I’m glad you were able to drop by still. Would’ve missed you too much otherwise.”

Again, you were only half-serious.

“Hm. I would’ve missed you too.”

And again, he seemed full-serious. Not that you minded. 

After taking his order and watching him pay, you pulled him to the side, looking over at your boss so she knew what was going on. She gave you a brief nod as you turned your attention to Shouto. 

A lapse of silence went by and he spoke up, “Did you have something you wanted to say?” 

“Yeah, actually.” You wrung your fingers nervously, hoping you wouldn’t say anything to offend him since you knew his actions were coming from a kind place. “I just wanted to say… I’m not really looking for a sugar daddy right now.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “Pardon?” 

You stared at him, unsure what to say. 

“I— Sorry. I wasn’t… It’s not my intention to be a...sugar daddy either.” Shouto’s face flushed a bright pink that made your own cheeks warm up in response. 

“But the—the money? I just… I guess I thought…” You winced.

So he wasn’t trying to pick up a sugar baby… Well, this was awkward. But regardless, you think you’ve gotten close enough to him to the point where it would feel weird accepting money from him. 

“I’m sorry if I was unclear. It really is just a tip to show appreciation for your service here.” 

You shook your head. “No! Sorry, that makes sense! My friends just said… And then I…” you trailed off, feeling a million times more flustered than when you started. “Sorry about that. The sugar daddy mishap aside, I still wanted to say that I really appreciate the tips you gave, but I don’t think I can accept them anymore.” 

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. “I understand. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened!” you were quick to assure. “I really am thankful, but… I think we’ve gotten too close for me to be comfortable accepting that much money, you know?”

Shouto tilted his head to the side, listening intently. 

“Like,” you tried to explain, fiddling with your apron, “over the past few weeks I just think we’ve gotten to know each other more and I think of you as a friend of sorts now.” You peered at him through your lashes, hoping your words were making sense. “I think as a relationship develops—for me, at least—adding money into the mix can cause weird power imbalances if not communicated properly. And I just don’t want that for us.” 

He thought through your words for a while before agreeing. “I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to unintentionally make you feel like you owe me anything, so if you’re not comfortable with it, I can stop.” 

“Thanks, Shouto,” you said with a beam, glad he was so receptive. Really though, what else did you expect? From your interactions with him you took him to be kindhearted and open. Of course he wouldn’t be upset over this. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you should stop coming! Right? I don’t want to stop being your friend or anything!” 

With a small laugh, he nodded. “Sure. I wouldn’t want to part with my favorite cafe. And I’d like to keep being friends as well.”

Those words warmed your heart. You really were nervous about this confrontation earlier; you didn’t want voicing your opinion to mean ending your friendship. (Although, if you sharing what you were comfortable with was enough to end a relationship, then you supposed it was bound to be a toxic and stifling one in the long run and it was good to know in the beginning to end it before it could grow.) Turns out, however, that you didn’t even need to worry about that. He was understanding and sweet and you were glad to have gotten this out of the way.

“Well, as new friends,” you said, gently nudging his side, “maybe we should get to know each other more? Exchange numbers… Hang out outside of this cafe…” You ran through some suggestions, almost bouncing on your feet in excitement. “I mean, I know you’re always so busy and might not have much free time to hang out. But— If you’re ever free one weekend…” 

“I’d enjoy that,” he cut in, saving you from blabbering your mouth off and accidentally embarrassing yourself. “Didn’t you say you’d steal me away from work to relax? I’m still holding you to that.” 

The beginnings of a smirk formed on his face as he looked at your flustered expression. Was he teasing you?

You huffed, pretending to be insulted by his playful mocking. “Guess I’ll really have to do it then.” 

“Guess so.”

“Maybe you should give me your number first so we could plan it.” 

“Okay.”

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours, both of your adding your numbers to the contact list. Smiling, you held the phone in front of the two of you to take a contact picture of yourself for Shouto’s phone. To your complete surprise, he laughed before promptly following suit and taking a selfie for his contact image. 

“Cute,” you said when he handed you back your phone. 

“You too.” 

Placing your device back in your pocket, you looked at him, hand on hip. “Since when did you become such a smooth-talker? Am I going to have to guard my heart now?” 

His only response was a shrug, but you could see hints of a smile playing on his face. The two of you seemed to be smiling a lot lately, you couldn’t help but notice. 

“I should probably let you go to work now—and I should go back to mine.” You gestured to the growing line at the front of the store. Your manager looked like she had things under control, but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness. “You should text me later though. If you want.”

“I’ll do that,” Shouto promised, picking up his drink and pastry boxes from the side counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. And… I’ll message you soon.” 

As you watched him leave the store, you were certain you had a silly look on your face as you stared in a trance. 

“I’ll turn my phone off silent just for you!” you said to his back, hoping he understood what a momentous occasion this was. Your phone was always on silent (unless you were playing a game, of course). But for Shouto, you could handle hearing the obnoxious ringtone and text tone. 

With an amused expression he nodded before waving goodbye.

Later on that day, at the end of your shift, you noticed a new message from a certain someone that made your stomach flutter.

Shouto: Hi there. It’s Shouto :)

You never knew those four simple words would be enough to keep the grin plastered on your face up until the moment your head hit your pillow to fall asleep. But, damn— Were you glad that happened to be the case. 

a/n: whY WAS SHOUTO AND Y/N EXCHANGING NUMBERS SO CUTE idk that scene got me all blushy and :DDD HFJDKSF like taking a selfie with shouto and getting his number? only goal in life BFHFGF,, also y/n said no more tips how we feeling? ;o 

what to expect in the next part:

an unwanted visitor ಥ_ಥ

shouto has a...proposition for y/n 

FLIRTING FLUFF SO MUCH CUTENESS U MIGHT CRY

y/n struggles with their fEeLiNGs~

[blu-joons]

Colouring His Tattoos ~ Jeon Jungkook

Jungkook’s tattoos had always been a part of him that fascinated you greatly. As you woke up that morning and noticed that the sleeve of his shirt had ridden up, exposing many of the pieces of art that he wore, your hand naturally began to reach out.

He was yet to wake as the tip of your finger began to delicately trace along the tattoos that covered his wrist and hand, which held on tightly to the duvet. The sensation of your skin against his was soon something that began to make Jungkook stir however, a smile arising on his face as soon as his eyes opened.

The smile that you wore whenever you traced along his tattoos always caused his heart to flutter, watching as you tried to peek through the hair that had fallen in front of your face overnight brought a gentle giggle out of him.

The noise made you jump as you looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you, wide awake, with a grin etched across his face. Your hand slipped away from his wrist as you moved your hands to rest against his shoulders, leaning closer towards him to greet him with a kiss against his cheek.

“Enjoying yourself?” He teased.

Your head nodded, instantly feeling your cheeks begin to light up. “I just can’t help myself, it’s such a relaxing thing to do, so many intricate details that I can’t risk missing a single one of them.”

“Maybe rather than trace them, you could try something else,” he suggested, kissing against the top of your head. “We could always try colouring them instead?”

Your head tilted up to stare at him, unable to stop the smile from growing on your face. “That would be pretty cool, I’ve always thought about what your tattoos would look like if they had a bit of colour to them.”

“I’m sure I’ve got some pens lying around somewhere in here with my art stuff.”

His arms unwrapped from around you, walking over to one of his dressing tables, pulling out the drawer that had all of his art supplies in. “Make sure you don’t pick up anything permanent,” you warned as he began to scour through, “management will not be impressed.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got some felt tips somewhere.”

You continued to watch him closely, as he pulled out a metal tin, carrying it over to the bed. You sat yourself up as Jungkook slid back underneath the duvet, tipping the contents of the tin into your lap to look through.

“There’s so many colours,” you grinned, taking his arm and rolling up the sleeve of his pyjama shirt so that you had as many of his tattoos exposed as possible.

Jungkook shuffled closer in anticipation, “see what colours you like. We can always do this again and see if there’s some better colour combinations we could use.”

“This is going to be so fun,” you grinned, resting your head against his shoulder as you looked down and tried to figure out which colours you wanted to try first. “Can I just do whatever?”

“Whatever you want,” Jungkook assured you, “I’ve got every confidence in you so just do whatever feels natural, I’m sure I’ll love it anyway knowing that you’re the one who’s designed it,” he grinned, as you rolled your eyes back at him.

Your hand reached out and picked up the purple pen first, turning his hand so that you could get to the logo that he had on the side of his hand.

“There’s only one place that I can really start.”

“A true army,” he sniggered, as you popped the lid off the pen and began to colour it in. Your touch was still as soft as ever, enough to bring a nervous giggle out of Jungkook at the sensation of the pen brushing against his skin, tickling him ever so softly.

Your head could only shake at the way his nose scrunched up at how feathery the feeling of the pen was along such a sensitive part of his skin. Whilst he giggled away, you carefully coloured in the logo perfectly, making sure that you didn’t go out of the lines of his tattoo once.

“I think you should get more tattoos just so I can do this more often,” you spoke up as you moved onto his eye next, deepening the shade of red that he already wore. “I’ve been thinking a lot recently about other tattoos you could maybe get one day.”

“I didn’t realise you gave my tattoos so much thought,” he admitted, turning his arm as you guided it so that you could colour where you wanted. “There have been a few ideas springing to mind recently about other things I could get. I really want to get something significant again, with a lot of meaning.”

Your head nodded as his eyes studied the concentration in your face, “what sort of thing would you want to represent in a tattoo?”

“I was thinking maybe you.”

You instantly stopped colouring, turning your head to look at him with wide eyes. “You’ve been thinking about getting something for me? Really?”

Jungkook didn’t reply, too excited by the idea to really express to you how he felt. Without you knowing, he’d had plenty of thoughts about tattoos that he could get for you. His scrapbook was already filled, kept a secret so you couldn’t see how keen he was by the idea.

As you turned back to colouring in his tattoo, your mind couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of a tattoo dedicated to you too. You knew how important each of his tattoos was, slightly surprised that you meant enough to him too to join the others he already had.

“Loads of people keep telling me that we should look at a couples tattoo,” he suddenly spoke up once you’d finished colouring in his eye, “have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?”

Your eyes met his once again, “it’s not something that I would say no to, if it was the right one.”

“So, you’d look into getting one with me?” He asked, resting his hands against your legs as you placed the pen back into your lap. “Because I’m sure there’s plenty of ideas that we could look at getting together, I’ve always thought couple’s tattoos were such a romantic thing to get together.”

“I’ll think about it,” you chuckled, “I don’t want you to get yourself too excited just yet.”

“Sorry,” he blushed, “I know it’s a big deal, but I just feel like you’re always going to be a part of my life, so why not get something on my body that too will always be a part of my life.”

Your head shook at how giddy he became, brushing your hand through his hair in an attempt to try and calm him down. “I said I’ll think about it,” you reminded him as his head nodded.

As you continued to colour through some more of his tattoos, light giggles continued to escape from him as he thought about all the things that he could get. Even if you chose not to, his mind was made up, he wanted a tattoo, just for you.

“Draw something,” he suddenly whispered, “whatever you draw I’ll get it tattooed into my sleeve.”

“Are you serious?” You doubtfully quizzed.

“Why not? At least that way I’ll have an extra special tattoo, just for you,” he smiled, “whatever springs to mind.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” you frowned.

“Not when I trust in you, I know you’ll create something perfect for me.”

---

Masterlist

[highdramas]

this is me trying | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: language, tfatws spoilers, angstyyyy vibes baby

word count: 1557

summary: bucky is trying. you are proud of him.

note: here’s a shorter part of twalb! you don’t have to read these in order, they stand independently, but they do all work together! PLEASE leave feedback/reblog! this is extremely helpful for me writing future parts to know what everyone likes or doesn’t like!

enjoy! <3

“he gave it away.”

you sit on the arm of bucky’s couch as the two of you watch what unfolds in front of you. bucky sits on the floor-- sometimes, you meet him right where he is. other times, you sit back, close enough to be in reach. this is one of those times.

“he gave it away,” bucky’s words echo in the apartment. you’ve been bringing some of your things over, so the words don’t reverberate off the walls the way that they once did. the space feels less hollow than it once did. you’ve even gone to thrift stores hand in hand and bucky has pointed out dated art and offered a low, “this is nice.” it didn’t matter if it was the ugliest thing you’d ever seen. it came home with you and went on the walls immediately.

a careful and watchful eye is kept on bucky, though you can’t help but allow your attention to flick to the tv screen every now and then. “he gave it away and this asshole gets to take the captain america name? are you fucking serious?”

bucky opens his mouth to say something, but then the words come from the tv speakers. he feels like a brother.

you can watch as bucky processes. he gives a little huff of a laugh and he shakes his head, as if to shake off the words. almost hesitantly, you reach out, placing your hand on the shoulder where flesh meets vibranium and you rub there softly. you remember the first time you did it. at first, you worried that you had overstepped a boundary— you had stumbled over your words and stopped but he shook his head and asked if you would do it again. and his head tipped back and he had said “that feels nice.” you had always made a point to do it when he was stressed.

there’s no movement for a few minutes. just you, rubbing that spot on his shoulder. eventually, you slide over onto the couch and you wrap your arms around his neck. and then, you feel his hand come up to touch your forearm. “am i overreacting?” he asks you quietly. he almost sounds embarrassed.

“no! bucky, no.” you slide down so you sit on the floor beside him, your hand touching his leg. “you’re entitled to your anger. and your hurt.”

he moves his knuckle across his top lip. “i need to talk to sam.”

he brushes off your touch and stands, moving towards the bedroom.

that’s another thing about bucky barnes.

he is the kindest, most loving partner you have ever had. he is attentive, he is giving, he is charming.

he can also be cold.

you don’t blame him. you think that if you had gone through half the things he had, you would be a solid block of ice. the fact that he has warmed to you at all is a miracle, in your eyes. of course, he would argue, and say that there is no one else in the world who would have the patience as he thawed.

but it’s time like these, when his thoughts are a jumbled mess of his past, what he has lost and who has left him… these are the times that he tends to close up. he’s given you his explanation in the past.

“you’re my future. i don’t want to bring us down with… everything else.”

and, of course, you would argue that that is bullshit and that you want everything else. you want his moods and you want his hurt, you want to be there through it all, no matter what that means. that is what you signed up for.

as you trail him, you think that again.

shaky hands are filling a duffel bag. you lean in the doorway and watch him, watch the weight in his shoulders and the cloud of pain that you know surrounds him, can consume him. “bucky.”

he doesn’t look up, but his hands still.

“let me help you.”

you brush up beside him like a cat and you gently begin to fold the clothes that he had begun to stuff into the bag. he rubs at his eyebrow and watches you and you gather a toiletry bag and all of the essentials he would need for a week. at some point, he surrendered and sat on the edge of the bed, his hands laced in front of him, eyes studying them. when you zip the bag up, he finally peers up at you. his expression reminds you of a dog left out in the cold.

“thanks, doll,” he murmurs, eyes trailing to the bag.

you smile and you again put your hand on that spot on his shoulder. he sighs and his head tips, leaning against your hand. the hand moves to the side of his face, your other following suit, until you are cradling him in your palms. you swipe your thumb along his lower lip, and he kisses it.

“you’re allowed to be angry,” you whisper. “you’re allowed to be sad. you’re allowed these feelings.”

“i’m tired of being angry,” he admits, and you can hear how tired he is. “i’m tired of being sad. you know, i have these moments, where it feels like-- it feels like things are getting better.” he gestures in between the two of you. “this. therapy. the amends. you know, there are good days. there are days where i… i feel like i have the chance for a normal life. and then…” he shakes his head. “and then there are bad days.”

you swallow and you nod your head. your hand runs through his hair. you wait and see if he’ll speak more, but the words never come. “one bad day doesn’t erase ten good ones, buck.” you sit beside him on the bed, and he tugs you nearer, draping your legs over his. “i’m really proud of you.”

something about the words are so simple, but you watch as they flick a switch in him. he takes your thigh and he squeezes it. “i’m trying.”

“i know you are,” you place your hand over his.

“it’s fucking hard.”

“i know it is.”

bucky smiles a little bit and he releases a breath. you wonder how long that air, those feelings, have been trapped in his chest. you hope it’s a relief. “i should get going.”

you both stand and you help him gather the last few things he needs. the both of you linger in the doorway and he’s looking at you, and there’s a smile on his face, but it’s different than normal. it’s softer. it’s gentler. there’s something behind his eyes that says come with me. i don’t want to be parted.

“stay safe,” you say. there are some walls up around you, and he knows it, too. you fear something happening to him. super soldier or not-- bucky not coming home is the nightmare that plagues you most often. “call me when you can.”

“i’ll call you as soon as i’m there,” bucky says, and you know he will. he is a man of his word. a gentleman. “maybe sooner. i’ll miss you too much.”

you roll your eyes and bucky gets that shit eating grin on his face that you love so much. “can’t blame you.” you grow silent and you’re simply looking at him, and he is looking at you. “stay safe. i’m serious.”

“i know you are.”

“no, bucky. i’m not fucking around--”

“i know you aren’t.”

you give him a pointed look, and he nods. “i’ll be safe, doll.”

he reaches out and takes your hand, tugging you in. hands take your waist and he’s holding you like water in his hands and he can’t pull you in tight enough. you feel his nose brush your neck and you feel his grip on your back and you want to say something, but the words die out in your throat.

bucky peppers kisses along your neck, up to your jaw, your cheek. he pulls back enough to look at you and the corner of his mouth turns up before he is kissing you.

kissing bucky barnes is addictive. it is needy, and it is passionate. it is all hands and want, all desperation, as if this could be the last time that you kiss. your lungs burn but the pain is welcome and when you break, his lips are back to your jaw, featherlight and just as loving.

he pecks you once more. twice. you laugh and so does he and it’s your favorite sound in the world. “go.” you finally say and you make a feigned attempt to push him away, your giggles still in your throat. his lips find yours just one more time before he really does let you go, bringing the duffel onto his shoulder.

he stares at you. you stare back. you play this game a lot.

“i’ll see you soon.”

you nod and open the door for him and you linger in the doorway, watching as he makes his way down the hall. your head rests against the frame and he looks back at you over his shoulder, and he smiles.

how do you tell bucky barnes that you have fallen in love with him?

you’ll have to figure it out.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 2

The first days of Harry staying at your house were overshadowed by Maeve’s 5th grade spelling bee victory. The fake gold medal was a mainstay around her neck for a new nights at the dinner table until she eventually forgot about it.

Luckily enough, neither of your daughters seemed to be thrown too off kilter by his presence. Maeve was just young enough to not know much about who Harry was or the band he’d been in--though she was ready and willing to brag about having a celebrity around.

CeCe--in true sibling rivalry fashion--decided to draw her own medal with crayons and ask you to cut it out so she could wear it around the house. If Maeve gets one, so do I.

With potholders on and the oven door open, you apologized. “I can’t right now, honey--give mommy a few minutes and I’ll help you.”

Harry materialized at the bottom of the stairs, eyebrows raised when he said: “What do you need, CeCe?”

“I have to cut this out!” She said excitedly, running over to the drawer where the scissors were kept. She whipped them out and turned around quickly, Harry’s eyes bulging out of his head when he hurried over to grab them from her.

“I’ll cut, you watch,” he laughed, exchanging a look with you when CeCe climbed up to sit at the island. She hummed in agreement, handed over the paper and watched as he lined it up to start snipping.

“CeCe,” he said her name inquisitively. “Is CeCe short for anything?”

“Cecilia Rose L/N,” she smiled. “Pretty, right?”

“Very pretty,” he smiled. “Same last name as your mum.”

The last part of his sentence was a statement, a quick glance in your direction when you turned off the oven and shouted towards the stairs. “Maeve! Dinner’s ready!”

Your call went unanswered into the big house--you had no clue where she was or if she’d heard you. When Harry finished cutting out the paper medal, he handed it to CeCe who beamed with pride and put it around her neck.

Hands on your hips, “CeCe, will you please find your sister and tell her dinner is ready?”

She took one big breath and then screamed, “MAEVE!”

Both you and Harry flinched at the noise but laughed. She held onto Harry’s arm when she hopped down from the stool, shaking her head in disappointment. “Good god that girl,” she huffed, heading to climb the stairs when she yelled again: Maeve!!!! Dinner!!!!

“She’s a handful tonight,” you said, almost feeling guilty as her footsteps stomped on the floor overhead. “Thank you for that, though,” you said, motioning to the scissors in his hand. “Want a glass of wine?”

“S’not against the rules?” He teased.

When you shot him a look, he smirked and let out a laugh. “I’ll gladly take one. It’s fine, though. She was ready to stab someone flinging the scissors around like that.”

“They just had scissor safety in art class not too long ago.” You told him, pulling the cork from an already open bottle of red. “Sometimes I think she barely listens to anyone--she just does her own thing.”

“Not the worst way to be,” he smiled, picked up the glass when you slid it over on the granite. An awkward beat when he took a sip, smiled in your direction when you did the same. You could hear Maeve and CeCe fighting upstairs, offered him another guilty smile, but then he asked: “do you plan on changing your name?”

“My last name?”

“Yeah--L/N is your married name, right?”

It felt a bit nosy, a bit intrusive for the fourth night he was sleeping under your roof. You shrugged your shoulders casually, unsure how to answer. “Just haven’t gotten to it.”

He’d been quiet so far, out most of the day once the girls were gone for school and he’d return before dinner. Kept to himself--or at least out of the way--and was always helpful when he could be. Bringing groceries in? He carried a few. Needed a hand with clearing plates after dinner? He would gladly help.

Maeve and CeCe came rushing downstairs and were more willing to do the gratitude thing than they usually were, forks in hand when Maeve turned to you. “Oh, by the way, Auntie Shelli is taking us out for dinner tomorrow night.”

“She is?” You smiled at Maeve. “I haven’t heard about that.”

“She promised last week, she said Friday.”

“Okay, well I can check with her.”

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” Maeve asked.

“Not a thing,” you said, shaking your head. You’d been looking forward to it all week--maybe a bath and a glass of wine, maybe even a movie if you were feeling adventurous. Zoey was typically after you to do something: dinner, come hold Benny for an hour while she took a shower. You were totally up for helping a friend, but it’d been a minute since you had some me-time and if Jeff’s mom had already offered to babysit, you weren’t going to say no.

CeCe turned to Harry excitedly. “What are you doing tomorrow night? Are you coming to dinner?”

He smiled in her direction but shook his head. “I’m actually going over to a friend’s house.”

“What friend?”

“CeCe,” you laughed, embarrassed by her prying. “He doesn’t have to run everything by you, you know.”

“I know,” she said simply as she shrugged her shoulders innocently. “Just thought maybe it was one of my friends. I don’t know if we have the same friends.”

Harry laughed at this and smiled when you rolled your eyes. “I don’t think you know her.”

You watched Harry for a second, wondered if it was a girlfriend or something of the sort--Jeff hadn’t mentioned anything like that. Why couldn’t he stay there, with that friend?

“Well you should come with us and Auntie Shelli one day,” Maeve said. “We usually get ice cream and she lets us get a bunch of toppings and she doesn’t even care if we’ve had dinner yet.”

You let out a short laugh, the details of their time with family members always slipped out when you least expected it. “He’s busy, girls, remember?”

Harry shrugged, “we could get ice cream soon.”

You looked up at him, forked into a bite of dinner and said quietly: you don’t have to.

He didn’t--Harry didn’t owe you or your daughters anything except common decency and kindness. Helping you clean up after dinner or bring in the groceries was enough of a repayment for a guest room and his own bathroom.

“Maybe next week?” He ignored your comment and smiled at the girls.

“Next week!” CeCe chirped back, brushing her hair out of her face with a grin.

You figured they’d forget--swept up by the excitement of something else by the time next week rolled around and Harry would be off the hook. You smiled in his direction, apologetically and pleading, but it wasn’t until the next night that you realized he was serious.

Jeff’s mom had picked Maeve and CeCe up, you had just poured a glass of wine and went to sit in your office to go over any unread emails when he knocked on the door.

“Hey,” he offered a smile, leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” you turned to see him, unsure what he wanted or why he was popping in. “What’s up?”

“Uh, just wanted to let you know that my plans fell through--so, I’m just gonna be home--here I mean.”

His correction was quick, a subtle misstep through words.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, nodded slowly as you took in the information. He’d be here--in your house and just hanging out. While you had planned for a quiet night, having one other person somewhere in the house wouldn’t kill you, right? Maybe he’d lock himself away in his room and leave you to your emails, then you’d slip upstairs and end the night with a bath before your children returned with a sugar high and stories for days.

“Okay,” you said. A pause when he nodded, looked at you and then down to the floor.

“Do you want to have a drink?”

“I’ve got one,” you lifted your glass and then faltered. “Oh, together--sure, yeah.”

He held back a laugh, motioned for you to lead the way once you stood up from your desk. He trailed you back through the living room and into the kitchen, got himself a wine glass when you found the bottle you’d already started on the counter.

Was this weird? You couldn’t tell. The house was quiet and for a moment it felt like neither of you knew what to say when the only sound was the cork coming out of the bottle.

“I can venmo you for groceries, too, since m’drinking your wine.” He lifted it and poured, you watched the liquid rise in the glass until he looked up at you, waiting for a reply.

“No, it’s fine.”

“M’eating your food, drinking your wine, sleeping in your house,” he let out a laugh but put the stopper back in. “I feel like I could at least pay you back for some--” he looked down at the bottle and studied the label, “cabernet.”

You pulled out a barstool and sat, a sigh when you waved him off. “S’fine--I’m still making my way through the sorry your dad died and sorry your husband left you bottles.”

His lips pulled up at the side when yours did too. “Where do they make those grapes?”

“Somewhere far away from here,” you nodded, a long sip from your own glass when he moved to sit beside you.

“So how much did Jeff have to beg you to let me stay here?”

You looked over at him, hesitant to admit your own reluctance. You knew he and Jeff were close--you’d long been hearing stories about their nights out or big wins as a team. You’d even been invited to the release party for Harry’s first solo album, but you couldn’t find a babysitter and back then your ex couldn’t be bothered.

“I got a few pleading text messages after he first brought it up,” you smiled.

He laughed and nodded. “Well, it’s a big help. My house is over in Malibu but s’not ready yet--the only guestroom in Jeff’s house shares a wall with the master and something about that felt...weird.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You didn’t want to hear Jeff and random women hooking up?”

“Not in the slightest,” he shook his head and bit back a smile. “Figured I’d stay with his parents for a bit but then Irv and Shelli told me they loved me but their rules are strict: their children, grandchildren, and your children. Those are their only guests.”

You nodded, it wasn’t news to you. “One time my dad stayed over after a party and Irv almost hit him with a golf club in the morning because he’d forgotten who was on the couch.”

“Yeah, so, sounds like a good idea that I’m here.” Quiet again when he moved the glass around, then he said: “you know, I would be happy to take them to ice cream or something one night--give you a minute to yourself.”

You smiled, the offer was sweet and apparently he had no idea that he’d just ruined your one chance this week to have that. “You really don’t have to--I’m sorry that they’re so...fascinated by you.”

“No, they’re great, very sweet. Maybe I can tag along when Jeff watches them next and learn the ropes.”

You nodded, reassured by his understanding that watching them would take skill. “There’s a lot to learn, they can be quite the handful sometimes.”

“Yeah?” he tilted his head. “Tell me more about them.”

The way he looked at you stirred a feeling in your chest that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just the fact that he seemed interested enough to ask about them, he already seemed more invested than their father had been over the last year. You also would never turn down an opportunity to humble-brag about the tiny humans you'd created.

“Well, Maeve is pretty straight-edge. She’s always cared a lot about school and she likes it--which is weird, cause she didn’t get that from me and she definitely didn’t get it from my ex-husband. Like, she actually gets excited to come home and do her homework.”

He laughed, sipped from his glass and said: “Right, I’m sure she didn’t get her drive and determination from her mother who started her own successful business.”

You brushed off the compliment with a roll of your eyes and a laugh. “The weird preteen-angst thing is new, though. I have no idea if that’s because of losing my dad or losing hers,” you picked at a thread on your sleeve.

He was quiet for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say to that.

“And CeCe,” you saved him the trouble, “she’s a fireball. She is so strong-willed it actually makes me nervous about when she’s a teenager. She might actually drive to Vegas and get married or something. It’s just her world and we’re living in it.”

His dimples appeared on his cheeks when you shrugged. “Well, you’ve clearly done something right with them. Jeff's always loved being an uncle."

“I appreciate that,” you said honestly, a pause before you admitted: “My ex was never that hands on.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Is that why things ended?”

You let out a short laugh, again unsure if you were sharing too much. Would you wake up and regret the fact that you'd poured a glass of wine, and apparently your deepest secrets, all out on display?

“That, along with the fact that he was cheating on me for a good 18 months, I think.”

“Wow,” he nodded slowly, his lips pushed out in thought when he dropped your gaze. “What a dick.”

“Yeah, better I found out now than later on, I guess.”

“So that and losing your dad this year--”

“Yeah it’s been shitty,” you cut him off, another sip of your wine to avoid having to say more. He looked at your glass, now nearing empty, and reached for the bottle.

“Then you definitely deserve another one of these,” he laughed, fingers pulling the cork out again. “No wonder you got so many sympathy wine bottles.”

He poured himself another too, eventually he followed you into your dad’s old office when he asked what hid behind the mystery door on the first floor.

It was the only room you hadn’t redone yet, something about keeping his records on the book shelves and his papers on the desk felt like it kept him here. He’d chosen the green for the walls and you apologized when Harry’s eyebrows shot up at the sight.

“Great man,” you nodded, turning on a light switch, “terrible decorating taste.”

Harry nodded slowly, wine glass still in hand and a smirk fighting it’s way onto his face. “S’a bright color, yeah.”

He let out a laugh when he made eye contact with you, a disapproving look on your face when you walked over to the desk. “All these strewn about--probably some important information about you over here somewhere.”

He came over and lifted a paper. “Harry Styles is one of the most thoughtful, caring, and funny people I know.”

“Really?” You tugged at his arm to get a better view of the paper. Your dad’s handwriting was almost illegible, a date scribbled on top and another few words halfway down the small notebook page, nothing about Harry and nothing that seemed all that important.

“I hope that’s what he thought of me,” Harry smiled, his eyes flickered to where you still had a grip around his wrist. “Your nails are digging into me.”

“Sorry,” you pulled back immediately. “Sometimes I have to grab CeCe like that in the store or she runs off.”

He kept your gaze for a second, but it felt uncomfortable and made you nervous, so you cleared your throat. “Feel free to come in here and use this stuff,” you motioned over to the piano and the guitars he had in stands. “No one uses it, so--it’d be good for it to get played.”

“You don’t play anything?”

You shook your head. “No--he’d started to teach me guitar when I was young but then my mom died, just never picked it up again.”

You were thirteen when it happened, a car accident on the 405 and you didn’t go to school for weeks. Your dad had always been your main support--they divorced when you were ten--but after that you grew even closer, which is why losing him was so hard. He’d been a friend and a parent and the best grandfather who helped pick up the pieces when things with Luke started to crumble.

Harry was quiet, a simple nod when he went over to the piano and sat. You felt the need to shift the topic of conversation to something less depressing than the unfortunate events of your life.

“Are you writing a lot for the album still?”

“Yeah--we’ve got a few things written that might end up on it, but, mostly just experimenting with some new sounds.”

He pressed a chord down on the piano and looked up at you. “How do Maeve and CeCe seem to be handling it all?”

“Which part?”

“Both.”

You shrugged. “They’ve asked a lot about where their father is and why he hasn’t visited. And they understand that their grandpa is gone, but they’re sad, I think. CeCe’s had more nightmares than usual.”

He smiled a little. “And how are you doing with all of it?”

You let out a tiny laugh, mostly out of discomfort with the sudden seriousness in his voice and the way he already pulled more out of you than you’d planned. “I’m fine.”

He lifted his brows but played another progression of chords. “Wouldn’t blame you if you’re not.”

You took a sip of the cabernet and watched as he hummed along to whatever he played. When he looked up at you and waited for a reply, you smiled. “Some days I want to pull my hair out and others I need a good glass of wine. I kind of oscillate between those two lately.”

“Well, I’m always happy to split a bottle with you.”

You nodded, tried to fight the smile on your face when he laughed but then gave in. “Good.”

**

You woke up the next morning with a bit of a headache from the third and unexpected glass of wine. The girls were home by 9pm and unfortunately for you, the weekend was busy with play dates and birthday parties and grocery shopping.

Monday had you back in the office and recounting the first week to Tristan over an iced latte and a breakfast sandwich you’d grabbed after school drop off. Now it was cold and you were approaching the mid-day slump you were all too familiar with.

“I just can’t believe you’re alive still, to be honest. You know--seeing as you thought he’d be a serial killer or something.”

You looked over at him with narrowed eyes. “I didn’t think he was a serial killer.”

“Just a pedophile?”

“Alright,” you waved him off. “I can admit that it’s been fine--good, even. It’s only been a week, though.”

“Right,” he shrugged. “Halfway there. Maybe week two is when he goes crazy.”

You ignored the teasing from your friend and looked back to your computer. “Do you know if Kailee ordered the new bottles for the matcha face mask?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” he nodded. “And we also got the labels in for them as well. They ship off to the packaging plant on Tuesday.”

“Good, and numbers are up from last quarter which is really good. The meeting with the investors should go well.”

“Yeah, I mean, our entire profit has doubled since this time last year,” he smiled in your direction, a subtle reminder that the late night emails on top of the worst year ever had already proven to be worth it. “You should be very proud.”

“I am,” you admitted. “Of us. All of us.”

“Yes, what kind of boss would you be if you took all of the credit?” He teased.

“A bad one, but I’m also the type of boss that leaves at lunch time to go home and change since I have a meeting this afternoon that I forgot all about.”

He looked you up and down when you stood.

“It’s with people from Anthropologie about carrying some of our products in store--so I don’t think I can wear athleisure.”

He laughed and kept typing. “Fair enough. See you at 2pm, though, for the website meeting?”

“Yes,” you promised as you grabbed your keys. “Please don’t let the place burn down while I’m gone.”

“Might throw the match myself,” he waved you off, a laugh at his own joke when you headed for the elevator.

You were proud of the company you’d built and the office you’d been able to purchase two years back, but you were more proud of the energy that buzzed through the halls and the people who made work feel less like work and more like the adventure of a lifetime. You tried to be the cool boss who brought enough coffee for everyone, gave good time off but still expected hard work and drive to be the core of the business.

It took a while to settle into the role, though. At first you were sure you’d be seen as a spoiled rich kid who got a loan from her father to start a company--but it only took one year to repay him when you started getting placements in health food markets across LA. When Kourtney Kardashian posted something about your raspberry toner, the rest was history.

You’d always been passionate about making people feel good about themselves and focused your entire brand on building people up, not tearing them down. The world had enough of that as a mother of two daughters, you hoped it’d be something that would change that narrative, at least for them.

The drive home was quick and the sun was shining, which put a pep in your step as you hopped out of the car in the driveway and headed for the side door.

Harry’s car was still here--you’d left earlier than usual but didn’t expect him to be home. If anything, you figured he’d left shortly after you and planned on staying late in the studio. Jeff had mentioned something about laying down new tracks.

“Hello?” You called into the kitchen and looked around, he wasn’t in the living room or out by the pool. You found a laundry basket at the top of the second floor and figured that maybe someone had picked him up, but the sound of muffled singing pulled you down the hall and closer to his guest room.

The door was cracked only a bit, the sun streamed in from the windows and you could hear the running water of the shower. It was wrong, maybe, but you pushed the door open and stepped inside, smiled to yourself at the fact that he was singing a Carole King song that your dad used to play on repeat when you were a kid.

The room was clean--you hadn’t been in it since you’d pointed out the linen closet in the bathroom and showed him how to use the TV remote. His bed was made--maybe not the way you would have made it but the throw pillows were arranged in a way that showed he tried.

A buzzing on the dresser pulled your attention away from the bed. His phone, a message from someone named Bria Whitmore. Another message, then a third. You took a step closer--who on earth was texting him this much without a reply? A girlfriend? Someone he probably slept with or something of the sort.

“Hi,” his voice pulled your head around quickly and sent your heartbeat through the roof.

“Jesus, hi--sorry--I was just--”

He was in a towel, the fabric wrapped loosely around his waist and hair was slicked back from the water. You looked away from the tattoos that littered his skin and looked down at the laundry basket.

“I was just seeing if you had any laundry you needed me to do?”

It was clean, but he didn’t need to know that.

“M’good,” he smiled like he didn’t believe you. “Why are you home?”

“Had to change--forgot about a meeting,” you let out a laugh and tried to slow your pulse. “Figured the pilates mom look wasn’t the right vibe.”

He nodded, moved around you in the center of the room to pull out a t-shirt from a drawer. You saw him look down at the cell phone you’d been eyeing.

“Your phone went off,” you admitted, the laundry basket still pressed up against your hip.

“Yeah?” He smirked over his shoulder.

“I was just making sure it wasn’t an emergency--I wasn’t, like, snooping.”

A dimple appeared on his left cheek again, he tugged the fabric over his head and then shook out his hair.

“S’not an emergency,” he said. “Just a friend.”

You didn’t know if that was code. Were twenty-somethings calling their booty-calls friends now? You figured you’d ask Tristan later.

“Why are you home?” You tossed the question back at him.

“Schedule changed--went for a run after breakfast and now just, showering, y’know,” he looked down at the towel that separated you from an even more awkward moment.

“Right, sorry, I...am leaving,” you pointed to the door. “Changing, back to the office, home tonight.”

“Sounds good,” he smiled. “Figured I could make dinner, if you wanted. I make a mean chicken taco.”

You took a few steps backwards to the door. “You cook?”

“I do,” he smiled. “Hard to believe?”

“No,” you shook your head. “That would be great--if you want, but you don’t have to.”

“I’d love to,” he nodded. “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

“With more clothes,” you smiled, immediately regretting the bad joke and the attention it drew to the stuffy air and the butterflies in your stomach.

“Definitely more clothes.”

You made a face at yourself once the door was shut, idiot. At least you hadn’t accidentally seen a picture of someone’s boobs. You were sure he got plenty of those.

You pushed the thought out of your head and thankfully Harry didn’t smirk at you too much when Jeff came to pick up the girls for ice cream the next afternoon. They hadn’t forgotten, but luckily Jeff had offered to take them out one night and it seemed like the perfect opportunity for Harry to tag along. That way he could stay true to his word and the girls would stop pestering him every time he popped down to the kitchen.

Zoey had been begging to bring the baby over to get out of the house, and now she was sitting in the other room with Benny on a play mat on the floor. Maeve, CeCe, Jeff and Harry stood in a line, eagerly awaiting the green light to pile into Jeff’s car.

“Okay, so Uncle Jeff can text me if you need anything, see you around 7pm?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jeff said, a salute in your direction that pulled a giggle from both of your daughters.

They’d been fighting more lately, CeCe tried to take the medal from Maeve’s room one night over the weekend and suddenly it was like world war three. You were shocked that they’d gotten it together enough to spend some time in each other's presence, even with Uncle Jeff chaperoning, but you were eager for the quiet and hopeful the screaming matches wouldn’t return once the ice cream and dinner date was finished.

“Love you, be nice to each other, okay?” You leaned down and used both hands to hold CeCe’s head in place when you planted a kiss on her forehead, then Maeve. A hug for Jeff, “only one ice cream cone this time.”

He laughed but obliged, you moved down the line to Harry, an awkward nod in his direction when you realized that whatever type of acquaintanceship had slowly started to bloom between the two of you was hardly grounds for a kiss on the forehead or even a hug.

He apparently sensed this too, a playful smile on his face when he lifted his brows. “No farewell for me?”

Jeff let out a quick laugh but Maeve and CeCe took off for the car, racing to see who could get out the front door fastest. “Alright, don’t kill each other,” you reminded again, waved them all off with an embarrassed smirk and then watched as Harry helped CeCe buckle into her booster seat.

“So,” Zoey appeared beside you, Benny in her arms as she looked out the window. “Seems like things are going well.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged casually. “He’s been nice.”

“He seems friendly,” she wiggled her brows when she met your gaze. “Flirty friendly.”

“Just friendly,” you laughed and headed for the kitchen to pour yourself a drink. It might have only been Tuesday, but the week promised to be a busy one. You wiped up a runaway drip of wine on the rim, fully aware the words about to leave your mouth would push Zoey into gear. “But I did see him shirtless yesterday.”

“That sounds amazing,” she shifted Benny in her arms, eagerness in her voice. “How was it?”

“I mean--he also caught me snooping in his room, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

You tried to downplay it. “I came home from work in the middle of the day to change and I heard him in the shower--which is weird cause I didn’t think he’d be home.”

“So you went in there?”

“Not the bathroom--I just peeked into his room and noticed it was really clean. Which is weird, right? He’s a kid!”

“He’s not a kid,” she rolled her eyes at you. “Your kids are kids. He’s twenty-four. I looked it up.”

Your eyes were wide when you turned to head for the couch. “You looked it up?”

“I was curious! He’s a celebrity living in your house and he’s very attractive and you have been harping on his age.”

“Because it felt weird at first.”

“And it doesn’t now?” Her tone was hopeful when she laid Benny back on his play mat and kneeled beside him.

You took a gulp from your wine glass. “Less weird, but only because he’s mature. He’s helpful around the house--he cooked dinner the other night--and he’s good with the girls.”

The corner of her mouth pulled towards the ceiling, arched eyebrows when she clarified. “He’s good with the girls?”

“He’s just nice to them--I was worried that they’d annoy him. I mean, I doubt that he was excited to hear that two of his roommates were six and ten.”

“Okay--but why did you see him shirtless?”

Right--she’d gotten you off track. “Because...I went in his room and then saw his phone buzzing and then he came out and caught me looking at his phone.”

“You were looking through his phone?!”

“No! Not the actual texts, just to see who was blowing it up. I only looked at the lock screen.”

“Was he annoyed?”

“No,” you shrugged, shame laced through your voice. “He was casual. But then he put his shirt on and I left him alone and went back to work.”

“So there’s sexual tension,” she shimmied her shoulders and pulled a laugh from you, she nuzzled down into Benny’s face but then gave him a pacifier.

“No.”

This brought her gaze back to you, more serious now. “Y/N, you are not a creep if you admit that you find him attractive.”

“I can admit that he’s handsome,” you chose a new word that felt more detached. “But who cares? He’s literally just a house guest. A friend of a friend.”

“Right, but he was just flirting with you like there’s no tomorrow.”

“No he wasn’t,” you denied her accusation. When she stared at you expectantly, you took a loud sip and let the obnoxious noise ring through the now empty house as if it would preclude you from saying any more.

“You truly, seriously, one-hundred percent haven’t noticed any type of flirting?”

You averted your eyes for a second, ready to dismiss her question and tell her she was crazy. There was nothing going on between the two of you.

But then you thought on it, thought about the way he asked about Maeve and CeCe and remembered the way your stomach seemed to twist itself in knots when he smirked at you and when the dimples appeared on his cheeks.

“The look on your face is enough of an answer,” Zoey teased, bouncing side to side when Benny made a noise. “Isn’t that right, Benny Boo? Someone has a crush.”

“There’s no crush here--he’s just,” a shrug of your shoulders when you didn’t know what words to use. You didn’t want to add fuel to her fire and you certainly didn’t want to give her any more of a reason to keep bringing this topic up.

“Dreamy? Beautiful? The perfect rebound post-divorce?”

A flutter of your eyelids in annoyance when you stood to head for the kitchen. “No,” you said, making a face in her direction. “He’s just cute.”

“So cute!” She followed behind and egged you on. “A crush is perfectly harmless, a little bedtime rendezvous is totally not a big deal.”

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves, here, okay?”

“Oh come on,” she laughed. “You mean to tell me you haven’t already thought about if he’s good in bed?”

She came to sit next to you at the island, folding her legs beneath her. When you sipped at your wine and tried to hide a smirk, her face lit up. “I knew it, I knew it! I don’t blame you, at all, by the way. He’s gorgeous.”

“I’m just horny, number one,” you admitted, leaning forward to rest your elbow on the granite counter. “And seeing a man actually be good with kids is a breath of fresh air.”

“Yeah, Luke didn’t set the bar high with that one.”

“Absolutely not.”

A pause of silence when evening air blew through the open doors to the patio. There was music audible through the trees, wafting in from the backyard of your neighbors.

“I think you should fuck him.”

“What?!” You turned towards her quickly, your voice quieter when she smirked and looked over at you. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You have a ridiculously attractive man living in your house and he hangs out with your kids and now he’s starting to cook? It’s like a lifetime movie waiting to happen.”

“That doesn’t mean I should have sex with him!”

“Do you want to have sex with him?”

You were quiet for a second, kept her gaze but then rolled your eyes and shook your head. “I’ve had a bad year,” you made an excuse for the pulsing in your veins whenever you were alone with him. Nothing more, nothing less.

“When does he leave again?”

“I don’t know--at the end of the week, I guess. It’s not happening, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Alright,” she seemed to relent, “You do you. I just think you deserve a little feel good time.”

“That sounds gross,” you wrinkled your nose, pulling a laugh out of her.

She was able to change the topic, told you all about the way Benny was getting better at lifting his own head and he was screaming a lot less when she put him down for some tummy time. Your phone dinged, though, signalling a new text just when you were about to pull out leftovers and heat them up.

She watched when you opened it, got excited when you smirked at the screen.

“Who is it?”

You almost didn’t want to show her, but you knew she’d pry it out of your hands with force if you didn’t share. You flipped it around, watched as a smile spread across her face.

A picture of Harry and CeCe, both with sunglasses on as they ate their ice cream. Maeve and Jeff were in the background, the line at the ice cream shop down the street wasn’t too long. You were kind of surprised he was willing to go with them, wouldn't it create a buzz in the headlines?

Zoey gave you a knowing look.

“It’s just sweet.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know,” you smiled a little at first, but the happiness faded from your face when you pulled yourself back to reality. “I feel stupid thinking that he’s flirting with me. He could be with a supermodel if he wanted to. One with perky boobs and who’s, like, twenty. Not someone who’s old enough to be his mom.”

“You are seven years older than him,” she made a disgusted face. “You could have been, like, his babysitter, not his mom.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

“You’re being stupid about this!”

You paused with tupperware in your hands, turned around slowly. “I am not being dumb about not having casual sex with the popstar boyband kid living under my roof. I think not having sex with him is objectively the responsible thing to do here.”

“Why do you always have to be so responsible, though? You have been doing that forever, okay? You’re the business owner mom who’s always been incredibly family-oriented.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not in the slightest! But you’re more than just a mom.”

You bit at your cheek and dropped her gaze, put the tupperware down from exhaustion. “I just want my children to have a normal life. I only had one parent and I thought they were going to have two and now that ship has sailed.”

She nodded sympathetically. “But that doesn’t mean you did anything wrong! You never relaxing and having a good time will only teach them bad work-life balance.”

You rolled your eyes at her comment, tried to fight the smile when she waited for you to fold. “I love you,” she said. “I want you to get laid or have a drink or let your hair down once in a while.”

You held up the wine in her face. “Already halfway there.”

She reached for the bottle of wine and shoved it towards you with skeptical eyes. “Try harder.”

You let out a laugh and took another sip once it was refilled, pushed plates into the microwave and sat there with her until Jeff’s car pulled back into the driveway and the girls came tumbling back into the house.

“Mom, Harry said he could teach me how to play guitar,” Maeve grinned up at you, an affectionate hug caught you by surprise, but so did her words.

“He did, did he?” You eyed Harry as he walked in with Jeff by his side, sunglasses still on his face despite the sun lingering just above the horizon.

“We’ll start a band,” Harry nodded in her direction, kept his eyes shielded as CeCe ran into the backyard with a noise of excitement.

“And Uncle Jeff said he’ll sing.”

“You’ll definitely get far, then,” you teased, pulling an offended look from your childhood friend. “He’s obviously the best singer in the house.”

Harry nodded in playful agreement. “Could put me out of a job any day.”

“Maeve!” CeCe called suddenly, pulling everyone’s attention to the backyard. “Come play squishball!”

Harry looked down at Maeve and she looked up at him, you were unaware of whatever unspoken communication was transpiring between them. “Should we?” He asked.

“Definitely,” she giggled, hands on her hips.

Zoey was also confused, but she watched as Maeve and Harry headed for the patio. Harry finally took his sunglasses off, handed them to your older daughter before he spoke. “CeCe, we need to have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” She asked, she groaned in disappointment but walked back towards the house, bat dragging on the grass behind her. Jeff laughed and folded his arms over his chest, unaware of whatever deal had already been struck between them.

“You two are both really great at squishball,” Harry admitted, his voice suddenly more serious than before. “But I think we need to up the stakes.”

“Up the stakes?” You could tell by the look on CeCe’s face that she had no clue what that meant.

“Winner of this game gets the medal I won from the spelling bee,” Maeve explained.

You were about to protest, head outside and discourage any type of betting or gambling or whatever the backyard made up game was leading towards, but Harry went on to explain the rules. “CeCe gets a head start running bases, just because of her tiny legs.”

Maeve nodded, “and she gets a free home run to start off.”

CeCe smiled wide and put her hands on her hips, pulling a laugh from Harry as she copied her older sister. “I like the sound of that,” she said. A sure-fire way to make her win, you realized. But what was in that for Maeve? How had your previously grumpy pre-teen become a team player in a matter of hours?

It wasn’t long before Zoey gathered up her things and put Benny in the backseat, giggling and excited yells floated in from the backyard when you hugged her goodbye. Jeff stayed past sunset and offered an excited high five when CeCe won, completely unaware at how easy they’d made it for her.

But he soon left, too, you climbed the stairs behind your two little athletes, got them washed up and in bed before it was 9pm--not bad for a weeknight. You were sure Harry would have retreated to his room, too, but he was sat by the fire pit on the patio, a near empty glass of wine in his hand when you came back out.

“Care to explain?” you leaned against the doorframe and smiled. He adjusted in his seat but shrugged his shoulders when you admitted: “I never thought I would hear the end of it with that stupid medal.”

There was a confident look on his face when he met your eyes in the glow of the fire pit. “Figured I can teach her a few chords on guitar and that would take her mind off of taunting CeCe.”

It was smart, you nodded slowly and watched him. Give Maeve something that would get her really excited, but only if she’d give up something else. Bargaining--a classic parenting trick. You eyed Harry with a level of skepticism.

“How are you so good with them?”

He smiled at that, apparently flattered by the compliment. “They’re good kids,” he said simply.

“I’m aware,” you laughed, “but you don’t have to spend so much time with them.”

“I like it,” he shrugged. “It’s kind of nice to be around a family, you know?”

The words pulled emotion to your chest. Did you really look like a family to him? No husband, no grandfather, two irreplaceable roles and now you were trying to fill all of them just to keep your kids afloat.

“And besides,” he stood from his chair and grabbed the now empty glass before he came closer to you. “Something about being here just feels right.”

You looked up at him, felt the same rush of heat to your cheeks but hoped you were safe in the cover of night. He smirked, like he knew what he was doing to you but was too much of a gentleman to call you out. Hesitation when you felt some type of magnetic force between you, the distance simultaneously felt like inches and miles.

You smiled softly, embarrassed by the way your pulse picked up and the thoughts that flew through your head. What would happen if I, does he ever think about, am I crazy if I want to?

He brushed past you and walked to the sink, placing the wine glass down quietly before he turned to face you once more. “Is it as bad as you thought?”

Confusion, you wiped your sweaty palms on your pants. “Sorry?”

“Having me here,” he motioned around, the dimple on his left cheek was visible even in the dim light. You rolled your eyes, dropped his gaze for a second when he let out a quiet laugh. “I hope that it’s only as miserable as you thought--m’just aiming for not worse than expected at this point.”

You turned to face him and put your hands on the granite, thankful for the fact that the island was now between you, the ticking of a clock on the wall kept time when you tried to piece your words together carefully.

Was he flirting with you? A similar to question to that he'd asked only a few nights earlier, this time with more of a smirk on his face and a lilt in his voice that made sent a shiver down your spine.

“It’s better,” you admitted with a nod and a teasing smile. “But don’t tell Jeff that.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, held your gaze and then nodded. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

There was silence for a second, you almost offered to pour him another glass of wine but then he said: “Only a few more days, though.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, the fantasy shattered on the floor between you. “How’s the house coming?”

He winced, a quiet laugh when he shook his head. “Everything’s been pushed out a few weeks, actually. But--it’s fine, I’m probably just going to stay with a friend or something, you know, don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You brought your lips into a thin line, unsure if what you were about to offer was appropriate or weird or just plain awkward.

“Oh...well, I mean, if you want to stay here longer, you can.”

His mouth pulled up on the side, he brought his gaze back to you and shifted his weight on his feet. “Yeah? You don’t mind?”

You shrugged, again hoping to play it cool or not come off too eager. “If that would be helpful,” you trailed off.

“Yeah, very helpful.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” he nodded, pulling another smirk from you.

A few more weeks, tops.

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[kirschteinsj]

Pinky Promises

Nanami x fem! reader

Warnings: nothing too much! maybe language but overall just a bunch of fluff and lovey dovey stuff 

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: Domestic Nanami and reader, just thinking about how much they love each other. sappy and cute stuff.

A/N: Hi! ^_^ Second time posting, I’ve had this one shot saved for a bit now! finally posting it lolz. I've noticed a lot of people have written domestic Nanami pics or drawn art, very glad society as a whole has this perception of him. it truly heals the soul I think. anyway, I hope u like this and sorry if there’s any grammar errors I wasnt able to catch U_U im thinking of doing a hc post next.... unsure hm, we’ll see ^_^!!

“I’m hooooome.” He says loudly as he steps through the apartment door, setting his briefcase down and taking off his beige coat. Putting down the grand kitchen knife she was using to chop up spinach, she rushed to the door with a smile and engulfed the tall blonde into a tight hug, saying hello. She took a deep breath, inhaling the soft scent of his cologne, the smell of something sour and musty soon taking over. Her face scrunched up and she let out a giggle.

“Oh god, Nanami, you stink, what did you go against today?”

“Nothing too bad. Just a grade 3,” He sighed “A smelly grade 3.” He sounded disappointed, probably because he knew he stunk too. Though the smell was horrendous, she still remained in his arms and he still held on just as tight.

“Are you tired? I was thinking of making dinner with you tonight but if you’re too tired I can-”

“No no. I’m fine. Just let me wash up and I’ll help out.”

“You sure?” She asked looking up towards him, questioning once more to reassure. He looked down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m sure, dear.”

While he showers upstairs, she gets back to readying the ingredients so they could begin cooking their masterpiece as soon as possible. Tonight she had chosen chicken alfredo with a tossed salad; One could say it was her favourite, but saying that would imply that she would eat it when cooked and served by whomever. But to her, she would only eat it when it was him who had made it for her.

Y/n adored him. He adored her. To her, he was her light. She could simply not imagine life without him, not after he had come in and changed her in such a way. She never in a million years would have thought to be so in love with someone. To have known someone who cared enough to hear all about her day or listen to all her tangents, whether they made sense or not. Who listened to her talk forever about anything just so he could see the faint glow of passion in her eyes. Someone who remembered the small details in regards to the things she loved and the things she despised; Like how she hated the feeling of peanut butter on her fingers and how she absolutely admired the scent of fresh pages in a new book. Sometimes, she felt undeserving of him.

He admired her like no other. Never did he believe he’d be capable of opening up to anyone in such a way, at least not until she walked into his life. He could write a million lists, all full of everything he loved about her. The way she smiled cheekily at him after a witty remark, how she'd give every hug as if it was the last, the way she was oh so patient with him. It took him time to become vulnerable in the slightest, he just didn’t know how to do so without burdening her. She knew his job was hard, he’d told her. But rather than running away like he expected, she stayed with him right by his side. She refused to leave him over that. If anything, it made her want to stay more since she felt the need to be there for him. It felt like a punch to the gut but a good one. “So, is this love?” He had asked himself then. Nanami had someone who brought out the much more joyful side to him. At the end of the day, he knew he’d walk through the front door only to see her, arms wide open and with a big smile offering a cozy hug. She was his home. Sometimes, he felt undeserving of her.

Putting the final piece of broccoli into the container, she tidies any clutter and went back to their shared bedroom. Sinking into the bed and falling on it with a plush thump, she lets out a deep sigh mixed with some sort of a groan. She herself was exhausted from work too to say the least. She didn’t deal with curses or anything like that, but she did teach a class of 9 year olds which one could consider just as frustrating. Yawning, she checks her phone to read the time: 6:15 PM. Nanami hadn’t been in the shower for too long, a small nap wouldn’t hurt. Quickly, she settled for a little 30 minute nap. That way, she could get up soon enough to help him out in the kitchen and not abandon him to do everything on his own. She turns her phone off and slowly, her eyes shut.

…

Y/n slowly opens her eyes and notices a grey throw blanket placed on her, something that she doesn’t recall going to bed with earlier. “Must’ve been Nanami.” Grabbing her phone, she turns the screen on, wincing at the incredible blue light piercing into her skull. “Fuck.” she mumbles. Once her eyes adjust, she glances back at the screen for the time: 7:30.

“FUCK,” she says, voice croaking “I overslept.” With the speed of light, she leaves bed and runs down the hall to the bathroom to freshen up. She soon makes her way over to the kitchen silently, slightly ashamed and guilty. Y/n mumbles a whine with a frown, “He’s probably done making things now. I could have helped.”

The kitchen is filled with the delicate scents of sauces, cheese and herbs. She watches him from the door frame, admiring her boyfriend. He stood in front of the stove mixing at the sauce for the alfredo, which scent alone made her mouth water. Nanami seems to be in his own world, as he stands humming to himself softly, stirring the pot of sauce and adding in the broccoli and spinach, not seeming to notice y/n. With a final stir, he carefully sets the lid and turns to rinse his hands. Her gaze sits upon his figure, how his grey oversized shirt slightly clings to his shoulders and loosens as it goes down his body. Looking down, she noticed the bright red christmas pyjamas he had on, the ones with adorable little reindeers all over them. Grinning, she remembers how she had bought those for him. She purchased a matching set for the two of them and insisted on wearing them all day on Christmas last year. Nanami had responded to the idea with a stern “No” which left y/n in shambles. She didn’t expect him to agree, but hey, a girl can dream. However, on Christmas day, lo and behold, she had woken up to find Nanami sitting on the couch, watching the news with his reindeer PJs on. Immediately, she had attacked him with hugs and kisses and all Nanami did was sit there and accept them, secretly loving it the whole time.

A deep voice throws her out of her thoughts. “You know, it’s rude to stare, right?”

Y/n chuckles quietly and makes her way over, wrapping her arms around him from behind, snuggling into his back.

“I like to stare at you, you’re cute,” she breathes in his scent once again, “ah, you smell so much better now. Like the nami I know.”

“I am not cute. I am a grown man.”

“C’mon, you can’t possibly be saying that right now. Not while you’re wearing these pants.” She coos, gently patting his butt. He goes silent, refusing to rebuttal knowing that he’s lost. He leans against the counter, his front facing her. Though he didn’t say anything, y/n sees this as an open invite to his arms. The rope of his arms finds her waist this time, her arms in an embrace around his neck.

“Whatever, tell me, how was your day, hm?” He posed, changing the subject.

“Same old, yenno. The kids and I had a discussion today about drugs and safety. It was cute, hearing them rat out their neighbours for smoking cigs and talk about how yucky they thought alcohol is. It was… sweet. How was work for you, hon?”

“Shit.” He retorts, closing his eyes, “Work is shit.”

“Oh come ON, I’m sure it’s not always that bad, right? Say, how’s your friend doing, you know, the one who kinda looks like one of my makeup brushes! Isn’t he good company?”

“Yeah, if good company means having to deal with a nuisance to society on a daily basis then by all means, yes, Gojo is wonderful company.” He joked, loosening his grip on her and making his way over to the stove to check on his sauce. She follows, opening the first drawer and pulling out a silver spoon, “You’re so mean sometimes. I think he’s a great guy to be around! I met him once, such a flirt.”

He teases calmly, “If you love him so much, why don’t you get with him?”

Taking her spoon, she lowers it into the pot and brings it back up to her face, blowing on it carefully before she puts it to her lips to taste. “Hmm, I would. But I don’t think he’s as big as you. I’ll have to pass.” She smirked, putting the spoon into her mouth as he watched and sighed in disappointment.

He glares,“God, you’re something else.”

“I’m just kidding, babe.” Bringing her spoon down for another taste. He swats at her hand and she retreats it with a whine. “Don’t do that. You’ve tried it already, and will again when we get to eat.” He scolded tenderly, “Plus, you shouldn’t be given these privileges anyway. It’s not like you helped out or anything.” He smiled, teasing her.

“Nanamiiii, I’m sorry,” she whines, half laughing, “I promise, I was going to help! I just got a little bit sleepy and sort of lost track of time…” He turned over to her and lifted her face with a finger under her chin. Laughing, he delicately caresses her cheek, tapping it admirably with a curled finger. The blonde chuckles and looks her in the eyes, “I’m just joking with you, love. I know you’ve been tired lately, I can tell. Why haven’t you been resting?”

Her smile falls and she sighs. Y/n wrapped her arms around his waist and brought him into her, hiding her face into his chest. It was true, she was exhausted but she didn’t deem it to be anything so serious. Work was just heavy this past week from having to grade her students’ work in time for report cards. All she wanted was the best for her kids and was finding ways to get the kids out of their comfort zones enough to do well in class. That reminded her, Nanami also mentioned having a student of his own.

She takes her face out of his chest and glances upwards. “It’s just this week of work, I promise I’ll be back to normal soon. I’ve just been busy with lesson plans and activities, yenno. Anyway, speaking of students, how’s the one you’ve been assigned to?” She posed in a soft tone. Half smiling, he turned around to add the strained pasta to the sauce, scattering it into the pot.

“He’s special. Quite lively. And cheerful. He reminds me of you sometimes,” his voice strains as he stretches to grab the bowl of cooked chicken to finally add into the pot, finishing the meal, “He’s got potential.” Y/n beamed with happiness. Nanami really seemed to like this kid and if he thought you had potential, then it sure as hell meant you had it.

She lets out a squeal, “EEEEEEK!!! That sounds amazing! I’m so happy for you!” Nanami suppressed a laugh and rolled his eyes, “It’s not that-”

“This calls for a drink, don’t you think?” She babbled with excitement, “We should have some wine! Right?”

Grabbing her wrist as she skipped her way over to the bottle, he reminded her, “You have school tomorrow. You always end up having more than needed and struggle to wake up in the morning.” Y/n frowned at his words, to which he noticed and tried to fix, “Tomorrow’s Friday, you can drink plenty tomorrow, hm? I’ll drink with you.”

“Ugh, fine. You’re right. But you have to promise.”

“I promise you ca-”

“No! You have to pinky-promise.” She demanded, pouting as he stuck out her pinky finger.

His heart skips a beat. Was she always this cute? Her angelic eyes stare into his tired ones. Bottom lip poking out, awaiting Nanami’s pinky to interlock with her own. He knew she took pinky-promises very seriously despite her grown age. It was among one of the many petty details that he cherished. Something about this pinky-promise was enough for her to ensure trust onto someone, it made him laugh. Her naivety is what made her so kind hearted, what allowed her to see the best in people. He felt that this naivety is why they’re together to begin with. He didn’t ever think she’d give him a chance. He reminisced of their first few encounters. The way she did her hair back then, the way she dressed, her shy smile and how she’d look at the floor whenever she’d blush. Maybe it was her timid nature that made him fall head over heels for her. Or maybe it was her generosity. Perhaps her beauty. He was unable to simply confine the reasoning for his infatuation with just a few traits. She grew overtime, more comfortable and less shy, she was more confident around him but he knew he could still make her blush so badly that she’d have to hide her face from him. He enjoyed their banter, her company. He felt it was luck. Or maybe it was fate. Who knows. He didn’t want to think so much about it. He wanted to live in the moment, adore her in this present time. In that instance, he felt the strong urge to kiss her. And so he did.

The kiss was short and sweet, yet full of an unfathomable amount of love. It took her aback, she didn’t quite see it coming. She too stood in the present moment, then and there, cherishing the man she loved.

His lips leave hers and he extends the smallest finger on his hand, declaring, “I pinky-promise.” And a ginormous grin washes over her face. In a whisper, she squeals and scoops her arms around his torso, resting her head onto his chest. They stay like this for a while, not too long really, but to them it felt like an eternity being in each other’s affectionate embrace. He goes to speak and she feels the vibrating boom of his voice make his way up from his chest.

“I love you.”

She sighs, “I love you too.”

Turning her head, y/n smoothly gets on her tip toes and clasps her arms around his neck, giving it a tender kiss and attempting to make a trail leading up to his sharp jaw. Catching onto her tactics he laughs, putting his big hand against her face and pushing her back.

“Seriously?” He chuckles, “You couldn’t wait till after dinner? Come on, take out the plates.”

“Wait for what? I was just kissing you! You’re so dramatic, Nami.” She lies, playing innocent. She knew damn well what she was trying to do. She wasn’t going to admit to it though. Taking out the plates and utensils, she readied the table.

…

After dinner and meaningless conversation, the two lovers tidied and headed towards their room. “Do yo wana wah a mohee tomowwow nie?” Y/n proposed from the bathroom as she brushed her teeth. He perks his head up, confused, “Do I want to what?” She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth, repeating her question.

“I said, do you wanna watch a movie tomorrow night? Like at home? There’s this documentary I saw on Netflix, it looks really good! It’s crime related.”

“That sounds fine with me. Though, that’s only possible if you don’t end up drinking too much. I always have to get you to sleep early when you drink.” He states nonchalantly, nose poked into a thick book. She rolls her eyes and smiles, “I promise I won’t drink all that much.” Shifting his book to the opposing hand, Nanami silently takes his pinky finger and holds it out to y/n. She snickers and reciprocates.

“You’ve now pinky-promised. Don’t break it, y/n.”

“I never do.”

The nightstand lamp illuminates the room with a soft yellow glow. Shadows of objects on the nightstand hang on the walls. Laying in bed on her phone, y/n turns over to Nanami, who was still reading his book. “Nami, come lay next to me, I wanna cuddle. Please?” Her voice faint. He looks down at her and puts his book away immediately. He could use a cuddle too. Bringing himself down, he lays on his back, y/n closing the gap between the two. Their legs intertwine, her arm and head resting on his chest while one of his hands rested on her bum, the other dotingly playing with her hair. Neither of them spoke a word for a while. Until y/n broke the silence.

“So, were there no other pairs of pants you had left to wear or-”

“Please, be quiet.”

[writing-in-april]

Manicured

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Spencer finally lets Reader do his nails.

A/N: Another short cute fic here for my twenty-sixth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April!! I wanted to make it short but sweet- it’s based on this request (this is not my first fic with Spencer with painted nails- check out on my MGG masterlist Painted Nails if you are over 18) Side note someone recently stole my work- please do not upload anything of mine to another site without my permission. Feel free to leave an ask in my inbox here (I promise I don’t bite) Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Nothing 🥰

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.2k

It wasn’t often that Spencer and I had a day to ourselves, even an hour sometimes felt like a rare occurrence. Today, there was no case, no bad guys to be chasing, and there was even no paperwork to be completed. You were sat on the bed peacefully with Spencer, not daring to point that out out loud as it would obviously jinx it.

“Can I paint your nails?” You absentmindedly asked while fiddling with Spencer’s fingers in your grasp. You didn’t expect a response right away, or any at all as you had been asking to paint his nails for a while. Everytime he always said no, maybe later. So, you kept asking until he said yes.

Today seemed like a random day for him to finally agree, but Spencer tended to get you by surprise often. You almost bolted up in surprise when he simply replied, “Yes.”

Now you were sitting across from him, his hand in yours and a towel placed underneath to collect any spills. Eagerly you started immediately, already having the perfect design in mind for him. Using the brush to swipe over his nails, you then coated his nail in purple colored polish. It was his first experience having polish on his fingers.

Naturally he was intrigued staring down at you intently with his tongue slightly peeking out from his lips, like he was putting all his effort into analyzing exactly what you were doing. Just as you finished that finger he said, “This is so fascinating, you have such control over the brush.”

That had made you burst out into a fit of giggles, his tone making manicuring nails sound like the most serious thing in the world. “Practice makes perfect.” Was all you could manage to say as you tried to hold back your laughs and continue your job.

Eventually you finished his first hand, it already looked like a masterpiece to you, accentuating Spencer’s features in a striking way. He of course continued to stare down at them like he was trying to somehow see each molecule of the polish and understand how it dried on the nail so perfectly.

“I don’t think you’ll figure out all there is to know about nail polish yet by staring at it.” You said as you moved to his thumb on his left hand while he looked at his finished right.

“No, I’ll need to read some books for that.” He replied while his focus was still completely on the nails that were covered in shiny lacquer. Until he then looked up to ask you with eager eyes, “Do you have any books on it?”

“No, I don’t Spencer- I’m not a nail tech.” You laughed out once again, but found it very endearing that he thought you might have some.

“We’ll have to go to the library for that then.” Some people would say the internet would be the best bet to learn about this, Spencer always learned best by books however, and despised all technology for the most part. You then finished up with the design on his pointer finger, immediately going to the next to repeat the design on a new nail.

It was a call, of course from Spencer’s work phone, suddenly interrupted your progress on his nails. You hoped it wasn’t another case you’d both get whisked away on. He picked up the phone with his right hand, which was already completed, but still drying. Carefully with extreme precision, he answered the call and brought it up to his ear, making sure he didn’t smudge any of your hard work.

“Hello- this is Dr. Spencer Reid.” His voice had switched into his purely professional mode, while you continued to add the finishing touches to the matching design. You did make an effort to speed up the process in case he had to up and leave, though you did wish you could’ve taken your time like with his opposite hand.

“Hey- kid check who’s calling before you answer. It’s me, we have a case.” You could faintly hear Morgan’s voice come through the phone and you had to fight a groan when you heard the end of his sentence. Seems like you both were already jinxed.

“Y-yeah, ok Morgan we’ll be there in about 20.” He was now squinting down at his watch, hunched over you almost hitting your head in the process while you tried to finish up the last nail.

As soon as he hung up you were just about finished with the last little bit of your design that was a range of Spencer’s favorite color purple with some dashes of black and grey. It would certainly match most of his work clothes he normally wore, you hoped he’d keep the polish on.

“Done!” You shouted triumphantly at the last swipe of clear polish, sealing in your art. When he peered down at the finished hand curiously another pang of worry that he’d want to immediately wipe it off shot through you. “Are you- going to keep it on for work?”

He looked at you incredulously, and then completely squashed your worries with his sweet words, “Of course I’ll wear it to work, it’s perfect and- you did this for me.”

—

“Reid- what is on your nails?” Morgan clocked them as soon as Spencer entered the bullpen with you. He had walked in with pride, not necessarily flaunting them, but certainly not hiding them. And, when Morgan pointed them out he jutted out his fingers in pride, showing off the pretty polish that had by now dried. Though it had been a challenge for him to get all his clothes on, he didn’t end up getting them smudged thanks to you.

“It’s nail polish? Have you never seen it before Morgan?” Spencer quipped at him which seemed to have taken Morgan by surprise as his eyebrows raised up high.

Any answer Morgan could give to him was swallowed up by the giddy voice of none other than Penelope Garcia, “Oh. My. Gosh. Spencer got his nails painted!”

“Y-yes I did!” He withered a bit under the attention as he was not used to it. He bounced back quickly when he realized she wasn’t going to make fun of him.

“Where did you get them done they’re amazing?” Penelope was now holding up Spencer’s hand, and the congregation grew as more members of the team arrived to get a look at his nails. Little did everyone know who was the real artist that did them, and Spencer was happy to correct her with the real answer.

“Actually, Y/N did them.” Penelope almost immediately shifted her focus back on you bombarding you with questions on your technique. Spencer happily played a hand model, which you swore could be a career for him in an alternate universe, while you explained everything to the people around you. It was mainly Penelope who was interested, but Emily and JJ really seemed to like your color choice for Spencer saying it was ‘his color’. Even Morgan peered over inquisitively a few times, mainly when your voice jumped higher because of excitement.

“What are you all doing?”

“Looking at Spencer’s nails, Sir. Y/N did them!”

“Are you sure that’s a very professional look, Spencer?” Hitch’s hard face was difficult to read as always, you couldn’t tell if he was about to demand he take it off right away or not. He hadn’t seemed to mind when you came in with nail art on, or Penelope, you hoped this would be no different. When his lips that were almost always pressed into a thin line turned upwards you were taken aback, and even more so at what he said next, “Looks good- you’re really getting better at your manicuring skills.”

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[junosartsthetic]

Hello :) For the yandere writing prompts: Might I get Roses with Shigaraki? Please and thank you <3

"Roses. They once brought great comfort. They still bring me roses but the light in their eyes is gone."

I always get carried away writing these, oops. Anyway here you go! Also this is a tattoo parlor/flower shop AU because of course it is.

__

Your new shop had only been open a day when you first noticed him. You were tending to your freshly cut roses, clipping the thorns carefully, when you heard the bell on the door jingle. You turned, looking to see who had entered. “Hello, welcome to Roses and Company!” you greeted, looking the newcomer over.

He donned a black hoodie, hood over his head and hands tucked into the pockets. You noted grey-blue hair poking out from the hood. His lips were rather chapped. He didn’t reply to your greeting.

You finished tending to the roses, placing them in a vase on a shelf before walking over to the stranger. “Can I help you find anything?”

He glanced over at you. You gave him a smile. He shrugged. “I work next door. I had nothing better to do so I wanted to check this place out.” You noted his gravelly voice. He sounded irritated. Maybe that was just his tone of speaking, you thought.

You remembered the tattoo parlor next door. “You’re a tattoo artist?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He rolled up his hoodie sleeve, showcasing a large collection of tattoos. They ranged from morbid depictions of skulls to scrawlings of words. You thought they were pretty.

“Oh, sweet. I’ve never had a tattoo but I might have to get one now that you’re right next door!”

He gestured to the bouquet of roses you’d just shelved. “How much for those?”

You were only just now realizing you’d never put price tags on anything, assuming you’d have time later today. “Oh, umm…”

He suddenly spoke up. “A tattoo for the bouquet?”

You raised a brow. “Really?”

This day was turning interesting.

He nodded.

Why the hell not, you thought, trotting over to grab the vase before handing it over. “Alright. Deal.”

Next thing you knew you were sitting in a chair, the stranger sitting beside you as he sketched out a few ideas. They were all types of flowers. He was a very good artist, you noted.

“Hey,” you spoke up, causing him to hum. “I never got your name.”

“Tomura,” he mumbled, focusing on his sketches.

You smiled. “I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you.”

You pointed at a sketch of a rose he had, noting it resembled the roses in the vase sitting in front of the paper. “You’re really amazing at art, Tomura. That looks incredible.”

His cheeks grew warm. “I’ve been doing this for a while. Anyway, is that the one you want?”

“It looks expensive, are you sure you want just that bouquet?”

He nodded. “It’s fine. I don’t care about money. I just enjoy the art.”

Within a few minutes, he had laid down the stencil for the tattoo, and you braced yourself for the inking needle.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The sensation of the needle hitting your arm made you jump, but it wasn’t as bad as you imagined. Your eyes watered slightly as he continued his work.

It only took about an hour to complete, and you talked to him during this time, Tomura occasionally responding but mostly just listening.

He realized he really liked your voice. And your calm demeanor. He didn’t know why he suddenly made a deal with you, or why he insisted on giving you a free tattoo. He’d never done anything like this for anyone else. What made you special? He didn’t even really know you. It was odd. He’d have to discuss it with Kurogiri later.

“It’s done,” he spoke after some time, putting the ink needle down and cracking his wrists. He’d usually take a break during tattooing, but he decided to push onward for yours, strangely.

“It looks amazing,” you commented, gazing at your freshly inked arm. “Thank you, Tomura. And you were right, it didn’t really hurt.”

“You should probably get back to your store,” he noted. “Let me wrap it up and I’ll check on it tomorrow.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Sounds good!”

The next day, he showed up at your shop as promised, and you waved him over. “Hey, Tomura. Nice to see you again.”

You gestured to your new tattoo. “It seems to be doing good. I’ve been doing everything you’ve said to take care of it.”

He looked it over before his eyes roamed to your face. You were very pretty, he noticed. He liked the way you smiled at him. Nobody had smiled at him like that before. It made him feel nice.

“Oh, here,” you said, handing him a vase full of roses. “I decided that just one wasn’t enough in exchange for this tattoo, so I wanted to give you another bouquet.”

He stared at the red flowers, freshly plucked and trimmed. They looked perfect.

He took them wordlessly. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he mumbled.

You waved him goodbye. “Alright!”

Day after day, he showed up, and day after day you gave him a bouquet of roses. He always accepted them, and you always looked forward to his visits.

Until one day, it all changed.

It had been a month since you’d opened up shop, and your tattoo had healed up nicely.

You were rather busy today, so when you didn’t see Tomura at all you brushed it off as just missing him when he walked in.

When 10 pm rolled around, you began to close up shop.

You were prepared to walk out, purse in hand, when you saw a figure outside. You quickly recognized him as Tomura.

“Oh, hey! I thought you had already stopped by and I just hadn’t noticed you! I’ve already stored all of the roses away for today but I’ll give you two bouquets tomorrow! Promise!”

Tomura waved it off. “No, I’m not here for that. I wanted to repay you for all of your kindness.”

You cocked your head. “Oh, I don’t need any payment or anything. You’ve been a dear to me!”

He held his hand out, grasping yours. “You don’t have to keep up your ruse. I’m not a likeable person. I know that. But still, you look at me with such kindness. And I can’t get you out of my head.”

You stared blankly. “What do you mean, Tomura? Are you confessing to me or something?” You laughed, meaning it as a joke, but the way his hand squeezed yours, you realized he was completely serious.

“Every waking moment I think of you. I still have all of your bouquets you know, I’ve taken such good care of them. They’re all alive and well. Let me take you to them. They’re just inside my shop.”

You gripped your purse nervously. What had gotten into him?

“Oh, I’m glad you like them. Flowers can be tricky to take care of. Especially roses. People don’t like their thorns.”

He began to tug on your hand, guiding you next door. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

Despite the lurking feeling of dread, you followed him without question. You knew Tomura. He wouldn’t do anything weird to you. He was a friend.

He led you inside, walking towards a door in the back of the tattoo parlor. You noticed a large chain and a lock on the door. He used his free hand to unlock it, the key dangling on a necklace tucked into his hoodie.

He led you inside.

There, on the walls of the small closet, vases of roses lined the shelves. You noticed they were all pristine, as healthy as the day you handed them to Tomura.

“Wow,” you said, letting go of his hand to caress a rose. “They’re so vibrant. You’d make a good florist, Tomura. You’ve taken great care of these. It’s amazing. They all look really healthy.”

You heard shuffling behind you. You moved to turn around, but a cloth pressed against your face stopped you. An arm wrapped around your waist, locking you against a chest as a chemical entered your airways. You attempted to scream, but no luck. Petrified, you could only wiggle in his grasp as your body began to weaken.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but it’s for the best.”

When you awoke, you noticed you were still in the closet, though resting on a loveseat tucked into the corner. There was nobody with you. “Tomura!” you called, struggling to stand. You felt dizzy, and your legs wouldn’t move. “Hello!” you cried. You tried to wiggle your toes, but you couldn’t. What the hell was going on.

“Someone help me!”

The door unlocked, and in stepped Tomura. His hood was off. He’d never taken his hood off before. You looked into his eyes and saw blazing madness. He scratched his neck violently, smiling widely. “Oh good, you’re awake! I thought I’d knocked you out for good! That would have been awful!”

You recoiled in the chair, uselessly attempting to move your legs and escape.

“Sorry, little rose, but I had to. I couldn’t have you leaving me!”

Your eyes widened, terrified. What had he done to your legs; why couldn’t you feel them.

“Tomura, stop it. You’re acting crazy,” you cried, tears pricking your eyes. “Let me go!”

He shook his head. “I can’t. You don’t understand. I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can never let you leave me!”

You began to shake, sobbing.

He stepped towards you. “Don’t cry. I’ll take good care of you. You’re the most important of my flowers, don’t you see? You were giving me all of these roses, when you were the only rose I needed!

You cast your gaze to your tattoo as a new wave of tears struck you.

He said nothing else, only turning on his heels and walking out of the closet. The door closed, and you heard the chain clanking as the lock clicked.

You were trapped here. With no ability to walk. And no way out.

As Tomura locked you in the small room, his mind was racing. He’d done it. He’d finally gotten you all to himself. His heart beat rapidly, and he clenched his hands tightly. He was euphoric. And yet, that look in your eyes hit a soft spot in him. Was this the right thing to do? He shook this feeling aside. Of course it was. There was no other way. He had to have you. He had to protect you. He had to keep you healthy, just like the other roses...

Some time had passed, weeks maybe, you’d lost track, and you grew quiet and lethargic. You wouldn’t speak. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence.

Still, he’d give you food and water. He helped you clean, giving you baths in the tub above the parlor. He even carried you up the stairs, being that your legs were now permanently paralyzed.

Every few days, after the parlor had closed, he’d carry you to a seat, giving you a new tattoo. It was always a rose.

Roses. They once brought great comfort to you. You used to love them. You would love giving Tomura a bouquet each day he visited. Technically, you were still bringing him roses, only he inked them onto your skin. You became his bouquet.

“You still bring me roses,” Tomura muttered quietly, buzzing the flower into your reddened skin, “but the light in your eyes is gone.”

[mae-gi-writes]

Pretty Smitten | Kuroo Tetsurou

Harry Potter x Haikyuu!!

Summary ◇ it's like second nature for Slytherin's beater Kuroo to always find something to tease you about, until his best friends Bokuto and Tsukishima make him realize it might hide something more.

Genre ◇ hogwarts au! Slytherin! Cocky Kuroo x Hufflepuff f!reader, mentions of Bokuto,  Tsukishima, Hinata, Oikawa, Daichi etc...

◇ ◇ ◇

Thwap!

You duck out of the way just in time to evade the bludger that zips across your head, so close you feel it brush against your ear as your broom zooms you out of the way. The wind isn't making it easier as it tugs at your clothes, weighing you down while you keep on flying around the court with eyes as alert as a Hawk's for the disappearing snitch.

In truth, you don't really enjoy Quidditch all that much. It was merely due to the captain of the Hufflepuff Team, Daichi, who cornered you upon having accidentally caught sight of your flying skills one winter afternoon. He'd grown to be one of your close friends though, which always makea it hard to pull out and whenever you do mention that maybe it is time for the team to take in a new Seeker, he'd instantly change the subject.

And you wouldn't have been so adamant on trying to force your way out of the team. If not for a particular raven-haired Slytherin Beater.

Speaking of the devil. There he is, that familiar crooked smirk dangling upon his lips as he lazily flies over to you.

"Y/N, aren't you a little laid back!?" He calls out and you roll your eyes, pushing yourself forward to fly as past away as possible.

Too late. He catches up quickly enough, grin widening as he continues, "I know we said it's a practice match but come on, could've put some more heart into it."

Throwing him a scowl that would've scalded anyone but himself, you accelerate your speed. As expected, he follows, "so I heard from Kenma that you failed your Potions midterm. Not that I'm surprised really, you never really had a talent for--"

"How is that any of your business?" You mutter, adamantly fixing your gaze on Daichi so as not to accidentally push Kuroo off his broom.

What a nice thought indeed.

"Aha, that's where I come in. Fortunately for you, I am quite adept at Potions see. I could teach you," from your peripheral you notice him wriggle his brows and you roll your eyes, "for free."

Your knuckles turn white as they tighten around your broom handle.

"No thanks."

"You sure wanna pass this up?" He suddenly leans a little closer, smirk widening, "you could totally exploit this sexy brain of mine."

"What do you want from me, Kuroo?"

"Nothing much, just your dear old grumpy self," he replies cheerfully.

Your scowl deepens. But the offer is tempting. Potions is the only subject that you cannot get your head around and while you are aware of Kuro’s ginormous, self-inflated ego, you also know from a few of his classmates -- Daichi and Suga-- that he is quite the prodigy at Potions. 

But you don’t want to give him that satisfaction. You don’t want to give him more reason to get cocky and start another round of endless teasing where you’ll never hear the end of it. 

So you just press your lips together and mumble out a, "we'll see."

"Atta girl," and he waves a goodbye, but not before reaching over to ruffle your hair until your ponytail is barely hanging together, and you yelp in anger, having half a mind to really push him from his broom this time only to see him fly away just in time, that crooked chesire cat smile on his face. 

Idiot. 

◇ ◇ ◇

"Hey hey hey,” Kuroo knows without looking that this voice belongs to none other than one of his two best friends, Bokuto Koutarou. It was a surprise really, that him and Bokuto had stuck together throughout all these years, considering that Bokuto was a Gryffindor, and him a Slytherin.

An arm drops onto his shoulder, his best friend’s grey strands tickling Kuroo’s cheek, “I saw Y/N today. She looked cute.” 

The Slytherin Beater snorted, “Cute is an overstatement.” 

“Ah Kuroo, seems you’re as oblivious as always,” Bokuto let out a heavy sigh as he plopped himself onto the library bench next to him, “do you realize that you spend more time in the library just so that you can see her?” 

“Bullshit. I come to the library to study,” the raven-haired man gestures towards his Defence of Dark Arts book currently sprawled out before him, which causes Bokuto’s eyebrow to raise in curiosity, “like hell you’re actually studying. Now tell me,” he leans closer, voice dropping to a murmur, “do you like her?” 

Kuroo’s brain actually backfires. He bursts out laughing, “what?!” he exclaims so loudly that it earns the pair a few glares thrown their way, to which they silently bow their heads in apology. 

Bokuto turns back to him, “Wow, Tsukki was right. You are thicker than you seem to be, despite that brain of yours.” 

"What?” Kuro frowns as he protests, “I’m not thick. And--you guys talk about me behind my back?!” 

“Of course we do,” Bokuto rolls his eyes as if it’s obvious before settling his chin into his palm, “especially since we’re curious as to why you enjoy spending your time with that little Hufflepuff mouse of yours--” 

“She’s not mine, and I definitely don’t enjoy spending time with her,” Kuroo can feel the heat travel all the way to his face, blossoming through his cheeks as embarrassment curls in his stomach, “I just--”

“You just like seeing her face.”

Both men turn towards the new alto to see the Ravenclaw prefect, Tsukishima, pull out a chair to sit himself opposite Kuroo before taking out his piece of parchment and ink. 

“Not you too?” Kuroo groans, head dropping to his book.

“Also, you might want to stop flirting with her while we’re on the Quidditch pitch,” Tsukishima continues nonchalantly without looking at him, long fingers turning through the pages to find the section he’s looking for, “I almost got my arm torn off by that Bludger, no thanks to you.”

"I wasn’t flirting with her.” 

“I don’t care. Just don’t do it during practice. It’s annoying,” the blonde smirked at Kuroo’s frustrated expression. 

“I was only asking whether she’d like some help with potions. Kenma told me she failed her last midterm. I was trying to be nice.” 

“Oh? Not because you actually wanted to spend more time alone with her?” Bokuto wriggled his brows suggestively, cackling like a crow when Kuroo responded by shoving his shoulder, “no! I don’t even see her that way. She’s not my type--”

“Oya oya oya, speaking of the devil,” Bokuto’s hand plonks onto Kuroo’s hair before twisting it in the direction of the library entrance. A second later, you appear looking a little disgruntled, if not mad.

Realizing that Bokuto’s hand is still weaved into his hair, Kuroo bats it away with more violence than necessary, which gets him a pointed look from Tsukishima’s golden orbs that he responds with a scowl of his own. But before he can voice out how annoyingly invested the pair seemed to be in his love life, he feels a hand tapping him on his shoulder.

Surprise causes him to frown at the sight of you. 

“If it isn’t my dear little Hufflepuff,” Kuroo’s mouth widens in that signature smirk while crossing his arms over his chest, “what can I help you with?” 

“Kenma told me that you’d be here,” you say.

“Mhm?” 

“And I--” you bite your lip before averting your eyes and something in Kuroo stirs because goddamn he’s quite excited about what will fall from your mouth next. But he keeps his silence, waiting for you to battle it out with your pride, “I was wondering whether the offer still stands. For--tu--tutoring.” 

Your cheeks are blazing red at this point but Kuroo finds it somewhat adorable, what with the fact that you are dressed in an oversized Hufflepuff sweater that basically swallowa you whole. 

He forces his expression into a somewhat amused smirk, a little coy, just enough for you to get flustered, “what made you change your mind?” 

“My grades.” 

In the background, Tsukishima snorts. You flush a deeper red if that’s even possible.

“Alright, sure,” Kuroo grins up at you, mischief swimming in those golden feline orbs, “but on one condition.” 

“I thought you said it was free.” 

“I decided it’d be more fun to have you indebted to me.” 

Letting out a heavy sigh, you press your lips together, “what then? What do you want?” 

“I’ll let you know the details later,” he grins at you, “still haven’t figured it out yet.”

A few beats of silence pass between the two of you as you consider his offer, and he can certainly see the way your own pride measures up against your desperation, the way your orbs display your uneasiness as clearly as crystal water. It’s impossible for you to lie, but Kuroo hasn’t noticed how endearing it is, up until now.

And then, he hears Bokuto’s voice in the back of his mind: 

Do you like her? 

Kuroo blinks. Of course he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t. He does not.

Right? 

“Fine,” your voice brings him out of his inner turmoil, “we have a deal.” 

◇ ◇ ◇

If someone had ever told you that one day you’d be sitting by Kuroo’s side to spend more than three hours sticking your noses into your Potion’s back, and actually enjoying it, you would’ve burst out laughing in their faces.

But that is exactly what you are doing right now. And no one is laughing. Definitely not you.

To be fair, Kuroo is not that bad of a tutor. He actually gets pretty into it once he calms down from his teasing high, which is quite a surprising feat considering that you have never seen him serious whenever you were around. It’s always about pricking you with his comments, saying stuff that will get under your skin just enough to get a reaction out of you. 

The first time you met up in the library, you had mentally prepared yourself so that you wouldn’t murder him halfway into the lesson. Your Hufflepuff counterparts had definitely been surprised, not just because your personalities and houses couldn’t have been more different if they tried, but because Kuroo had a reputation of a playful troublemaker, the kind that you usually stayed away from at all costs. 

“Are you sure this isn’t a trap, Y/N?” Your other close friend and classmate, Nishinoya Yu, had lifted his knife into the air with an aggressive swipe, “I can come with you and stab him if ever he does something--”

“Noya-kun I think I can stab him myself,” you reassured him through a mouthful of cereal. 

“Kuroo’s not all that bad,” Daichi had suggested tentatively, though you’d snorted in response. Yeah right, not all that bad? That was a word you could not associate with Kuroo Tetsurou. 

“If he pisses you off too much just ignore him,” Kenma had simply stated when you sought out his point of view on the matter, which seemed quite logical, a suggestion that you definitely took into consideration as you’d marched towards the library doors.

But all your efforts had been in vain. Sure, Kuroo had been his usual teasing self, ruffling your hair too many times that you could count and constantly snickering into his palm whenever you got your potions and terms all mixed up. But to your ultimate surprise, he’d been quite attentive to your needs and constantly fact-checked whether you’d understood the concept before continuing his explanation. More often times than none, you had found yourself gazing at his features as a realization settled deep into your mind; that Kuroo wasn’t all that bad looking after all, and that there was some kind of charm to his messy bed of raven hair and that smirk that seemed to infuriate you to no end. 

He’d even accompany you back to your dorm whenever you ended late albeit the fact that Slytherin and Hufflepuff weren’t that far apart. The chivalry touched you, despite it coming from the Slytherin Beater.

“Who would’ve thought the almighty Kuroo would be walking me to my door,” you comment on the first night it happens as you reach the said portrait leading to the Hufflepuff dormitory, “how surprisingly romantic of you.” 

You look up at him and your eyes can’t help but trace the span of his shoulders, taking note of his height and-- has he always been this tall? He’s a giant in comparison to your tiny figure of one hundred and sixty-three centimetres.

He merely chortles at your statement, “please, romance comes naturally to me,” he gestures his hands with extravagance to prove his point.

"Sure, big guy. If reciting off science puns at me counts as being romantic.” 

“Oi! They’re funny okay!? You laughed.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re pitiful.” 

He shoves your head to the side playfully in response and you yelp, hands flying up to fix your ponytail for the nth time that night, “stop touching my head or I might think it’s your fetish or something.” 

“Even if it was, yours would be the last I’d be attracted to.” 

You chuckle, “try harder Kuroo. Your comebacks suck.” 

“Oh shut up midget.”

“Who’re you calling a midget?!”

Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been spending a lot of time in Kuroo’s presence that he grows on you, or maybe it’s the fact that he might not be as bad as you thought he was. But it turns out to be more comfortable to spend time hanging out with him, familiar in ways and yet exciting, thrilling. He’s a jungle of adrenaline and filled to the brim with jokes that are more lame than funny, and yet there’s some kind of comfort to know that he isn’t as unapproachable as you first thought him out to be. 

True to his word, Kuroo is quite brilliant at potions, and quite brilliant at sharing his knowledge in a way that actually makes sense. His natural flair of leadership and sympathetic understanding -- minus the jokes and the incessant teasing -- makes you wonder why he hasn’t been chosen as Quidditch Captain. 

When you ask your question out loud during one of your study sessions, Kuroo only smirks, “are you complimenting me?” 

“Just answer the damn question, Kuroo.”

"Jeez, aren’t you a little aggressive for a Hufflepuff?” he peeks at you from behind his raven bangs, “or should I call you..huffie puffie?” 

You flick his forehead and he yelps, “lame,” you deadpan, “answer me.” 

"They did ask me,” he says, leaning back to stretch out his long arms while you try not to focus on the sinewy veins of his forearms, “I refused.” 

His answer surprises you, “Why?” 

“Because Oikawa wanted it. You know him right?” 

Who didn’t know of Oikawa? He’s a walking prince, struts around Hogwarts like its’ his private garden with his endless servants in tow. 

"That’s it? That’s your reason?” 

“He’s my friend. Wouldn’t be fair to him if I stole the limelight.” 

“...are you sure you’re not secretly a Hufflepuff?”

“You mean a huffie puffie?” 

He ducks just in time to avoid your slap, cackling like crazy until one of the prefects swat you with one of their books upon passing by.

“No, I assure you I’m not a huffie puffie,” his smirk mellows out into a grin before his chin comes to a rest upon his palm, “and plus, I’m not cute enough to be in that house.” 

Heat springs through your cheeks. Is that a compliment or an insult? You’re not quite sure. 

You decide to play along anyway, “yeah you’re right. You’re not cute enough.” 

That does nothing to deter him however, as he keeps gazing down at you with those molten gold pupils half-closed with tenderness, almost lazy, which makes you feel like squirming in your seat. 

“What?” you bark out as you look away, “stop staring. You’re acting like a creep.” 

Chuckling and clearly not flustered by the fact that you’ve just caught him red-handed, the raven-haired Slytherin leans even closer, relishing in the way your face turns a bright scarlet. You lean away, slightly panicked, "wh--what do you think you’re doing?!”

“Oh nothing, just...” and with movements too quick to comprehend, you feel his fingers gently brushing against a stray strand of hair previously stuck to your lip. 

“So, as I was saying before you interrupted me,” and Kuroo proceeds to drone on about the equal amount of hair needed for the polyjuice potion, not minding the fact that you are practically burning as red as a fire engine while your heart seems to be racing like you’ve just an entire lap around the Quidditch field. 

I’m tired, you chant inwardly, I’m just tired. 

There’s no way your heart can be beating for someone like Kuroo Tetsurou.

◇ ◇ ◇

Kuroo is in deep shit and he knows it.

To be fair, he wouldn’t have been if not for an annoyingly stubborn Gryffindor paired with the dry sarcasm of a particular Ravenclaw that would constantly pass him subtle remarks about the indefinite amount of time he seems to be spending with a certain Hufflepuff Seeker.

“Did you tell her yet? When are you gonna tell her?! Can we be there?! Can we--” Kuroo groans and hides his face a little deeper in his arms at the breakfast table, knowing full well that reprimanding his friend will only cause the latter to double his volume. And granted, Kuroo does not want an audience, not this morning. Especially not when he is minutes away from facing you in the Quidditch field.

And as if that’s not bad enough, Tsukishima has this obnoxious smirk on his face ever since he’s joined them at the table, eating his cereal with unreasonable gusto for someone who finds eating troublesome.

"I’m surprised you figured it out this fast,” the said blonde had stated last evening as the trio sat, huddled around a makeshift magic fire in the Boy’s Prefect Bathroom. It had become their usual hiding spot over the years. 

Kuroo had opted for sipping onto his beer as he recalled the particular moment where he’d felt like he was floating on cloud nine. It had been that very morning itself where you had just gotten back your Potions test and without an ounce of hesitation, had bounded up to the Slytherin table during lunchtime, for once not minding the fact that there were a troop of Slytherins engulfing the raven-haired man on each side.

“Kuroo!” You’d shouted with such enthusiasm that your voice was almost unrecognizable, “Kuroo!” 

But Kuroo had recognized it, turning just in time to catch your excited figure in his arms. Surprise flitted over his face at your bold move but it didn’t seem like you cared at that particular moment, practically squealing while shoving your test in his face. 

“I did it! I got a B minus! That’s the best I’ve ever done in Potions so far!” you babbled in excitement, “you should’ve seen Snape’s face!” 

“Uh--that’s great, Y/N--” good lord, his hands had slipped onto your waist, right along your hip bone and his breathing stuttered at how close you were, “g--good job.”

At this point you had probably realized your compromising position but before you could scramble out, a teasing alto rung through the air:

"Got yourself a girlfriend, Tetsurou?"

Both your heads snapped at none other than Oikawa, whose eyebrows were raised in amusement, a smirk painted over his lips. You pinked as Kuroo barked out, "shut it, Oikawa."

"S--Sorry," you moved away so quickly that coldness swooped in through Kuroo's fingers, though he wished he could pull you right back.

And that, that had been like a slap in the face. Cold reality rushing through him as his heart throbbed.

Uh oh.

"Don't be such a wimp Kuroo," Bokuto'a alto brings him back to reality and Kuroo blinks, faced with none other than his best friend's grin, "where'd your confidence go now that you actually have a chance?!"

Kuroo doesn't bother replying. It's hard enough to face you without melting in a puddle of heat, how is he supposed to confess at this rate?

As the trio make their way to the Quidditch pitch, the Slytherin Beater’s eyes easily found you amidst the swarm of Green and Mustard yellow and he raised his hand up in mock salute, heart melting slightly at the shy nod you replied him with before looking away, cheeks flushed.

So cute.

“Now now, Tetsu-chan, not the time to be flirting with your girlfriend,” he feels a hand slap him on his back a little too harshly, causing him to throw a scowl at his Captain. Oikawa merely pulls out his tongue in response, before motioning him to take his place.

He forces your face out of his mind while climbing onto his broom, momentarily closing his eyes to focus on the cheerful chants coming from the bleachers. The Quaffle is thrown into the air, followed by the whistle. 

He kicks off so quickly from the ground that he’s a mere blur of silver and emerald zipping through the air, bat at the ready while his eyes dart back and forth. Kuroo spots a Bludger heading straight for one of his chasers and quickly veering off in the same direction, he swings his bat back, lunges forward--

Thwap!

The distant ache reveberates through Kuroo’s arm, but the smirk of satisfaction is obvious on his face. He proceeds onwards, forcing himself to keep his concentration on the balls so that his thoughts aren’t invaded by your presence, by the way you smile, or the blush on your cheeks--

Focus! He shakes his head. He swears he could use a good bashing on the head. He’ll never hear the end of it with Oikawa if he doesn’t do his job right.

A yell tears through the pitch.

“Watch out!” 

Kuroo’s head whips around on instinct. He doesn’t even have time to react as he spots the Bludger flying from the other end of the pitch and heading straight towards--

You. 

No. Blood drains from Kuroo’s face. He doesn’t think, doesn’t even second-guess his movements. He pushes forward onto his broom against his protesting muscles, against the voices that shout out his name in protest as the entire pitch turns into a cacophony of horrified yells and cries to get out of the way, get out of the way before--

A sickening crunch is heard and horror strikes him straight in the chest the moment he sees your body crumble, lips parting in a silent scream. 

Kuroo’s heart shatters into a million pieces.

◇ ◇ ◇

Warm.

It’s so warm. You don’t feel like waking up. But instinct kicks in and you groan, an echo of pain jogging through every muscle in your body. It feels like you’ve just been run over by a truck and forcing your eyelids to peel open against the drowsiness, it takes a few seconds for you to register that this isn’t your room. 

Fresh laundry sheets, the sound of disinfectant in the air...This is no doubt the Hospital Wing.

You try to sit up but a muffled groan echoes through your throat when pain flares up on your right side. Jesus christ, you did really get run over by a truck. 

That’s when your gaze suddenly falls upon a mop of dark raven hair, feel the warmth of a calloused palm holding onto your free hand. 

And suddenly, you’re wide awake.

With the dark emerald cape hanging off his back and with his tousled bird’s nest of hair, it’s almost shockingly obvious that this is Kuroo. His face is currently buried in his other arm, which gives you the courage to reach out to gently rest your hand upon his head.

As if sensing your movements, the said raven-haired Slytherin lets out a soft groan of his own. Your hand instantly whips away and you watch, with a mixture of confusion and surprise, as his golden orbs blink away the sleep before they slowly come to focus. 

His breath hitches as you murmur out, “hey?” 

"Y--You’re awake?” He murmurs so low you barely make sense of his words, and before you can respond, the man has grabbed hold of your hands before bringing them to his lips, “Jesus christ, Y/N, I--I seriously thought--”

Your pulse only quickens, heart tugging with emotion when you catch sight of the wetness in Kuroo’s golden orbs. What? 

What is going on?

This Kuroo is not the one you are used to, looking like he’s unraveling at your very feet. In any normal circumstances, you would’ve definitely taken this advantage to tease him mercilessly, but that’s clearly impossible. You can’t do that to him, not when he’s gazing down at you like you’re worth a thousand paintings.

The thought makes your heart quiver in your chest. Warmth curls through your stomach.

“What...” you rasp out, “happened?”

“A bludger. Came out of nowhere. Headmaster thinks it got tweaked somehow, some stupid prank,” he is searching your eyes, reading your facial expressions like he’s worried you might drop dead any second. 

“Kuroo," you call him gently, “I’m fine.” 

And to your utmost surprise, the raven-haired Slytherin’s eyes flutter towards your hands, lips peppering a rain of kisses along your knuckles. They leave a trail of heat that causes your breath to hitch in the back of your throat, “Wha--”

“I thought I'd lost you, Y/N. Don't--" his voice chokes up, gaze running up to lock with yours, "don't ever scare me lile that. Fuck, kitten, what would I have done--"

Your own breath hitches. Your eyes grow wide.

Kuroo seems to realize the same thing, hand slapping over his mouth in shock.

"What--" you splutter out. Suddenly, all your pain is forgotten, "did you call me?"

Kuroo swallows thickly as the silence settles between you two.

Then, he breaths in slow and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, before opening them back to lock eyes with yours.

What swims in his golden feline pupils makes your breath catch.

"I like you," he murmurs, "I've liked you for a while but was too much of a coward to say it. And I guess-- seeing you so hurt scared me. I don't think I've ever been so scared before."

Your skin is basically burning at this point, a volcano of feelings bursting inside you that makes you want to crawl into a hole and hide there forever. But Kuroo's eyes, despite having the slightest tinge of blush littering his cheeks, is still latched onto your features. Unwavering, probing. Questioning.

He likes you.

He likes you.

"You mean--like? As a--"

"More than a friend," he simply says.

Your mouth opens into a small silent Oh.

You don't know what to say. What to do.

Because in truth, if you really have to be honest with yourself, your heart definitely beats for this particular Slytherin. For god knows whatever reason, he’s been on your mind and in your heart for a few weeks now. 

You wish to say something. Anything. But your throat is dry. You cough it out, swallow and slowly let out a soft breath before your orbs slowly flutter to your lap, to your hands that Kuroo has grasped so tenderly in his hold.

“The feeling--” you gulp back your pride, “the feeling is mutual, I guess.” 

You don’t have to look at Kuroo to know that there’s a huge grin that blossoms across his face and not even a second later you’re rewarded another rain of kisses upon your knuckles. Gasping slightly at his boldness, his grin mellows out into that teasing smirk you know so well, though it does bring about a few butterflies roaming through your stomach.

“Ooh, mutual now is it?” Kuroo’s smirk broadens like a cat about to go for a chase and you squirm in your bed, hating how quickly the tables have turned, “weren’t you the one blushing like an idiot just a few seconds ago?!” you splutter out as a miserable defence.

He merely cackles though, leaning in so close that you yelp, “remember about my condition for tutoring you?” 

He’s so close that your noses bump into each other. It doesn’t help your heart from running an erratic race inside your chest.

You scramble for coherence, “w--what about it?”

“I figured out what it is.” 

"What?” 

You try -- and fail -- to lean away when Kuroo’s hand slips up to cradle the side of your cheek, and your body reacts like wildfire, troops of butterflies erupting in your stomach at his tender caress.

“Let me kiss you?” Kuroo mumbles out with a hoarse alto, so hoarse it makes you shiver and your toes to curl in delight, spurred on by the words that have just left his mouth.

Gold pupils meet yours. Then, your head dips into a shy nod.

Kuroo’s mouth is warm, and soft, and pleasant. He kisses you slowly, gently, like he’s afraid you’d run away if he pressed on too quickly. You’re not used to it, but you feel like it can grow on you. The way your body relaxes into the kiss has the raven-haired man more confident. His thumb traces your cheek while he slants his head a little more to capture your bottom lips with his own, sucking slightly. 

You gasp at the sensation and he smirks -- just barely -- and proceeds to kiss you a little deeper. Deep enough, firmly enough that you can’t help the whimper that escapes you.

“Cute,” Kuroo mumbles against your lips, retracting so that you can breathe. You haven’t realised up until now, that your hands have made their way to the back of Kuroo’s cloak to tug him closer, or how the said man is literally half-sprawled across your hospital bed. 

That is, until you hear a certain voice shout out:

“Oya Oya! What do I see here?!” 

[cozycryptidcorner]

Abel the Asrai, Chapter 2 (lemon)

Tags: pegging, masturbation, dom reader/sub fae

Faebruary prompt:

To be honest, you were expecting to spend your first day on land inside a sex shop, after all, you had promised to help Abel find something he could use to find some relief. You did not, however, expect to be the expert consultant in the matter.

The little boutique is tucked away in the recesses of this island's designated red district, curious bystanders and sexually frustrated crewmen alike flocking to witness its various wares. The windows are high and open, letting a steady stream of sunlight filter through the hundreds of different phallic-shaped sculptures lining the shelves. It's the largest and most dependable store in your experience, and you plan on doing your own shopping once Abel is distracted. Or when you gather enough courage to do it in front of him.

He seems positively fascinated with all the different options, face turning a strange shade of teal as one of the clerks lets him hold the so-called Destroyer of Bussy, the damn thing as long as his forearm and as thick as a mast rope. It makes his long fingers look nothing more than a child's, swallowing up his fist and palm. You put an end to that debacle, knowing full well he needs to start out small and go up from there.

As you drag Abel away from the dragon-sized dildos, he seems to quickly forget about them in lieu of the far more decorative selections. Some of the more expensive examples are secured behind display glass, locks magicked against thieves. Cock rings embedded with pearls, handcuffs made from gold, the kind of objects that can't be used for much more than a show of opulence are snuggled in red velvet for the sake of being ogled at.

"What about this?" He asks, pointing to a maroon, glass blown object, one that's curled with bumps protruding on one side, suspiciously akin to a tentacle.

"That's a little too advanced for inexperienced hands," you suggest, "let's try to stick with a basic shape for now."

"And your hands are not advanced?" Abel asks, arching his eyebrows.

You try to brush him off, your own face heating up with embarrassment, "my hands are plenty advanced, but you can't tack this one to the wall to pleasure yourself with."

"And that's what I'll be doing?" He dares to ask. "I thought you were supposed to help me with my little problem."

"I'm helping you right now," you say, reaching over his shoulder and pulling down a rubber dildo. It's not the same size as the positively enormous Orc Cock Delight (trademark pending), far from it, but given Abel's slim frame and inexperience, it would be a decent start. "Here, this one's probably best."

As though inspecting its shape and sculpture like an art authenticator, he takes it from your fingers and holds it in his palm. Then, to check for its plasticity, he flicks his wrist, watching it wiggle with the movement, lips pursed, eyes narrowed. "Well," he remarks at last, "I trust your judgement on the matter."

"We can get the tentacle one too, if you like," you offer, "these are your wages you're spending."

Abel has also only recently been made aware of how money actually works when you're not some pampered prince living up in a tower. After some… hazing, you think, from the rest of the crew about some misconceptions of how one can't just go to the bank and withdraw a large deposit, he's a lot more thoughtful about what he says. And definitely more frugal, too.

You see his lips purse with frustration as he has to mentally tally what he has versus what he wants to spend, but you see a breakthrough moment where he relents. "Alright," he says almost sullenly, cradling his dildo like it's an infant, "this one will do for now."

"Good," you say, glancing over the selection of glass sculptures yourself to see if anything catches your eye, but you're mostly happy with what you already have. "Now we need to get you some lube."

"What for?" He asks, following close behind as you slowly make your way to the other side of the store.

"Trust me, you can't just shove something up a hole without a bit of lubricant. Ever had carpet burn before?"

By the way his face twitches, the answer's yes.

"Same concept, but inside your body." Glass vials decorate the shelves, some small, some large, each advertising a different benefit for its use. There are various massage oils, lube, and other select liquids that claim to aid with libido and arousal… Mouth pursed, you run your fingers over the labels, trying to decide which one you'd like to use on yourself as well. "This one says it's coconut and rum flavored."

"Why is it flavored?" Abel is also looking over the bottles, brow furrowed in thought.

"Sometimes your mouth goes where the lube is, and tasting honey lemon is more palatable to some." How does one get the taste of champagne in lube, you wonder, trying to figure out if you even need something infused with flavoring.

As though reading your mind, Abel asks, "which one would you prefer?"

Oh, fuck him, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Why?" You ask, testily. "Do you think I'm going to be licking it off your poor little cock?"

Abel sucks his breath in, but you see that the barb did none of the damage you wanted it to. Instead, he seems…. Excited? Aroused? "Only if you want to."

Everything inside of you ignites, but you tamper it down. Sucking your breath in to ground yourself, you gesture vaguely in his crotch direction, "wouldn't be that great for you if you can't even cum from it."

"The long row of chastity belts seem to disagree." He points to the shop's opposite side, furthest from the windows, multiple mannequins showing off the various different styles available for purchase. "Might as well see what the appeal is since I'm stuck with one."

You don't want to admit he's making sense here… but he is. Wordlessly, maintaining eye contact, you aim your finger, watching him grasp the bottle without being told twice.

"You know," you say, walking leisurely over to the apparel section of the shop, "there's a lot of flack that comes from being the captain's special whore."

"Is that what your crew thinks of me?" He asks, running his fingers over a leather whip.

"You're not particularly subtle about it."

"Only because you weren't paying attention to my advances."

"Only because I didn't want you to think I only brought you aboard for the pleasure of wrecking your virgin ass."

He snickers but doesn't say anything in response, now looking over the different options to hook his dildo onto. Though, since it's really your decision, you begin poking around the mannequins yourself. Even though you wouldn't necessarily want something with all the bells and whistles, maybe one that's colored to set off your eyes? Some of the leather ones have been stained with various hues and tones.

"I just want you to know that I do already have a strap," you say, picking a new one out, "it's just not on my ship."

"So you're telling me," Abel says, almost completely serious save for that slight twitch on his mouth, "that you don't fuck every single damsel in distress you come across?"

You sigh loudly, heading towards the front of the store to purchase your tiny collection of pleasure toys. "Not all of them, just the ones that ask me so nicely."

Abel hums, and you sense a trace of jealousy aimed towards your previous bedmates, but he doesn't say anything more. Once the both of you complete your purchases, hiding them in your respective satchels, you hop down the steps out of the shop. It's just the afternoon, with plenty of time left in the day, but you know that Abel is quite literally aching to try out his new toys, so you let him drag you back to the docks.

"Where are we going?" He asks in protest as you take him down to the lower decks instead of your private room.

"Do you have any idea how many people probably ran their hands over that thing before we bought it?" You're relieved to see that no one's occupying the kitchen, especially since the cook isn't a fan of people using the giant kettles to do what you're about to.

There's a barrel of water already sitting to the side, mostly for washing dishes and scrubbing the floor. You find a clean pot and fill it halfway full of the seawater, setting it on the still lit wood stove to boil. With little ceremony, you rummage through his satchel, pulling out the dildo, and plop it into the water to boil.

In the meantime, Abel seems to struggle over what he should be doing with his hands. Nervously, he folds and unfolds his fingers, weaving them together and pulling them apart, only occasionally looking you in the eye.

"Are you okay?" You ask, and he jumps.

"Y-es," he mumbles, "just excited."

"We don't have to do this today if you're-"

"I am literally begging you," he interrupts, face blushing, "to help me now. Please."

Steam begins to curl up from the pot. You nod, poking at the rubber cock with a stick, as though that will somehow speed the process. "Just a few more moments, Abel."

Once the thing is done sanitizing, and in the safety of your cabin, the door firmly locked, you can hear his breath quickening as you pull out the different objects to start experimenting with. Slowly, you pull at the front of your leather fest, loosening the laces until it's wide enough to pull off. Your nipples rise, not from cold, but from arousal, hard at the promise of shoving that false cock up his ass.

"Abel," you direct, calmly, "you need to take off your clothes."

He obeys without question, pulling his shirt up over his head and throwing it on your chair. His body has filled out slightly with muscle, no longer a wiry frame of skin and bones, but he's still not nearly as stocky as you or the rest of your crew. Anyone on this ship could lift him over their head and toss him across the deck like he weighs nothing.

Already, he's so excited that he's erect, though the head of his cock is swollen with unspelt arousal and pleasure.

"Did you ever touch yourself after the spell?" You ask, coming up close, resting your hands on his bare hips.

"Yes," he whispers, eyes almost ashamed.

"It's alright," you rub your thumbs in soothing circles right over the bump of his bone, "I'm just wondering how this works." Pause, let him think. "Did you ever um… leak precum at all?"

He blinks. "I don't understand."

You try to rephrase the question. "When you touch yourself, sometimes before you finish, a clear liquid will come out. Did that ever happen, or no?"

"No, nothing comes out." His voice is slightly raspy, you aren't sure if it's from embarrassment. "I've always had to use lotion or oils, and it would feel good for a little while. Then it would just hurt."

"And you would have to wait until it went away," you nod, as though this isn't the first time you've dealt with such a stupid, controlling and abusive curse. "But the wording is going to be our friend, here, and many males cum when being penetrated without the use of hands."

"Thank you." There's an awful lot of hope in his eyes, so you bite your lip and pray to whatever god that might hear for your success.

"Help me out of my clothes." You gloss over his adoration, feeling a tightness in your stomach.

He gets on his knees, watching you for any twitch of approval you might give, and begins to unclasp the straps on your boots—one by one. When you step out of them, you don't even have to tell him where to go next, because he's lifting your shirt up and kissing your stomach as he works your belt. Carefully, he undoes the buckle, sliding it out and opening up your waistline.

Down go your pants, then undergarments, and you take the initiative to remove your shirt yourself. Now you're also naked, standing before Abel, just two bodies open for mutual exploration. His breath quivers as you reach up and brush some hair away from his face, dragging your fingers down to cup the side of his face. Slowly, as though you both have all the time in your little shared infinity, you press your lips up against his.

This isn't the first time you've kissed. The first time was after a particularly brutal sword fight that you had managed to win with only a few scratches, Abel practically jumped on you once you had kicked your opponent overboard. That one was quick, numb with relief and over faster than it started. Now there's time, locked away from the prying eyes of your crew.

Abel has kissed before, that you can tell by the way his lips move and adjust to where you lead them. You wonder if he had done it in some hidden nook somewhere in the palace he grew up in, under cover of darkness, all hormones and drive without the promise of relief. The practice has paid off, you decide, leading him back to your bed, gently setting him down, legs spread.

"Alright," you breathe, "show me where you touch yourself."

His face is dark and blue, mouth half-open, his tongue swiping over his lips. You get the bottle of lube out, pouring some onto the palm of your hand as he slowly begins to trace the outline of his cock. Propping one of your knees up on the bed, with an arm wrapped around his shoulder, you begin to mimic his movement, rubbing the lube up the shaft and over the head. Abel winces and whimpers at how cool it is.

For encouragement, you press your mouth onto his neck, gently nipping at the skin. "You're doing so good right now, baby, it's okay."

Slowly, you cover the entirety of his cock in the lube, pumping your wrist and watching it throb and pulse between your fingers. Abel was right, nothing seems to bead out from the slit at the top, his stones even quicker to puff up and become swollen. As he arches his back, leaning towards the mattress, his hips quake and shake, but where you might expect a ribbon of white to burst out of the head, nothing happens.

You suck in your breath sympathetically rubbing the tip with your thumb to see if you can't tease anything out, but whatever cursed him is concrete and binding. When you retract your hand, he almost whines, face bright with blood, tears threatening his eyes, lower lip swollen from his teeth biting down. At this point, you think, impotence would have been the kinder option because the brief sensation of pleasure would quickly be overruled by the misery of being unable to actually spill.

"Good boy," you whisper as he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, "that must have hurt, but you're so strong for me."

He lets out a little whimper, one you swallow away with a kiss. Slowly, he lays back against your blankets, letting you straddle his waist as you nip his lips far gentler than you usually would.

"There are two ways I can take you," you say, your tits pressed up against his chest, "like this, with your legs spread out, or from behind, while you're on your hands and knees. Since this is your first time, you may pick."

He squirms beneath you, his cock painfully hard and delightfully present against your stomach. As you drum your fingers right by his ears, you can see the gears running circles in his head, carefully weighing the pros and cons of each position while so aroused his entire pelvis must feel like it's being crushed.

"Whatever you don't choose, we can do next time," you offer, hoping that might motivate him to choose a bit better.

"I-" his face becomes more flushed than it already is, "I just want to look in your eyes."

Oh, he’s sweet, the little fucker. If he keeps this kind of syrupy attitude, you might just end up falling in love.

You slide back off the bed, planting yourself firmly between his legs. "Like this?"

"Yes… please." He adds the last bit like an afterthought, but he's learning at least.

"Good boy," you purr, gently rubbing his thigh. "I'll put on the strap."

He watches you like you're a prized prostitute putting on a strip show for the ages, irises locked on your hands as you begin to pull at the various buckles and buttons. Carefully, you loop his choice dildo through the metallic ring centered right in front of your pelvis, tightening the straps to secure it in place. Once you're satisfied it won't fly off once you start thrusting, you grab the bottle of lube and bring it over to where Abel lies.

Pouring some out into your hand, you warn, "this is going to feel a bit strange at first. Since you're not used to it, I will move slowly, but you need to tell me if it hurts."

He nods sharply, his breath quickening as you start massaging his ass with the lube. You're careful here, wondering if it might be easier on him if his legs were restrained, one hand firmly on a thigh while the other experimentally prods at his hole.

"You're doing so well," you tell him, pushing your thumb up into his asshole while he whimpers. "You're going to take this cock so good, Abel, it's going to slide right in."

After adding a touch more of lube, you push your index and middle finger in together, making a gradual scissoring motion to stretch him out further. His breath quickens, his hands clawing at your blankets, but he doesn't say anything beyond a soft, wordless moan. Satisfied with how his body seems to be adapting to the intrusion, you add a third finger, and begin to pump in and out in a sort of thrusting motion.

"How does that feel?" You ask, watching the way his cock twitches and shudders.

"Good," he manages to choke, his eyes begging you for more.

"I think you're ready," you nod, taking the bottle of lube from the bed and tantalizingly rubbing it onto your fake cock. "Are you? Do you want me to start thrusting into you, baby?"

"Yes, please," his breathing accelerates, his face wild and pained.

You stretch his ass out, careful with the head of the dildo as you slowly push it in. Just to make it easier on him, you pull his knees up, spreading his legs out further and holding them steady while he quivers. Then, inch by inch, you keep moving forward until you've buried it to the hilt, your hips brushing up against his innermost thigh. You stay like that for a moment, allowing him to get used to the object's size and intrusion, petting his thighs right where your hands rest to offer some comfort.

"Does it hurt much?" You ask soothingly.

"Just a bit," he murmurs, wiggling a little as though trying to get comfortable, "not as much as I thought it might."

"Good," you bump your hips a bit, just so he knows what you're about to do. Still moving without a bit of urgency, you move back, pushing your hips away, watching his face as the pain transitions away into pleasure. Then, repeating the previous movement, you thrust forward, a bit quicker this time.

"Fuck," he curses, "that feels… that feels nice."

At that behest, you pick up the pace slightly, still going significantly slower than usual, but still maintaining a structured speed. "You like it, baby?"

"Yes," he breathes, "I like it."

"Good," you keep going, watching his body struggle to stay still as you begin to up the speed of your thrusts.

He raises his hands to his mouth, biting down, so he doesn't cry out. You feel his thighs spasm and shake beneath your fingers, his body rolling up against yours as though silently begging for more. His eyes are shut tight, brow furrowed, a strange expression twitching at his face like he's experiencing a sensation that he doesn't know is positive or negative.

"I think," he gasps, his hips thrusting in their own accord, "I- It's-"

A thick, white spray of liquid shoots out of his cock, flying high and landing on his stomach. It doesn't stop there, though, seemingly a lifetime's worth of unspelt cum trying to escape while it can, a thick, hot layer erupting out and dripping down on his waist in tandem to your thrusts. You don't stop, either, especially not when he cries out, holding his legs firmly in place as he squirms and sobs with pleasure. Only once his cock falls limp do you stop, pulling the dildo out, and a river of lube drips down his ass.

He's shaking, as though experiencing some kind of awakening. As he props himself up on his elbows, he looks down, noticing the ribbons of cum that have accumulated on his chest and pelvis, then at you. After he sees some on his hand, he licks it, not to be coy, not to be sexy, but with the general curiosity of someone who has never tasted cum in his life.

"It's salty," he says, blankly, voice void of either dashed or met expectations. Like he legitimately has no idea what he's supposed to think.

And then he begins to cry.

You're so shocked by the action that you just stand there, dildo still in hand, as tears fall out of his eyes and dribble down his cheeks. Then you snap into action, wiping your sticky fingers on an available towel before threading them through his hair, pulling him close in an embrace, ignoring the cum that's now on your skin. His face is wet against your chest, his arms wrapping around your torso in a tightening hug, chest shuddering.

"You did so well," you say soothingly, petting his hair as he tries to get himself under control, "I'm so proud of you, Abel, you really did so wonderfully for your first time. You can cry if you need to, I know this was probably very difficult."

Before you know it, you're laying down with him, his body pressed up against every single curve and crevice of yours. His face is up against your chest, arms around your waist, and you hold his head in the crook of your elbow. While his chest shudders and shakes, you whisper and murmur a myriad of encouragement and praise, but you think that's only adding fuel to his emotional fire.

So you let him process his state of mind, remaining present throughout so he has someone to lean on. After a while, he quiets down, but he makes no motion to either sit up or start round two. To be entirely honest, both of you are probably done for the day, especially with how he's handling it, but you can't walk around with stale cum on your body. Once his breathing evens out, you untangle your limbs from him, waking him up from a shivering nap.

"Hey," you say softly, poking at him, "we need to clean off."

"R-right," he sniffs, rubbing his eyes, "I-I'm sorry, that was-"

"Don't apologize," you say, almost sharply, "that must have felt very intense, and you have a right to express your emotions."

He kisses you, slowly, lazily, and you cradle his face in your hands.

"We only need to wipe off a portion of this gunk," you say, unbuckling the strap from your waist, "I think that tonight we can spend some extra money and time in a bathhouse."

"What do you mean?" He asks, glancing down at the mess he spilt on his skin.

"There's this absolutely incredible bathhouse up the mountain, right where a hot spring is. The water is supposed to be three times as effective for cleaning and rejuvenating your skin or whatever, I think you deserve a little extra pampering tonight."

"Really?" He looks like he's about to cry again.

"Come on," you pull him up until he's sitting, "let's first get marginally cleaner, so it doesn't look like we've participated in a street-side orgy."

As he pours a bit of powdery soap in your tub of scrubbing water, you begin to unbraid his hair, brush in hand, running your fingers through his green tangles to smooth out the evidence of sex. He sponges his chest and torso clean, using smelling oils to hide the scent of cum as you begin to twist and knot his hair again.

"You handled this size very well for the most part," you say, using a pick to sharply part a section of his hair away, "I think that you might be ready to upgrade in a few months, we could get that little glass one that you wanted so bad."

"I would like that," he rasps, face just as flushed as when you bottomed out inside him.

Once you clean yourself off, you dress and leave, Abel in tow. The bathhouse is a large building, overtaking a fair amount of the presumably dead volcano that overlooks the bay. You've been there before, most of your crew has, but it's the sort of place that's so far from the docks that it's a hassle to get to. By the time you're up the cliffs, Abel is panting like he's never walked this far before.

You pay the teller, not bothering to make Abel take care of his own entrance fee. A wave of wet, sticky heat hits your face when you walk into the large marble atrium, the steam from the hot springs thick in the enclosed area. There's a convenient marble map on the wall, the building's outline labeled with thick letters.

"Where do you want to go first?" You ask, mentally wondering how they make the currents for the so-called wonderous whirlpool.

He points to one of the private pools, the side of his mouth twitching up.

"Those costs-"

"I can pay," he says, patting his satchel.

Okay, he wants to play games, you can get on that level. So you shrug, and follow him down the hallway, down the stairs to the long row of private rooms. After paying the attendant down there, you pick out a random section and close the wooden door behind you for some much-needed privacy.

Abel is already stripping bare, throwing himself in the water once naked. A window lets a small amount of light through its wooden blinds, only bright enough to see his outline. Once you're also undressed, you slip into the water, sighing with relief at both the heat and the scent of the oils. You settle on a curved section, probably explicitly built for laying on, and slowly begin to scrub at your skin with a bar of pumice you brought.

Oh, and Abel seems to be enjoying himself a lot, floating on his back, face staring up at the ceiling. He looks like he's in a faraway place, mouth in a soft, genuinely content smile. You let him be in his own little world for as long as he needs to be, satisfied with cleaning the last remaining hints of sex off your body while waiting for him to come back to you.

"You know," he says finally, rising out from the water and coming close, "despite everything else, I was very spoiled as a prince."

"No," you deadpan, "really?"

"Yeah- wait," he sniffs out your sarcasm much better now, "I mean, yes, it's probably undeniably obvious."

"Supremely so," you say, remembering how another captain asked you if you were holding Abel hostage because he was too goddamn refined compared to the rest of your crew.

"I was always told that I wasn't in a place to complain," he angles your body so he can play with your hair, "and I suppose in some aspects, that was true, but now I know that everything that happened beneath that roof, golden gilded or no, was… not healthy."

"No, Abel, I can't say that it was anything remotely so." Every time you hear about some aspect of his childhood, you're filled to the brim with murderous rage on his behalf.

"But at least now I can say that after living in the quote real world, I most definitely prefer this to that." You feel his fingers twist your hair into braids. "For example, your crew doesn't follow your commands because they're afraid of what will happen if they don't, they follow your commands because you've proven to them that you're a trustworthy and capable leader."

You open your mouth, but he interrupts you.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, either. I saw you dive after a freed slave in open water because she couldn't swim. That's not luck, that's courage, and those are the kinds of actions that your people take to heart."

"I guess," you don't like accepting heartfelt compliments, especially when you think you don't deserve them.

"Which is why," he finishes, pulling you closer, "I trusted you enough to ask you for help."

"And are you satisfied with the help I provided?" You ask, remembering how much cum he had spilt from that one single session.

"Oh, yes," he purrs, seemingly completely recovered from his near mental breakdown. "I'd give you a five-star review, but I don't think I like to share."

"Really? I garner that well of a reputation?" You ask, watching his hand slide between your legs.

"I want to thank you," he says, mouth on your ear, "but I need you to show me how. Teach me where to touch you?"

You suck in a lungful of steam, watching his long, elegant fingers slowly draw little circles on your thighs. "You're going to be walking all the way back with an erection."

"But you would like that," he accuses, entirely correct, "watching me walk back while so fucking hard I may start crying."

You believe you will, realizing that the idea of him trying to keep his fucking shit together while out in public does has some kind of appeal. So you remove yourself from his lap, hauling your body up onto the cool marble floor. Trying to seem enticing, you spread your legs for him, bringing your fingers down to offer up a clearer view of your entrance and clit. Breathing harder, you say, "Remember when we kissed?"

He nods solemnly.

"Similar concept, but here. Use your tongue and mouth."

With reverence, he places a hand on both your thighs, sinking down to his knees. Of all the things you've noticed about him, one of his better qualities is how he's such a fast learner. He kisses your lips as instructed, eyes flickering up to make sure you approve of his actions. When you nod encouragingly, he continues, opening his mouth to start licking at your pussy.

You lean back, pushing your weight onto your hands, lifting up a leg and placing it on his shoulder. "That's good Abel, just like that."

He presses his face further into your slick skin, kissing and sucking on the dark puckered flesh. While his tongue is only slightly rougher than you would have expected, it's not… painfully so, no, it's more like an added texture you didn't know would feel good. Up and down, he licks, capturing a bit of your opening between his teeth and gently pulling, if only to see your reaction.

To help him a little more, you push two of your fingers between your legs, finding your clit. "Here, Abel, lick me here, baby."

The obedient little thing, he does, finding it with ease now that you've directed him. He kisses it with reference, like it's a thing to be worshipped, taking your clit between his lips and sucking. When you hiss with pleasure, his eyes turn elated, like the two of you just shared an intimate secret, and he does it again.

"Fuck, Abel," you gasp, trying to find words of encouragement, "you lick my pussy so good, baby, it's like you were made for me."

"Does that make me your little whore?" He asks, voice thick with arousal.

"That makes you my special little whore," you correct, tucking a flyaway hair behind his ear.

He smiles lazily, pressing his mouth back between your legs, returning to work with more enthusiasm than before, flicking his tongue against your clit. Then, as though mimicking how you had opened him up earlier, he slowly presses a thumb through your slit, rubbing your inner, slick ridges. Fuck, he's a clever little bastard, and by the way you buck in his mouth, he's going to know it, too.

The pressure in your stomach grows, a wave of warm arousal dripping out of your core. Abel licks it all up like a seasoned prostitute, pulling you closer to the edge so gravity shifts your body down. He presses up, mouth and nose grinding up against your clit, now, adding far more pressure than before. You swallow thickly, trying to find the words to praise him, but thoughts start escaping your mind, replaced by pleasure.

"Good," you manage to croak out, "that feels good."

You can feel the smugness emanating off of him from making you speechless, his boldness only growing as you further spiral. As your hips start jerking, your thighs shaking, he continues to eat your pussy like he's a starving animal, the sounds from his open-mouthed sucking driving you positively mad.

It doesn't hit you all at once; instead, your orgasm comes in waves, each more volatile and pleasurable than the last. Abel must have sensed its arrival, locking his arms around your hips to hold you in place as you buck into his mouth. Nor does he deem you worthy of mercy, either, showing you every amount of vigor and determination you offered him barely hours before.

When you've ground it out, only plagued by a few aftershocks, he pulls away, a long trail of saliva and cum connecting his mouth to your core. And he smiles, he smiles, heaving for breath, lips flushed and swollen.

Slowly, you slide back into the water, legs weak and still shaking, right onto his lap. True to your prediction, he's hard, cock upright in the water, but he doesn't seem too bothered as you straddle his waist. You kiss him, taking things nice and slow, tasting the scented oils and sulfuric water along with your pleasure on his tongue.

"Did I do good?" He asks, digging for more praise.

But you give it to him, he deserves it after this kind of day. "Yes, Abel, you ate my pussy like a fucking slut."

His breathing quickens in excitement.

"I don't think the whores down in the red district could eat me out like that, and you did it on your first try." You pet the side of his face, running your fingertips over his pointed ears. "My clever, sweet little prince."

He nuzzles his face between your breast as you play with one of his braids.

"I think I'm going to keep you," you muse aloud, "would you like that? Would you like to be my bedmate from now on?"

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. "Yes."

"Good," you whisper, tracing the path of his spine, "I think I can buy you that glass dildo, after all."

[matthewbeilschmidts]

It’s been a long while since I’ve posted but I’m so glad that I am :’)

This is for Day 1: of @prucanweek - Ordinary

Apologies for spelling errors, it’s a little short but I hope you enjoy 😭💞

-

Matthew doesn’t mind that he’s living an ordinary life. Really.

He grows up near the coast, two parents, a fraternal twin brother, and their gangly hairless cat, Tony (picked curtesy of Alfred). Their parents take them everywhere they can during their childhood, the beach, museums, sports game. They focus on their interests, figuring out what the two like and dislike, as they encourage them both to be themselves and do what they love no matter what. Alfred debates between whether he likes wrestling or football more, while Matthew settles into hockey. In between family get togethers, community festivals, and endless sports training, they somehow have time for homework. (The two share answers a lot.)

He and Alfred each have their own rooms when they enter their teen years, a space to decorate and fill with their own mementos and awards. The sports continue, but later their parents find themselves a little bit busier than before. They do though, give them as much time as they can during the school year, never wanting them to go without someone by their side.

Matthew fades into the background a little bit as they get older, while Alfred puts himself front and center. Matthew watches once with a hand over his eyes as Alfred auditions for the school musical, and surprisingly he read and sings the lines well. “It’s always the rowdy ones!” their theater teachers says after he’s finished performing, a mix of anticipation from planning on putting Alfred on stage and dread at the thought of having to manage him.

Matthew silently supports him, after all he has his own things to do.

He’s the co-caption of the hockey team, the coach giving him the position to give him a little more of a voice, and his teammates verbally agree, considering on the ice Matthew has a lot more to show than he does in person. He accepts, albeit hesitantly.

By the time graduation comes by, Matthew can barely believe how the time has passed. His team even wins a championship under his watch. Some of his fellow classmates look so ready to go out and experience the world, and it’s scary to him because weren’t they all going at the same pace?

His parents talk him through picking his college of choice, and he decides to go. He needs to do what everyone does and experience the world.

And if he decides he wants to come home, that’s okay because at least he tries.

-

He’s in his first art class during his third year at university. The time has been going well, he’s got pretty decent grades and has managed to join a few clubs. But he’s not done yet. Extra curriculars, can’t finish without them. He prioritizes his general education first, and even slips himself into a few major classes early on, but humanities is on record now and has to be completed no matter what one’s studying.

He can get through one semester, he hopes.

Next to him, a student is snickering and the professor doesn’t look amused.

“Gilbert.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you’re done, I can introduce myself now.”

The professor goes in with complete, in-depth introductory slides with her name and credentials, and a briefing of all they will overcome this semester.

He’s never been an artist, at least not one that picks up a pencil and creates a realistic masterpiece with nothing but that and a pad of paper. Maybe some poetry contests in high school, if that counts. The written word has its own impact, its own set of colors to breathe out for the world to see.

There’s another snicker, interrupting his internal monologue.

He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know the student, and it’s not his place to control others. But, if it starts to hinder the class, maybe he’ll tell him something. He’s paying to be there, too.

The man catches him staring.

“Yes?” he asks Matthew without being spoken to in the first place.

“Oh,” Matthew flushes at being caught, not that he was trying to hide it anyway. “Well, she didn’t say anything funny?”

The guys waves a hand, making a “psssh” noise as he does.

“I’m just laughing because of how formal this all is. She won’t be this dignified later in the semester that’s for sure. She’ll be ripping her hair out.”

Matthew glances back, he doesn’t want to say anyone looks mean but, he would believe it if she was.

“You look scared,” the guy laughs, which is rude because isn’t he the one that just put the thought in Matthew’s mind? “She’s not too mean just a sticker to the rules. Will get real pissy if something doesn’t go right.”

“And you still set her off knowing that?”

The man laughs again, but this time around he’s actually trying to contain it behind the thin art easel. He’s not very hidden.

“She’s my cousin’s wife.”

Ah, that makes sense then? Messing with family is normal, but also he shouldn’t be bothering her at work.

“It’s no wonder you seemed casual.”

“She taught both of the lower division figure drawing classes, too. This is my third semester in her class. She’s the only one teaching this specific class I didn’t have too much of a choice.”

“Art major?”

“Yep! And you?”

“Psychology major. I have to get in some cultural classes.”

“Ever taken art?”

“Actually no, not even in high school. I got through that stuff by working backstage in the theater department.”

“Well not to worry my friend, because you picked the best one.”

“Is it easy to pass?”

“Nope. Well, maybe if she likes your work,” Matthew deflates at the blunt response, “but don’t worry because I’m here to be your guide.”

Matthew perks up, but it takes him a moment. This guy’s gonna help him?

“Are you any good?”

“Am I good?” He looks perplexed Matthew would even ask. Matthew has to cover his own amusement. “I may not look it but charcoal and I go way back. I’ll show you my work later as proof.”

“Deal.”

“Gilbert, since you’re adamant on talking, you can be the first to introduce yourself.”

Even if his name wasn’t said, Matthew feels just as guilty. Caught, for talking on the first day of all things.

“Gilbert Beilshcmidt. Fourth year. I’m an art major and my favorite breakfast food is pancakes.”

Matthew looks surprised that he was paying attention, even to the last addition of their introduction. Matthew’s not sure he would have known considering he was distracted.

-

And so their friendship starts.

-

Gilbert sits next to him again. And again.

Where ever Matthew sits in the art room, Gilbert follows not too long after.

Some days they take the sitting desks, some they stand and lean against the stools.

And despite not even talking much, Gilbert treats him like a friend.

-

“Do you have any plans this afternoon?”

“Nope, this was my last class.”

“Do you want to get some coffee and work on our sketch books.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

-

Matthew finds himself meeting Gilbert in his downtime. Every Thursday after drawing for three hours becomes the day they meet. At first, all they do is draw, little more.

Gilbert is animated in all moments, but he has short spurts where he focuses exceptionally on his work. Matthew is no art critic, but he thinks Gilbert expresses himself quite well on paper. Graphite, charcoal, and pastels, all the utensils glide easily without a single stroke missing its mark.

Watercolor though, could use some work, which actually happens to be Matthew’s favorite. Even if the intention is to guide the colors with a brush, it’s okay for them to take a life of their own spreading across the thick paper.

They share snacks, art supplies, and their time.

Gilbert proves himself very useful as he promised. Matthew though never planning to be the next Van Gogh, has to pass this class. And it would be nice to pass it with flying colors, but some concepts are harder to grasp than others.

It’s obvious to tell he’s a beginner, while Gilbert excels. Matthew finds out he only now needs the intro class since it’s the first semester it became a requirement.

Gilbert helps him find the shapes he’s comfortable with, explains the processing for hatching and how it relates to shading. And while he’s no expert, he sees a subtle improvement over the next few weeks that makes some pride swell within himself.

-

“Do you want to come with me and my friends to this cool bar for dinner on Friday?” Gilbert asks about a month into the semester.

It’s the first time Gilbert and him will have spent time off campus.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

-

Gilbert’s friends are just as animated as he, it’s almost hard to keep up. Overwhelming as they are, they’re extremely welcoming. Matthew eases into the atmosphere, joining in when he can but mostly pleased to be out and doing something different.

He’s made friends during his time, but like him they’re a little more reserved and pick quieter places on the town.

It’s fun. And he wants to go out again.

Matthew invites Gilbert and his friends to watch his next hockey game.

After their shock in finding out he plays such a violent sport, they’re all agreeing and planning to find the best seats in the arena.

-

“Are you serious. Are you hiding muscles under that red sweater?”

Gilbert pokes at him, it tickles when he gets closer to his biceps, but he knows he’s only teasing.

“You think I’m playing but I’m serious! You should have been there, well you were there. On the stands, I mean. We all screamed after you sent that player flying against the wall.”

Gilbert recreates the motions, but only slams himself into the wall and whines after he bounces back. He then plays it off like it doesn’t hurt. Gilbert’s not a very good actor.

People tell him it’s so much different watching him on the ice, but it’s still him. He’s always wondered how much different, he feels like himself. He just knows he goes into the zone when he’s in his gear. He just wants to win. And he will.

“It’s like night day,” Gilbert continues. “You were ready to kill a man down there.”

“You’re not the first to say that. I guess maybe, I could be a little more out there in real life, huh?”

Gilbert stops walking.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“You’re perfectly fine the way you are. I like the way you are, so don’t go change. I don’t want to be at risk of dying during art class.”

And as silly as it sounds, he’s pleased. He likes Gilbert a whole lot, too. Just the way he is.

-

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” Matthew takes the initiative.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, just you and me. I want to take you out.”

“Like you did to that guy on the court,” Gilbert laughs nervously.

“On a date. Gilbert, would you like go out with me?”

He says yes.

Later that evening when he’s heading home, Gilbert starts running through the courtyard cheering that “I have a date with the cutest guy I’ve ever met!”

Matthew’s window is open, he’s face is bright red and he slams head first into his pillow. He needs to plan the best first date ever.

-

Three months into dating, he’s finally heading home again for a school break. He wants to take Gilbert with him, who is waiting for the next major holiday to go back home. But isn’t it too soon? They haven’t been dating that long, after all.

But Gilbert surprises him, and jokingly says he wants to go with him because he’ll miss him too much while he’s gone. And then, Matthew asks if he seriously wants to go.

“I do.”

So they ride the 3 hours train down to Matthew’s childhood home. He’s a little bit nervous, because he’s had dates to school dances, and brought friends over, but this is entirely different. This is someone he wants to take a serious step with, even if the time hasn’t been that long. They’ll never get anywhere if they don’t, so they’ll both take the leap and pray it works out.

“Mom, dad, Alfred, this is Gilbert.”

It’s the most timid Matthew’s ever seen him.

“Nice to meet ya, I’m Matthew’s boyfriend.”

After he shakes all their hands, he takes his hand back to link pinkies with Matthew.

There’s not an once of regret in his mind as the long weekend passes.

-

Gilbert graduates the next year, and the year after it’s his turn. They’re going to move in with each other. Gilbert really has no irresistible urge to go back to his home town, satisfied with just visiting a few times a year. And Matthew thinks he would like to go back closer, just to figure out his next move. So, they go together.

It’s only a one bedroom, but is more than enough space for them both. Gilbert finds work as a docent while Matthew works for a second degree in education.

He still plays hockey for a local league, Gilbert becoming their number one fan. They find their own rhythm, a pace that works for them both, where they can settle down or speed up when they agree with each other. Dewey mornings, warm summers, chilly evenings they spend them altogether.

They decide move up North closer to Gilbert’s hometown. Matthew’s more nervous meeting his grandparents than he was introducing Gilbert to his own family, but Gilbert assures him again and again they’re just a stuffy old family who actually really care about each other a lot more than they let off.

Gilbert’s grandfather towers over him, despite being a hair above 6 feet. He’s silent, eyes boring into Matthew as he introduces himself. And to end all of Matthew’s worries, the elder man pulls Matthew into a hug and tells him he’s glad him and Gilbert are home. Gilbert, just as perplexed as he, stares, but he melts into a pleased laugh.

Yeah, this is his and Gilbert’s home now.

-

They stay, for a long while, contemplate moving a few times, but they’re satisfied for now.

Gilbert and him always make time for each other, continue their own respective interests with complete support of the other. They’re never afraid to complain, because they always work through it rather then let it simmer.

Gilbert’s vivacious spirit keep them going, and Matthew’s heart keeps them grounded.

His life at first seem a little bit ordinary, but how can he complain when the pieces of the puzzle fit themselves in and stayed locked in tight.

[tchallasbabymama]

All For Us Chapter 9

Hey y’all, thanks for being patient with me on this one, but it’s finally done! Not to be the bearer of bad news or anything, but there’s only one chapter left (and maybe an epilogue) on our journey with Mira, Erik, and Cupcake. If you’re just here for Killmonger, I have a couple Erik oneshots heading y’all’s way in the next few weeks. Also, check out The Temple. 😉

As always, don’t forget to look at my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots, and let me know if you want to be tagged in anything. Like, comment, and reblog away! 🥰

CW: a little smut

Word Count: 6,481

Erik’s eyes flew open as he bolted upright through the sand that covered his body in his temporary grave. He was in the heart of the temple where the Black Panther ceremony took place, the City of the Dead. The lost prince pulled himself from the sand and brushed the clay-colored sediment from around his eyes as he climbed the stone staircase leading up into the garden of the heart-shaped herb. When he made it to the top, Erik took a deep breath before stepping into the garden. To his surprise, nothing caught on fire like in his previous dreams. His shoulders relaxed as he took another step into the garden, and another, and another until he was face to face with Bast’s statue. A smile took over his face as he knelt at her feet.

“Took you long enough, Jaguar.”

Erik lifted his head, and her celestial glow nearly blinded him as he laid his eyes on the panther goddess once more.

“Long enough for what?”

“For your senses to come back, obviously.” Bast circled him and laid down, licking her paw. “Pretty soon, you won’t have to be asleep to talk to me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Oh, I had nothing to do with it.”

Erik turned to face her and sat back on his heels.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I never took them away. You did.”

“I’m not following.”

“Your guilt blocked your senses, Erik,” she sighed. “You had been holding onto pieces of it, but you finally let it go.”

“I felt guilty for ruining our marriage,” Erik mused aloud.

“But you didn’t, so congratulations,” she said nonchalantly. “That’s not why you’re here, though.”

“Ok, what’s up?”

Bast chuckled at his informality.

“Last time we spoke, I said I would need you to do something for me. I’ve finally made up my mind as to what that is.”

Erik sat with bated breath as he waited for his assignment. For a moment, he was reminded of his military and mercenary days, except this time, he was being given a mission from a goddess. His goddess.

“As you know, Wakanda has never had a Golden Jaguar before. You are an anomaly, but that is a good thing.” She stood up and started walking, making him rush to his feet to follow after her.

“It is?”

“Yes. You know, the good thing about cycles is that with destruction comes rebirth…change. You’ve forced Wakanda to change, and you’ve forced me to think some things over. Truthfully, after the little stunt you almost pulled, I did think about removing your powers. I don’t need to preach about it, though, since you already know all about your wrongdoings, but I heard what you said about your people. We have neglected them, and for that, I have no words of apology that would adequately ease your pain. The Lost Tribe, as my people have come to call you, needs a champion. Wakanda already has theirs, but since you seem to rather enjoy toying with colonizers, I have an assignment for you.”

Erik’s ears were trained on Bast as he hung on every word she said. He walked next to her as they made their way through the catacombs towards the temple’s entrance.

“Before you came to Wakanda, you were involved with Klaue and his hunt for vibranium. Your vast knowledge of African and diasporic artifacts combined with your training makes a great equation for what I need you to do.”

“Which is?”

“I want you to act as the Golden Jaguar on the Lost Tribe’s behalf. I recognize that as just one person, you can only do so much, which is why I will talk to T’Challa about you heading his Wardog program. I would like for you to have an army of spies at your disposal to act instead of just watch and report as they have done in the past.”

“So basically what I wanted to do before but without the world domination?”

“Precisely,” Bast chuckled and stopped walking at the door to the temple.

“Ok,” Erik thought on it as a smile crept up his cheeks. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would. I think you’ll like my first assignment. Well, second. First, you need to stop avoiding the City of the Dead in your waking life. You need to go visit the garden.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Erik said, his nerves twisting in his gut at the thought of actually stepping back onto the sacred land.

“Now, my second assignment: artifact reclamation. Instead of searching for vibranium, which you might find, I want you to return items to their rightful owners.”

“So, stealing,” Erik deadpanned.

“Yes, but for a good cause. I will let you work out the details, but the point is to return the power to the people by building them back up, brick by brick. They were separated from their gods, so the Ancestors and the Orishas are working on bringing them back to us spiritually. They are still working on getting other spirits and pantheons on board...alas, my brother and sisters are choosing to take a more passive approach.” She sighed. “The Lost Tribe was taken from the land, so T’Challa has already spearheaded initiatives to build up other African countries that need his assistance and bring the Lost home to the continent. Now, I need you to bring our belongings home. Our thrones, our art, our history. Take it back. Bring it back to its rightful place.”

“I’m with it, but, um...how am I supposed to do this without getting caught? If shit just starts disappearing en masse, somebody’s gonna notice.”

“They won’t disappear. The colonizers won’t even know they’re gone.” Bast flicked her tail mischievously. “Your wife designs kimoyo beads, does she not?”

“Well, yeah-”

“And your cousins are scientific geniuses, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Then I’m sure that between all of your big beautiful brains, you can figure out a way to make replicas of the artifacts.”

“Why does that compliment feel like an insult?”

“I like you, Jaguar,” The goddess chuckled. “Now go enjoy your time with your wife.” She winked at Erik as she nudged him out into the brightness shining from outside the wide-open temple doors. Erik returned to consciousness, and he was shocked by the feeling of Mira’s mouth traveling up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, girl. This how you waking Big Daddy up now?”

She popped her head off his tip, and he groaned at the sight of a bridge of spit still connecting her to him.

“Good morning, baby.”

“Mmmm, good morning to you, too,” he grabbed her loose curls that she had forgotten to tie up the night before. The silk sheets kept her hair soft and bouncy as her hair spilled over his fist while it rested at the back of her head. He pulled her in for a kiss, and then she went right back to taking him down her throat. “You’re gonna make me nut all down that throat, Princess.”

Mira’s hand cupped and massaged his ballsack while she sucked on his bulbous head. Her tongue swirled around the tip, and her other hand traveled up and down his length, making his toes curl.

“Fuuuuck, you remember just what Big Daddy likes. Imma bust a fat ass nut, girl,” Erik groaned through gritted teeth. Mira giggled at her control over him and continued to work his dick. Her nose reached his pelvis as she took him down her throat, and he came with such force that she almost choked. Almost.

When she pulled off of him, she tongue-kissed his tip before sitting back on her haunches and wiping her mouth. “How’d you sleep?”

Erik let out a breathy laugh, “Like the dead.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t feel me moving. You were out cold.”

“That’s because I was talking to Bast.”

“What’d she say this time?”

Erik sat up against the headboard and motioned for her to come to him. Mira crawled up his body and straddled him, sliding down on his dick so that they were connected as deep as they could be. They had always been like this; whenever they needed to have a serious conversation, Erik would set her in his lap and have her take all of him. They both reveled in the connection they had in that moment, and even in their stillness, their united bodies responded to each other as the words fell from his lips.

“She wants me to be the Golden Jaguar officially,” he said as he kissed down from Mira’s ear to her shoulder.

“What does that mean?” Mira asked, barely above a whisper.

“She wants me to be a champion for us, the Lost Tribe. Wakandans have T, so I’ll be protecting the rest of us with the Wardogs.”

“How, though? That’s so many people.”

He came up from kissing between her breasts to look her in the eyes. “Well, remember how I told you about the museum heist to get the vibranium?”

Mira nodded.

“She wants me to steal artifacts from museums and shit and return them to where they were stolen from.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” Mira snarked, and he tickled her sides, making her pussy clench around him, and he let out a groan at the feeling. He grabbed her hips and moved them back and forth.

“It is. I can’t do anything until I visit the garden of the heart-shaped herb, though.”

“Why?” she moaned.

“I’ve been avoiding it,” he sighed.

Mira pulled him into a kiss and cycloned her hips as she wound on him. “Do you need to go alone, or do you want me to come with you?”

He connected their foreheads as he pushed his hips forward into her, and she called out his name.

“I need to go alone.”

Their hips ground into each other as the sexual energy inside them built up slowly and erupted through their bodies. Erik placed kisses all over Mira’s face and neck as she caught her breath from the intensity of her orgasm.

“How about I make breakfast?” Erik asked, and Mira simply nodded and kissed him. She moved to get up, but he held her down. “Nah, I didn’t say right now.”

After another round, the two of them separated from each other, if only because of the rumbling of their bellies. They showered together, and Erik couldn’t help himself from bending her over and eating her pussy and ass from the back. Pretty soon, he was balls deep inside her again, and when he came all over her cheeks, he about keeled over from the way the orgasm shook through his body.

“Aight, I need a break,” Erik said, and the two of them shared a laugh as they finished their shower without any more funny business.

“Can I have one of your t-shirts?” Mira asked as they slathered themselves in shea butter.

“You can have anything you want, Princess. MIT or Navy?”

“MIT please,” she cheesed at him.

“Coming right up.”

Erik left the room and returned with his maroon-colored MIT t-shirt. The same one she wore the first time she stayed over at his apartment back in the day. He knew it was her favorite and the look on her face when he handed it to her was priceless. She quickly shimmied into it while he slid on a pair of sweatpants that left little to the imagination.

The two of them relocated to the kitchen, and Mira toyed around with her latest kimoyo design on her tablet while Erik got to work on breakfast.

“That a new one?” he asked, nodding towards the design hovering over the counter.

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten it to work right, though,” she grumbled as she stared at it. “I want it to be able to apply cloaking tech to whatever it touches, but so far, I can only get the bead to disappear.”

Erik listened to her complain about her failed design for a little while, and when she was done, she turned off the tablet and hopped up on the counter.

“Anything I can do?” Mira asked

“Mhm,” he came over and stood between her legs, placing a sloppy kiss on her lips. “Just sit there looking fine as hell.”

“I’m serious,” she smiled.

“So am I,” he said incredulously with a hand over his heart, making her chuckle at his dramatics.

“Fine, I’ll be your muse.”

“And my guinea pig. Here, try this.”

Erik lifted the spoon to her lips so she could taste the yam hash he had been working on, and her eyes bugged out of her head.

“I forgot you turn into Top Chef after sex.”

“Gotta feed my woman,” he kissed her cheek and cracked a couple of eggs sunny-side up in the skillet.

Mira giggled, and an idea struck her. She reached back for her tablet again and pulled up her latest work in progress, a story about a decades-long whirlwind romance that she had gotten stuck on. All she needed was a little inspiration, and Erik ended up being just what she needed.

He watched his wife type away with a smile on his face. Erik loved watching her work; the look of determination on her face was always so endearing to him. She’d bite her lip and squint her eyes as she tried her best to focus on the task at hand. Erik always thought it was adorable.

The smell of fresh vegetables coming in contact with hot oil filled the air, and Mira’s mouth started to water. She looked up from her work to see what Erik was doing but got distracted by his body. She watched his sinewy muscles moving beneath his textured skin, and a chill went down her spine.

“What the fuck is that?” Erik sniffed the air, following the sweet scent that had just wafted from out of nowhere.

“What’s what?” Mira asked, swinging her legs back and forth.

He turned to face her, and his pupils blew wide as the smell hit him again.

“It’s you,” he turned off the burner and stalked over to her, standing between her legs again and placing his nose in the crook of her neck. He inhaled her scent and let out a growl.

“What is that?”

“My bodywash?”

“Nah, it’s you. What-” he cut himself off when it dawned on him. When he was king for a day, he only smelled fear from those around him. Fear smelled like decay, it smelled rotten, but this was the exact opposite. It was enticing, like the most beautiful forbidden garden, and Erik knew exactly what it was. Her arousal. He bit into her neck, making her moan out as he ground his hips into hers. The aroma grew, and Erik’s composure slipped away the more he inhaled it.

“E-erik, the food.”

He took a deep breath as he stood to his full height. “I can smell when you want me.”

“What?!”

“I wonder if it’s different for every person...shit, I wonder if I can smell other people. I hope not-”

“What are you saying? You can tell when I’m horny?”

“I guess so. I only smelled fear before, but it makes sense. I’m just caught off guard because it hit me out of nowhere, like last night.”

“What happened last night?”

“I could hear your heartbeat.”

Mira’s face lit up, “That’s good, though, right? It means your senses are coming back!”

“Yeah, I’m just surprised by that one. I wasn’t expecting all that,” he laughed.

“So...I smell good?”

“You don’t know how good, Princess,” he grumbled as he finished cooking. Mira crossed her legs, making him chuckle. “That’s not helping. It’s all over you.”

“Damn...what else can you do?”

“I need to test out my strength and speed, but my sight was different, too. Everything was brighter, more vibrant. And my brain moved faster...I don’t know how to explain it. Bast said my guilt was the blockage, so they’ll probably slowly come back over time. After they’re back, I’m supposed to start on my mission.”

“You still felt guilty?”

“I thought I broke us. I mean, I did, but I felt like it was unfixable, you know?”

Mira nodded, “Yeah, it felt like that sometimes.”

Erik pulled the dishes out of the cabinet and set them down next to her.

“Mira, I’m-”

“Erik, if you say you’re sorry one more time, so help me, Bast,” Mira said, making a dimpled smile appear on Erik’s face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They fell into a comfortable silence while Erik plated the food, and when he handed Mira hers, he left a kiss on her cheek. She smiled and hopped down from the counter to sit at the table. When she sat down, she couldn’t help but stare at Erik as he walked over. Her man, her formerly violent man was really chosen by a goddess to protect Black people around the globe.

He noticed the look on her face and couldn’t quite place it. “What?”

“Nothing, just...look at you, doing the work of gods now.”

“I bet you never thought you’d say that about your mercenary husband,” Erik winked at her.

“Sure didn’t,” Mira laughed, “but it fits. You always had it in you. You know, I’m glad I came out here. I wouldn’t get to see this new side of you otherwise, and so far, I like it.”

--------

A couple of hours later, Erik found himself in front of the City of the Dead with his palms sweating and his breath shaking. He wasn’t sure why the temple unnerved him so much, but it did. Erik knew he had to do what Bast told him, though, and took a step forward. He climbed the stairs to the ornate stone doors and waited as they slowly opened for him. Erik was met with the sight of a surprisingly calm woman in purple robes. He recognized her as the woman he had choked out, the new head priestess.

“My prince,” she saluted him. “Welcome. I have been expecting you.”

“You have?”

“Of course. Come in.”

He hesitantly stepped forward again and entered the temple. A chill went down his spine as the doors shut behind them, and he looked around the space. He had only been there once before in his waking life, but this time it felt different. It probably had something to do with the fact that she wasn’t scared of him this time around.

“What’s your name?” he asked nervously.

“I am Zaya, my prince.”

“You don’t have to do the whole ‘my prince’ thing. Especially since I...you know.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I’m sorry about that. I should’ve never put my hands on you.”

“I have spoken to Bast about it, and I forgive you. Just don’t let it happen again,” she warned.

Erik put his hands up in defense, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Now, you are here to see the herb, no?” She started walking, and he followed behind her.

“How’d you know?”

“I spoke to Bast, remember?” She quipped with an eyebrow raised.

“Heh, yeah,” he chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. “I don’t know why I’m so anxious.”

“I assume that is a normal reaction when reckoning with your past.”

The two of them traveled deeper into the temple, and when they reached the door that led to the garden of the heart-shaped herb, he froze. Zaya looked back when she no longer heard his footsteps and smiled warmly, reaching out her hand to him. He took it, and she led him through the doors. Erik almost wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he had to face his past actions head-on.

He looked around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw there were dozens of tiny glowing purple buds just begging to become full-grown flowers. He laughed in disbelief at what he was seeing. He had burnt the garden to ashes, but now here it was, thriving in spite of him.

“It took us a while to get them to grow again, but thankfully we were able to put out the fire before the roots were harmed,” Zaya spoke as he wandered through the garden in awe.

“And these...they still work?”

“The princess took a sample and tested it in her lab. According to her, this new batch might be a little different, but they should still work. Bast has given them her blessing, so that is enough for me.”

“So, I didn’t ruin Wakanda’s future like I thought...”

“No, just a bump in the road,” she smiled.

Just as he was about to respond, the strangest thing happened. His eyes were trained on one of the buds, and suddenly he could see every little vein in the leaves and the detail of the curled-up petals. The color became brighter and even more purple than most people could comprehend, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he smiled.

He could see again.

“Are you ok?” Zaya asked tentatively.

Erik cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m good. It’s just my senses are coming back, and...they’re beautiful.”

“And resilient.”

He laughed and wiped the tear from his face.

“How about I give you some time alone?”

“Thanks, Zaya, that’d be great.”

She bowed her head in deference and went back the way they came. When she was gone, Erik let out a sigh as he took in the sight before him.

“They really made it…”

“Of course, they did. Did you think I would leave my people defenseless?” Bast’s silky voice rang out through the temple, and he turned around to see her standing there in her mostly-human form. She was a statuesque and curvaceous woman with the head of a panther and locs that spilled over her ebony shoulders. Erik dropped to his knees as she walked towards him. “No need for all of that. Stand up, Jaguar.”

He laid eyes on her once more as he rose from the ground. Her glow was almost blinding, but his eyes adjusted quickly.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you in person.”

“Get used to it. I like to pop in on my champions every now and again. Sometimes in dreams, sometimes in your thoughts, and sometimes in person. It all depends.”

“On what?”

“On you and what you need, or what I need from you.”

“Ok, so what do you need from me?”

Bast chuckled. “Truthfully, nothing this time. I just needed to see you face-to-face.”

“You don’t have an assignment for me?”

“Not yet. I know how much you enjoy the sanctuary, so I’ll let you stay there a little whille longer. Plus, you are just now mending your marriage and need time to spend with your wife and child before I call you away.”

“How much time?”

“Enough,” she winked.

“You’re so cryptic,” Erik chuckled.

“Yes, your cousin thinks so, too. However, I prefer ‘mysterious.’”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you long,” she sighed. “You have some party planning to do. They grow up fast, don’t they?”

“Especially when you miss a couple of years,” he murmured.

“Which is why I’m giving you at least a year before I call on you. Make good use of it, Erik.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing, Erik.”

“Yeah?”

“Try running back to the palace,” she winked again as she shimmered away, leaving him alone in the temple.

Erik tried to contain himself as he left the garden and ran into Zaya.

“Was your ‘alone’ time fruitful?” she asked knowingly.

All he could do was beam at her with his megawatt dimpled smile.

“Very.”

Erik said goodbye and ran back through the forest to the city, his heart beating out of his chest in excitement. His superhuman speed carried him back in no time as the wind whipped against his body. A smile was plastered on his face the whole time, even when he slowed down as he reached the outskirts of Birnin Zana. He hurried to the palace as inconspicuously as he could and happened to run into Mira just as she was leaving. When she saw the look on his face, she couldn’t help the grin that took over hers.

“So, how did- Erik!” She squealed as he picked her up and twirled her around with barely any effort.

“They’re back!”

“Your powers?”

“Well, yeah, but the heart shaped herb is coming back!” he peppered kisses all over her face and neck while she giggled. “You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined you could be.”

“So I take it your vision came back, and you’re super strong again?”

“And fast. I ran here in like twenty minutes.”

“From the CIty of the Dead?!”

“Mhm,” he nodded as he set her back on the ground.

“Damn, baby, that’s...that’s amazing.”

“I need to test them out some more, so I’m gonna see if T has some time to spar. You going to the lab?”

“Shopping, actually. Okoye and Ayo took Imani so I could get some last-minute party stuff.”

“Need someone to carry your bags?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Especially since you got that jaguar strength again.”

“Lead the way, beautiful.”

--------

Early that Saturday morning, as the sun crested over the trees, Mira and Erik stood on the tarmac watching as the Royal Talon descended from the sky. Mira was almost shaking with excitement as the doors opened and T’Challa stepped out, followed by some of her favorite people in the whole world.

“Titi!”

SJ ran down the ramp past the king and flung himself into his auntie’s arms. She held him tight and rocked him from side to side as Stef and Ana approached, with Daveed teetering between the two of them.

She looked up at them and gasped, “Oh my god, he can walk now? How long have I been gone?”

“Girl, too long,” Havana complained as she wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law.

Stefan was next to greet her, and his eyes stayed glued to Erik the whole time as he enveloped his sister in a bear hug, “We missed you, Sammy.”

“No, you miss my cooking,” she laughed as she crouched down to say hi to her littlest nephew.

“You remember Titi Mira?” Ana asked him, and he shook his head, hiding behind his dad’s leg.

“That’s ok, we can get to know each other while you’re here,” Mira smiled at him and stood back up.

“Who are you?” SJ asked when he finally noticed the man standing behind his aunt.

“SJ, this is your Uncle Erik. You might not remember him but-“

He thought about it for a moment before it dawned on him. “Do you still have all those bumps on you?”

Stefan tried to hold in his snickering, and Havana hit him in his chest.

“Uh, yeah, I do.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Heh, thanks, lil man.”

“So, brother in law…It’s good to see you,” Stef deadpanned. He was clearly not feeling Erik anymore.

“You, too, man,” Erik went to dap him up, and he stared at his hand in contempt.

“Stefan, behave,” Havana said with a roll of her eyes. “Hi Erik, how are you?”

“Much better since I’ve been here.”

“Good, good…”

T’Challa had been standing to the side while the family reunited but decided to intervene when things got awkward.

“Stefan, Havana, let us show you to your quarters.”

“Oooh, our ‘quarters,’” Ana sang excitedly. “Sounds so fancy.”

“It’s a palace, Ana. Of course it’s fancy,” Stef grumbled.

She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t act out in front of company.”

Mira chuckled. She hadn’t realized how much she missed hearing their playful bickering.

As they made their way through the place, Stef and Ana stared slack-jawed at their surroundings while SJ ran ahead of the group.

“You live here?” Ana asked.

“Mhm. It’s gorgeous, right?!” Mira bragged.

“That’s not even the word…”

T’Challa smirked as he listened to them compliment his home.

“So, where’s the birthday girl?” Stefan asked.

“She is with my mother and Ororo.”

“Ororo?” Stef stopped in his tracks. “Munroe?!”

“The one and only,” T’Challa grinned proudly.

“Holy shit…”

“Language,” Havana chided her husband as she covered SJ’s ears.

“What is it with these men and cursing around children?” Mira shook her head at her brother.

“Girl, I don’t know, but let’s get back to Storm. How’d y’all meet?”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Erik nodded towards his cousin.

“Dang, how’d you get her? I mean, I know you’re a king and all, but- Wait, are you a mutant, too?” Stef asked.

T’Challa and Mira made eye contact, and she nodded for him to continue. They were family and would most likely be seeing a lot of Wakanda, so they’d find out eventually.

“I am enhanced, yes.”

“Like Steve Rogers?” SJ chimed in excitedly from a few feet ahead.

“He wishes,” T’Challa complained under his breath as they stopped in front of the door across from Erik and Mira. Both of them chuckled at the king’s arrogance.

“So...you’re enhanced. Why, though?” Stef asked.

They entered the suite, and the interrogation was cut short when the Greenwoods saw how beautiful their temporary home was.

“Holy shit…” Ana mused as she covered SJ’s ears.

Mira gave them a quick tour while T’Challa and Erik hung back in the living area.

“So, you and Stefan-”

“He never liked me, and I made things worse by disappearing,” he shrugged.

T’Challa nodded as he changed into his suit.

“Oh, so you’re coming all the way out?”

“They will find out eventually, so I might as well get it over with.”

Erik nodded as Mira rounded the corner and saw T’Challa in his suit. She smirked and called SJ. He ran back into the room and froze when he saw Black Panther standing there next to his uncle. Ana was next to round the corner and looked at her son questioningly before she looked up and saw what he was staring at with his mouth open.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said with a hand on her hip.

“About what?” Stef came next, and T’Challa’s mask disappeared into his necklace. “This place is insane.”

SJ couldn’t move. He was looking at his favorite hero in the entire world, right there in the place he’d call home for the next week. His mind could barely wrap around what he was seeing, and he couldn’t process his emotions. Tears started flowing down his face, and a sob wracked his body.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok, baby,” Ana crouched down and wiped his tears as Stef came over with Daveed on his hip.

“You’re not excited to see Black Panther?” He asked his eldest son.

SJ shook his head, and T’Challa deflated. Erik kept his snickering to himself, but Mira shot him a look anyway.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“He’s just in shock. It’ll wear off eventually,” Ana said as she brushed SJ’s locs out of his face.

————

It took way longer to wear off than they thought, and by the time they arrived at the party venue in the palace’s botanical gardens that afternoon, he still hadn’t said a word. T’Challa tried to speak to him a couple of times, but he shied away behind Mira or his parents. Eventually, Erik convinced him to give the kid some space and pulled the dejected king away to the other side of the garden. While the other kids and their parents arrived, SJ kept looking at T’Challa out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, he doesn’t bite...or scratch,” Mira leaned in and said to her nephew as she sat down next to him at the kid’s table. “In fact, he’s pretty cool once you get to know him.”

“Does Imani know?” he spoke up for the first time in hours, and Mira was happy to hear his voice again.

“Oh, yeah. He told us when we got here, but it’s a secret so she pinky promised not to tell. You know, I screamed when I saw him.”

“You did?!”

“Mhm. He really needs to learn how to ease people into it, huh?” she asked as she poked at his side, making him giggle. Stef and Ana watched from a few yards away and smiled with him while they kept a watchful eye on Daveed as he waddled around the flowers.

SJ nodded in response, and Mira kissed his temple before getting up and leaving him to ponder her words. Right when he had worked up the courage to speak to his hero, Erik announced that Imani was on her way with Ororo and Ramonda.

“I can’t wait to see my baby girl!” Ana squealed.

Mira excitedly grabbed Erik’s hand, and he kissed her knuckles, making Stef narrow his eyes as he and his family hid behind a mango tree.

Imani appeared with her auntie and future cousin, and T’Challa recorded as she squealed excitedly at seeing everybody. A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, Ade, and all her other friends from school greeted her with a loud “Happy birthday!” The newly five-year-old’s tunnel vision made her almost ignore her parents and other adults completely until Erik picked her up and gave her a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“Happy birthday, Cupcake!”

“We have a surprise for you,” Mira sang.

“What is it?” Imani asked excitedly.

Erik set her down and turned her around as Mira motioned for her family to reveal themselves. SJ ran out from behind the tree and nearly tackled his cousin to the ground while her aunt, uncle, and baby cousin took a calmer approach.

“There’s the birthday girl!” Stef exclaimed while his eldest son continued to squeeze her tight. SJ let her go, and she ran into her uncle’s arms. Ana crouched down next to him, and Imani threw her arms around her neck.

“We’ve missed you so much!” Ana said as she fought tears.

“I missed you too. Wakanda is so cool! I can’t wait to show you everything,” Imani babbled.

“Did you know about Black Panther?” SJ asked, still a little nervous about meeting his hero.

Imani nodded, “I promised to keep it a secret, or I would’ve told you. It’s so cool, right?”

SJ nodded, and Imani dragged him off to meet her friends.

Erik couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he tried as he watched his little social butterfly play with her friends and cousin. It wasn’t until Mira came up and nudged him that he even realized he was staring.

“You ok?” she asked.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine,” he said as he put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “Just reliving some things.”

Mira looked at him curiously and he continued, “One of the few good memories I have from childhood that we talked about in therapy was my seventh birthday party. This kind of reminds me of that.”

Mira smiled as they stood there and watched Shuri, Ororo, and T’Challa play with the kids. The king regaled them with stories of his adventures, and Shuri let them ride on very slow hoverbikes while Ororo harnessed the wind to lift them up and let them fly a couple of feet off of the ground. The kids were having a ball, and their parents seemed to enjoy themselves as well. Okoye, M’Baku, and a couple other people gravitated towards each other and fell into conversation about being single parents. However, the rest of them spent most of their time ogling the royal family.

Eventually, it was time to eat and the parents were able to corral the kids into sitting down at the table. After stuffing their faces with an array of Imani’s favorite foods, Mira led the “happy birthday” song as she and Ayo carried out a huge Doc McStuffins birthday cake. Imani and SJ were the only kids who knew who she was, but everyone enjoyed the cake nonetheless. Erik couldn’t help the tear that almost came to his eye as he listened to his wife sing to their daughter, just like his mother had done to him. Loudly and slightly off key. Next, Shuri led the group in a Wakandan birthday song, and Imani blew out the huge number five candle in the center of the cake.

Mira kept stealing glances at Erik as he sliced it up and handed out pieces to everyone. He looked so happy. Even when one of the kids tripped and got icing all over his pants leg, he just kept on smiling.

Even Stef noticed the change in his brother-in-law’s demeanor and brought it up to Ana, “He smiles too much now. It’s weird.”

“It’s weird that he’s happy?”

“No, it’s just weird to see. He used to be so…”

“Surly and unapproachable.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Maybe you should get to know him?”

“Hmph,” he grunted in response. Ana decided to leave it alone for the time being and left his side to go talk to Erik.

“You think you can handle the sleepover?” she asked him.

“Thank Bast it’s not all of them.”

“It’s not?”

“Hell no, just her little crew,” he pointed to A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, and Ade. “I’m not taking care of all these kids.”

Ana laughed, “Understood.”

“So...your husband still doesn’t like me, huh?”

“Can you blame him?” Ana deadpanned.

“Nah, I’d be the same way in his shoes.”

“He’ll come around eventually...maybe,” she said as she placed a comforting hand on his arm before being pulled away by her son to watch the Black Panther and Storm show off their powers some more. SJ still couldn’t bring himself to speak to T’Challa, but it was a start.

As the party wound down and most of Imani’s classmates went home, the few that stuck around relocated inside to the Stevens’ suite in the palace. Even with a handful of screaming children in his home, Erik was on cloud nine. He loved to see a smile on his Cupcake’s face, and he wondered if he looked that happy when he was a kid. He concluded he probably did, and as the kids watched an animated movie, he and Mira curled up on the couch behind them. While the rugrats were distracted, he pulled her chin up to plant a kiss on her lips.

“What was that for?” she smiled.

“I’ve just been thinking…”

“About what?”

“About making more good memories, you know? Some of the happiest times in my life were times just like this…and time spent with you.”

Mira looked down with a smile on her face and he brought it back up to look in her eyes.

“Marry me again.”

Her eyebrows damn near reached her hairline and a Grinch-like smile crept up her face as she nodded.

“I’d love to.” Next Chapter

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback

[bamf-jaskier]

Who the Fuck is Philippa Eilhart?

I don’t know if you’ve been following Witcher news lately but Philippa has just been cast!

Of course, many show-only fans might not be familiar with her character and game-only fans might not know how different her story is in the books, so I’m here to give a relatively brief overview of her plot line in the books. Warning: lots of book spoilers ahead as well as the standard graphic violence that is the norm in the books.

With that, Hi! I’m Aaliyah and this is Part 6 of my WTF Series - a crash course in subject from The Witcher books.

The first time we meet Philippa in Blood of Elves, she is an advisor to the King of Redania. Dandelion is brought before The Redanian Secret Service because they wish to know Geralt’s whereabouts. 

Excerpt:

Dandilion glanced at the fourth person present at the meeting, who until then had remained silent. Philippa Eilhart must have only recently arrived in Oxenfurt, or was perhaps intending to leave at once, since she wore neither a dress nor her favourite black agate jewellery nor any sharp make-up. 

She was wearing a man’s short jacket, leggings and high boots – a “field” outfit as the poet called it. The enchantress’s dark hair, usually loose and worn in a picturesque mess, was brushed smooth and tied back at the nape of her neck.

“Let’s not waste time,” she said, raising her even eyebrows. “Dandilion’s right. We can spare ourselves the rhetoric and slick eloquence which leads nowhere when the matter at hand is so simple and trivial.”

Here are some of Dandelion’s thoughts on Philippa:

Dandilion divided women – including magicians – into very likeable, likeable, unlikeable and very unlikeable. The very likeable reacted to the proposition of being bedded with joyful acquiescence, the likeable with a happy smile. The unlikeable reacted unpredictably. The very unlikeable were counted by the troubadour to be those to whom the very thought of presenting such a proposition made his back go strangely cold and his knees shake.

Philippa Eilhart, although very attractive, was decidedly very unlikeable. Apart from that, Philippa Eilhart was an important figure in the Council of Wizards, and King Vizimir’s trusted court magician. 

She was a very talented enchantress. Word had it that she was one of the few to have mastered the art of polymorphy. She looked thirty. In truth she was probably no less than three hundred years old.”

Then, Dandelion leaves to go back to Geralt and Philippa follows him in the form of an owl:

A big grey owl glided down to the sill without a sound. Shani cried out quietly. Geralt reached for his sword.

“Don’t be silly, Philippa,” said Dandilion.

The owl disappeared and Philippa Eilhart appeared in its place, squatting awkwardly. The magician immediately jumped into the room, smoothing down her hair and clothes.

“Good evening,” she said coldly. “Introduce me, Dandilion.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Shani of Medicine. And that owl which so craftily flew in my tracks is no owl. This is Philippa Eilhart from the Council of Wizards, at present in King Vizimir’s service and pride of the Tretogor court. It’s a shame we’ve only got one chair in here.”

Geralt is trying to hunt down a wizard, Rience, who is trying to get Ciri. When Geralt is about to kill Rience, Philippa lets Rience portal away and Geralt, Shani and Dandelion are quite upset:

“Philippa!” shouted Dandilion, still holding the weeping Shani. “Have you gone mad?”

“No,” said the witcher with some effort. “She’s quite sane. And knows perfectly well what she’s doing. She knew all along what she was doing. She took advantage of us. Betrayed us. Deceived—”

“Calm down,” repeated Philippa Eilhart. “You won’t understand and you don’t have to understand. I did what I had to do. And don’t call me a traitor. Because I did this precisely so as not to betray a cause which is greater than you can imagine. 

A great and important cause, so important that minor matters have to be sacrificed for it without second thoughts, if faced with such a choice. Geralt, damn it, we’re nattering and you’re standing in a pool of blood. Calm down and let Shani and me take care of you.”

Of course, this is all a part of Philippa’s larger plan to hold a coup and gain political power. Vilgefortz hired Rience and if Geralt had found that out then Vilgefortz would be revealed as a traitor to the Brotherhood and Philippa couldn’t have that happening before her coup.

The next time we see Philippa is in Time of Contempt at the banquet on Thanedd Island. She talks to many of the guests, here is a short conversation between her and Geralt:

“There’s no caviar.’ (Geralt)

‘One moment.’ (Philippa)

She looked around quickly, waved a hand and mumbled a spell. The silver dish in the shape of a leaping fish immediately filled with the roe of the endangered shovelnose sturgeon. The Witcher smiled.

‘Can one eat one’s fill of an illusion?’

‘No. But snobbish tastes can be pleasantly titillated by it. Have a try.’

‘Hmm… Indeed… I’d say it’s tastier than the real thing…’

‘And it’s not at all fattening,’ said the enchantress proudly, squeezing lemon juice over a heaped teaspoon of caviar. ‘May I have another goblet of white wine?’

‘At your service. Philippa?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m told etiquette precludes the use of spells here. Wouldn’t it be safer, then, to conjure up the illusion of the taste of caviar alone, without the caviar? Just the sensation? You’d surely be able to…’

‘Of course I would,’ said Philippa Eilhart, looking at him through her crystal goblet. ‘The construction of such a spell is easy as pie. But were you only to have the sensation of taste, you’d lose the pleasure the activity offers. The process, the accompanying ritual movements, the gestures, the conversation and eye contact which accompanies the process… I’ll entertain you with a witty comparison. Would you like that?’

‘Please do. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘I’d also be capable of conjuring the sensation of an orgasm.”

She is quite ruthless and cutting and while Geralt remains upset about Rience, Philippa, in true sorceress fashion, has already moved on. As well, she is explicitly queer in the books which I talk about here

Later, Geralt gets up in the night to go to the bathroom and stumbles upon Philippa attempting a coup. Triss temporarily blinds Geralt and Philippa and Tissaia exchange tense words. Philippa sends Geralt away with Dijkstra, offering him mercy despite him finding out about her coup. 

However, Geralt gets away from Dijkstra and goes back to Thanedd where a full-battle is going on. 

Turns out, Tissaia and Philippa’s fight cumulated in Tissaia releasing Vilgefortz and lowering the barrier as seen in this passage:

“They’re still fighting,’ said Carduin, grinding his teeth. ‘It’s hot down there, one spell after another…’

‘Spells? In Garstang? But there’s an anti-magic aura there!’

‘It was Tissaia’s doing. She suddenly decided whose side she was on. She took down the blockade, removed the aura and neutralised the dimeritium. Then everyone went for each other! Vilgefortz and Terranova on one side, Philippa and Sabrina on the other… The columns cracked and the vaulting collapsed… And then Francesca opened the entrance to the cellars, and those elven devils suddenly leapt out… We told them that we were neutral, but Vilgefortz only laughed.”

Geralt then runs in Keira Metz who was thrown out a window and she explains that after Vilgefortz was released the Scoia’tael (Elven and Non-human fighters who are allied with Nilfgaard sort of) attacked: 

“Sorry. How did the Scoia’tael get here?”

“They were hidden in the cellars. Thanedd is as hollow as a nutshell and there’s a huge cavern under it; you could sail a ship in if you knew how. Someone must have told them the way—Ouuuch! Be careful! Stop jolting me!’

‘Sorry. So the Squirrels came here by sea? When?’

‘God knows when. It might have been yesterday, or a week ago. We were preparing to strike at Vilgefortz, and Vilgefortz at us. Vilgefortz, Francesca, Terranova and Fercart… They conned us good and proper. Philippa thought they were planning a slow seizure of power in the Chapter, and to put pressure on the kings… But they were planning to finish us off during the Conclave… Geralt, it’s too painful… It’s my leg… Put me down for a second. Ouuuch!”

Later, there is a flashback to Philippa and Tissaia’s fight:

‘Enough!’ Philippa slammed her fist down on the table. ‘I shall satisfy your curiosity, Carduin. You ask who is preparing a war? Nilfgaard. They intend to attack and destroy us. But Emhyr var Emreis remembers Sodden Hill and has decided to protect himself by removing the mages from the game first. With this in mind, he made contact with Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. He bought him with promises of power and honour. 

Yes, Tissaia. Vilgefortz, hero of Sodden, sold us out to become the governor and ruler of all the conquered territories of the north. Vilgefortz, helped by Terranova and Fercart, shall rule the provinces which will be established in place of the conquered kingdoms. It is he who will wield the Nilfgaardian scourge over the people who inhabit those lands and will begin toiling as the Empire’s slaves. 

And Francesca Findabair, Enid an Gleanna, will become queen of the land of the free elves. It will, of course, be a Nilfgaardian protectorate, but it will suffice for the elves so long as Emperor Emhyr will give them a free hand to murder humans. The elves desire nothing so much as to murder Dh’oine.”

Tissaia states, “That is a serious accusation. Which means the proof will also have to be as weighty. But before you throw your proof onto the scale, Philippa Eilhart, be aware of my stance. Proof may be fabricated. Actions and their motives may be misinterpreted. 

But nothing can change existing facts. You have broken the unity and solidarity of the Brotherhood, Philippa Eilhart. You have handcuffed members of the Chapter like criminals. So do not dare to offer me a position in the new Chapter which your gang of traitors–who have sold out to the kings, rather than to Nilfgaaard–intend to create. 

We are separated by death and blood. The death of Hen Gedymdeith. And the blood of Lydia van Bredevoort. You spilled that blood with contempt. You were my best pupil, Philippa Eilhart. I was always proud of you. But now I have nothing but contempt for you.”

I won’t go into detail for the sake of brevity, but Philippa ends up escaping Thanedd unharmed after her failed coup and we don’t see her again until Baptism of Fire when she is forming The Lodge. 

Here is an excerpt of her pitch speech about The Lodge to the other mages:

Philippa Eilhart stood up, her dress rustling.

‘Distinguished sisters,’ she said. ‘Our situation is grave. Magic is under threat. The tragic events on Thanedd, to which my thoughts return with regret and reluctance, proved that the effects of hundreds of years of apparently peaceful cooperation could be laid waste in an instant, as self-interest and inflated ambitions came to the fore. 

We now have discord, disorder, mutual hostility and mistrust. Events are beginning to get out of control. In order to regain control, in order to prevent a cataclysm happening, the helm of this storm-tossed ship must be grasped by strong hands. 

Mistress Laux-Antille, Mistress Merigold, Mistress Metz and I have discussed the matter and we are in agreement. It is not enough to re-establish the Chapter and the Council, which were destroyed on Thanedd. In any case, there is no one left to rebuild the two institutions, no guarantee that should they be rebuilt they would not be infected with the disease that destroyed the previous ones. 

An utterly new, secret organisation should be founded which will exclusively serve matters of magic. Which will do everything to prevent a cataclysm. For if magic were to perish, our world would perish with it. 

Just as happened many centuries ago, the world without magic and the progress it brings with it will be plunged into chaos and darkness; will drown in blood and barbarity. We invite the ladies present here to take part in our initiative: to actively participate in the work proposed by this secret assembly. We took the decision to summon you here in order to hear your opinions on this matter. With this, I have finished.’

Then, later on in Baptism of Fire at the first official meeting of the Lodge Philippa discusses how she wants to make Ciri Queen of the North. 

“Who, then, is to be this Queen of the North?’

‘A girl from a royal family,’ Philippa calmly replied, ‘in whose veins flows royal blood, the blood of several great dynasties. Very young and capable of producing offspring. A girl with exceptional magical and prophetic abilities, a carrier of the Elder Blood as the prophecies have heralded. A girl who will play her role with great aplomb without direction, prompt, sycophants or grey eminences, because that is what her destiny demands. 

A girl, whose true abilities are and will be known only to us: Cirilla, daughter of Princess Pavetta of Cintra, the granddaughter of the Queen Calanthe called the Lioness of Cintra. The Elder Blood, the Icy Flame of the North, the Destroyer and Restorer, whose coming was prophesied centuries ago. Ciri of Cintra, the Queen of the North. And her blood, from which will be born the Queen of the World.”

After this, Yennefer, who was brought to the Lodge agains her will (although she is a member) escapes with Fringilla’s help in order to find Ciri and Philippa is furious. 

The next time we see Philippa is in The Tower of the Swallows and it is when Yennefer is hunting down Vilgefortz and contacts Philippa for help:

Philippa stared at her from under lowered eyelids. “If you believe,” she said finally, “that you've won peace, time, or security with this declaration, then you've miscalculated. Make no mistake about it, Yennefer. 

When you fled from Montecalvo, you made your decision. You chose to stand on a different side of the barricade. If you are not with the Lodge, you are against the Lodge. Now you're trying to forestall us from finding Ciri, and the motives that guide you are opposed to ours. 

You act against us. You do not want to allow us to use Ciri for our political purposes. You shouldknow that we will also do everything in our power to make sure that you cannot use the girl for your sentimental purposes.”

“So, it’s war?”

“Competition.” Philippa smiled toxically. “Competition only, Yennefer.”

“Decent and honorable?”

“You must be joking.”

“Obviously. Though on at least one specific issue, I would like to have an honest and genuine conversation. And, incidentally, it involves a favor to me.”

“Speak.”

“Over the next few days, maybe even tomorrow, events will occur whose consequences I cannot foresee. It may happen that our competition and rivalry suddenly has no meaning. For the simple reason that one of the competitors will not be there anymore.”

Philippa Eilhart narrowed her blue-shaded eyes. “I understand.”

“Ensure that I posthumously gain back my reputation and good name. I will no longer be held for a traitor or an accomplice of Vilgefortz. I ask this of the Lodge. I ask this of you, personally.”

Philippa was silent for a moment.“I deny your request,” she said finally. “I'm sorry, but your exoneration is not in the interest of the Lodge. If you die, you die a traitor. You'll be a traitor and criminal to Ciri, because then it will be easier to manipulate the girl.”

“Before you do something that could be fatal,” Triss said suddenly, “leave something behind for us…”

“A will?” Yennefer said.

“Something that allows us to… continue. To find Ciri. Because we are primarily concerned for her health! For her life! Yennefer, Dijkstra has found some traces of… some traces of certain activities have been found. If Vilgefortz does have Ciri, then the girl faces a horrible death.”

“Be quiet, Triss,” Philippa Eilhart hissed sharply. “We are not trading or bargaining.”

“I will leave you the information,” Yennefer said slowly. “I'll leave you the information on what I've found and what I plan. I’ll leave a trail you can follow to her. But not in vain. If you will not facilitate my exoneration in the eyes of the world, then to hell with you and with the world. But at least grant me exoneration in the eyes of the witcher.”

“No,” Philippa denied the request almost instantly. “That is also not in the interest of the Lodge. You will also remain a traitor and a mercenary sorceress to your witcher. It is not in the interest of the Lodge for him to furiously attempt to avenge you. If he despises you, he will not attempt to take revenge. By the way, he's probably already dead or will die any day now.”

“The information,” Yennefer said dully, “for his life. Save him, Philippa.”

“No, Yennefer.”

“Because it's not in the interest of the Lodge.” A purple fire kindled in the sorceress’ eyes. “Did you hear that Triss? There, you have your Lodge. You see their true colors, their true interests. And what do you think of them? You were a mentor to the girl, almost – as you put it – a big sister. And Geralt…”

“Do not attack Triss’ relationships, Yennefer.” Philippa retaliated with her own fire in her eyes. “We will find and rescue the girl without your help. And if you succeed, that's fine, a thousand thanks, because you will have saved us the trouble. You tear the girl out of the hands of Vilgefortz and we will be happy. And Geralt? Who cares about Geralt?”

“Did you hear that, Triss?”

“Forgive me,” said Triss Merigold dully. “Forgive me, Yennefer.”

“Oh, no, Triss. Never.”

I know this is a long scene, but it’s so important and isn’t one I felt right in slicing up. This establishes Triss’ true betrayal of Yennefer. Just prior to this, it is practically stated that Triss and Philippa slept together and despite Triss’ love for Yennefer her loyalty to Philippa is stronger in this moment which makes this hurt so much more. Philippa is also so cruel to Yennefer in this scene, denying both Geralt and Ciri the truth of her motivations as to better manipulate them. It really showcases how her lust for power overrides her empathy. 

The final time we see Philippa is in Lady of the Lake when Ciri is brought before the Lodge. Here, Philippa describes what their plans are for Ciri:

“You are coming with me,” Lady Owl (Philippa) said, breaking the heavy silence, “and Sile to Kovir, to Pont Vanis, the summer capital of the kingdom. As you are no longer Cirilla of Cintra, during the course of the audience you will be presented as an adept of magic, being protected by us. 

At that audience you will meet a very wise king, Esterad Thyssen. You will meet his wife, the Queen Zuleyka, a person of singular nobility and goodness. You will also meet their son and heir, Prince Tancred.”

Ciri was beginning to understand and rolled her eyes. Lady Owl did not miss that detail.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “First of all you must impress prince Tancred. Because you are going to become his lover and give him a child.”

“If you were still Cirilla of Cintra,” Philippa continued after a long pause, “still the daughter of Pavetta and granddaughter of Calanthe, you would become Prince Tancred’s legal wife. You’d be the princess and later the queen of Poviss and Kovir. Unfortunately, and I tell you with genuine regret, fate has deprived you of everything. Including your future. You will only be his mistress. His favourite.”

Then Later: 

“Your’s and Tancred’s child,” Philippa watched here with dark eyes, “will ensure the future and status of this Lodge. Take note that it will be a great thing. You will be a part of it, because right after the birth you will sit with us at this table. We will teach you. You are one of us, even if you do not want to admit it yet.”

“On the island of Thanedd,” Ciri overcame the tightness in her throat, “you said I was a mindless tool, even a monster, Lady Owl, and now you say that I am one of you.”

Then, the Lodge asks Ciri what her last name will be, Philippa and others offering theirs but Ciri declines in favor of choosing Yennefer’s:

“Thank you, Lady Philippa,” Ciri said after a few moments, squeezing the head of the sphinxes in her hands. “I also feel honoured with the proposal to take the surname de Tancarville. However, it seems to me that my new last name is the only thing that I can choose for myself, I thank the two mistresses. But I want to be called Cirilla of Vengerberg, daughter of Yennefer.”

Ciri requests to go and see Geralt and The Lodge votes on this and Philippa is the deciding vote. At first, she is hesitant but then Ciri shows her a vision and Philippa says this: 

“This Lodge,” Philippa said at last in a firm voice, “is to decide the fate of the world. So, this Lodge must reflect the world. Here, equilibrium and wisdom does not always mean cold and selfish, calculation and vileness, and sentimentality is not always naive. On one hand, iron discipline and on the other responsibility, resistance to violence, gentleness and trust. Cool reason… And heart.”

“I,” she said into the silence that reigned after her introduction, “cast the last vote. I will take into account one more thing. An element that without balancing anything, balances everything.”

“Following her gaze, everyone looked at the wall, to a mosaic of many multicolour tiles depicting the snake Uroboros, biting it’s own tail.

“That thing,” she continued, staring with her dark eyes at Ciri, “is destiny in which I, Philippa Eilhart have only begun to believe in recently, which I have only recently begun to understand. Destiny is not the way to providence or comfortable fatalism. Destiny is hope. I am full of hope that it will become what we want to happen, so I give my vote to Ciri - Child of Destiny, Child of Hope”

In the pillared hall of Montecalvo the was silence for a long time. From outside of the window came the hunting cry from a sea eagle.

“Lady Yennefer,” Ciri whispered. “It means…”

“Come, my daughter,” Yennefer whispered back. “Geralt is waiting for is and it is a long road ahead.”

This is the last time we see Philippa, but based on what we hear at other parts of Lady of Lake, we know she does not have a happy ending. After this, the Witch Hunt begin, a period of time when the Clergy hunted and murdered sorceresses and destroyed their pictures and images. The Witcher Hunts themselves could be an entirely separate post there is so much there. 

Many sorceresses, Philippa included as later considered Martyrs but she was killed viciously by the clergy as described in this passage from Lady of the Lake:

…As well as many of the other faithful, St. Philippa was also besmirched with betraying the Kingdom, inducing riots and plotting a coup. Willemer, a heretic and sectarian, unlawfully appointed himself the title of archpriest, and ordered St. Philippa to be thrown into a dark dungeon, and to plague her with cold and hunger, until she confessed to her sins of which she was accused and repented. 

Also various instruments of torture were used to try and break her spirit. But St. Philippa with disdain, spit in his face and accused him of sodomy.

The heretic had her disrobed and whipped her with barbed wire and placed sharp splinters under her nails. While unceasingly preaching about his faith and denouncing the Goddess. But St. Philippa laughed at him and recommended to him to heal his sick mind.”

“Willemer then gave the order to have her taken to the rack and stretched, while tearing her body with sharp hooks and burning her with candles. Although thus tormented, St. Philippa showed no weakness in body and indeed her resistance and endurance seemed almost superhuman. 

The executioner’s arms went limp and with fear they retreated from her. Then the filthy heretic, Willemer, began to threaten them and told them to continue the torment. They burned St. Philippa with red-hot irons, pulled her limbs out of their joints and pulled at her breasts with blacksmith tongs. And although she passed away from this torment, she confessed nothing.

The shameless heretic Willemer, we read in the books of our holy fathers, later suffered for this punishment and it was that lice and worms began to eat him alive, his entrails rotted away and he died miserably. 

His carcass carried with it a foul stench and nobody wanted to bury him, and so he was dropped in a swamp.

For the suffering and death of St. Philippa the eternal memory of a martyr’s crown rightfully belongs. Let us give the Great Mother Goddess praise for her lessons and teachings. Amen.

The Life of St. Philippa, Martyr of Mons Calvus

The Book of Martyrs Compiled in the Breviary of Tretogor, For the 

Contemplation of the Holy Fathers and Mothers.”

Needless to say, Philippa’s hunger for power and The Lodge end in ruin. There are very few happy endings in The Witcher and this is just another example. 

So that’s my overview on Philippa! I had to cut some scenes and moments in the hope of keeping it short, but I hope it was still an enjoyable read. If you want another character/topic WTF post leave something in my inbox and I will get to it when I can. 

[mintaka14]

This is chapter 2 of my Dash & Lily inspired ML AU.

For the Lady’s Favour

A Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction

By Mintaka14

 Chapter Two – Complicated Plans

 “Delivery order,” Luka’s boss said laconically, and pushed a takeaway cup and a slip of paper across the counter towards Luka.

Delivery orders weren’t uncommon, but the address on the slip was, and Luka’s eyebrow climbed as he read it. His boss just shrugged.

“The customer paid extra for this one, so you’d better get going.”

At least it was a nice day to be making a delivery to the Trocadéro, and Luka headed out into the streets towards the gardens.

There were plenty of people clustered around the first bench from the northern entrance of the park, and the second, but there was only one at the third bench. He could see pigtails, and a girl bent over the sketchbook in her lap. As he got closer, he caught a glimpse of an assortment of clothing, notes and scribbles and odd sketches around the edges.

“Delivery for the lady at the third bench?” he called out, and his attention was caught by the figure she seemed to be working on. Was that… Jagged Stone? This girl had good taste in music, clearly, and the coat she’d sketched on him looked amazing.

“Hey, that’s really –“ The girl looked up, and Luka completely lost his train of thought as he found himself staring into endlessly blue eyes. Holy shit.

“Is that my coffee?” she asked with a tentative smile, and Luka jerked back to attention. He looked down at the chocolate and fluff with extra everything and all the froufrou his boss had been able to jam into one cup.

“Not exactly.”

The girl’s eyes fell on the cup in his hands, and she let out a soft breath.

“I guess he has a sweet tooth,” she said, and he handed her the cup, trying not to react to the brush of her fingers.

“You didn’t see who placed the order?” she asked a little wistfully. “It- it wasn’t you, was it?”

“Me?” Luka was still reeling under the impact of those blue, blue eyes. “Right now, I wish it had been.”

He nodded at the cup of chocolate and marshmallow fluff in her hands. “Although I’m more of a coffee guy.”

She lit up in a smile, and any semblance of rational thought that Luka had left was gone. Damn, she was just too gorgeous.

“Me too, to be honest. I wouldn’t get half the things I need to do done without a regular caffeine hit. Are you a night owl too?”

“Too often, yeah. It kind of comes with the territory.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, and he found himself talking more.

“I play in a couple of bands, and I’d keep falling asleep over my guitar in the middle of a gig without coffee to keep me going.”

“You’re a musician?”

He grinned and ducked his head in acknowledgement. “What about you? What keeps you up at night?”

It was only after he’d said it that he realised how that could have sounded, but the girl didn’t seem to notice.

“Design and sewing.” She let out a faint huff. “The middle of the night always seems to be about the only time I can focus on my projects without something interrupting me, so… coffee.” She pulled a face at the mountain of fluffy chocolate in her hand, and then seemed to realise that they were still standing in the middle of the park. She backed up a reluctant step. “I should – I should stop holding you up. You probably need to get back to work, and here I’m – Sorry. Thanks for bringing me the hot chocolate.”

“You can hold me up any time,” he sighed, but only when she was out of hearing. He turned and headed back towards the coffee shop, but he came to an abrupt stop at the sound of running footsteps and the touch of a hand on his arm.

“Sorry, sorry!” the girl gasped. She held out a raspberry red macaron wrapped in cellophane and ribbon. It was a work of art. “I nearly forgot. Could you give this to the person who ordered the hot chocolate for me?”

“It looks like a ladybug,” he said stupidly, and she blushed again. “No, it’s cute. Lucky.”

“I could use a bit of luck,” she muttered, then she met his eyes and her smile grew brighter. “It was really nice to meet you, Luka. Thanks for my sugar rush.”

Luka’s malfunctioning brain caught on that. “You know my name?”

And the girl’s face flamed into embarrassment. “I don’t… you… the thing…” She gave up and nodded at his chest, and the name tag that was still there.

Ah. Of course.

“I’m Ma-ma-marinette,” she offered, tripping over her own name.

“Pretty name. It suits you.” Judging from the way her cheeks burned even brighter, his tone had been a little more heartfelt than he’d intended, and, reluctantly, he backed up a step. “Guess I’d better get back before my boss notices I’m missing and decides to fire me.”

The smile she gave him almost knocked him on his ass, and he turned away before he could make even more of an idiot of himself. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, though.

Luka stopped and turned back.

“Marinette,” he said. “Wait, do you know Juleka Couffaine?”

“We were in the same class for a few years,” Marinette admitted. “We hang out sometimes.”

“You’re Marinette! I heard all about you from Jules after that thing with the school photo.” He could have kissed her for what she’d done for his baby sister’s self-confidence, and if half the things he’d heard from Juleka were true, this girl was every bit as incredible as he’d just been imagining. He realised he was beaming at her like a fool, and tried to dial it back a bit.

“Nothing too bad, I hope,” she said, sounding a little alarmed, and he felt his smile soften.

“Nothing bad at all.”

When he finally got back to the coffee shop, Luka had barely had time to slide behind the counter and sling an apron around his waist again before the door swung open with an enthusiastic peal of the bell. He looked up to find Adrien Agreste heading towards the counter with an expression of barely concealed nervous anticipation on his famous features.

Luka gave him an easy smile, but before he could ask what the model wanted, Adrien had blurted out, “Did she like it? Did… were you the one who delivered the hot chocolate for me? Was she there?”

So Marinette’s mystery hot chocolate was Paris’ beloved poster boy.

Luka silently handed him the macaron that Marinette had asked him to deliver, and watched the model’s face light up like Christmas had come early.

~~~~~

Marinette was not surprised when Alya burst into her bedroom without so much as a greeting.

“So?” Alya said impatiently. “How did it go?”

“He sent me hot chocolate. I think I’m still in sugar shock, Alya, but the boy who delivered it was so funny and sweet about it –“

“Never mind the delivery guy,” Alya cut her off. “Your mystery guy came through! You had your first date with him… feel free to tell me I’m a genius any time now. This is a good start. The whole idea is for you to get to know each other before you meet, so you need to write to him and get him to do something to show he’s serious here.”

“Like what?”

Alya shrugged. “You’re the one with the plans. You just have to come up with something you can get him to do that doesn’t involve you meeting face to face, something he can do to win your favour.”

“Yes, but it’s not like I can ask him to fight a duel for my honour or something…” Marinette trailed off. “Fight,” she repeated thoughtfully.

“I know that look,” Alya nudged her shoulder. “That’s a plan happening, isn’t it?”

Marinette grabbed a sheet of notepaper from her desk, and her favourite pen.

“Ultimate Mecha Strike,” she announced.

“What?”

“An online challenge. It’s perfect. We don’t have to meet in person, but we can play each other online and find out a bit more about each other.”

Alya was looking as if she wasn’t sure if it was a bad idea or brilliant.

“What if he doesn’t play UMS?”

“Then I can teach him.”

“And what if he doesn’t like getting whomped?” Alya asked sceptically. She was very familiar with Marinette’s playing style, and Marinette made a face, still concentrating on the note she was writing.

“Then it’s better to find out now that he’s a sore loser, before I get too attached.”

Marinette read over the note, and folded it, presenting it to Alya with a flourish. Alya grinned, and tucked it into her bag.

“Right,” she said, getting to her feet. “Let’s see if he’ll fight for your hand. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Once Alya had clattered down the steps again, Marinette buried her face in her pillow and screamed quietly. This was a bad, bad idea.

~~~~~

Luka was wiping down the counter when the bell chimed over the door, and he paused as Alya came in. It wasn’t unusual to see her in the café, but it was unusual to see her there without Nino or their friends. He watched curiously as she sidled almost furtively towards the noticeboard and tacked something up between the band posters and lost and found notices.

“What are you up to?” Luka asked, and Alya leaped, her hand going to her chest as she spun around.

“Jeez! You startled me.”

Luka tipped his head at the envelope she’d just pinned up. “I saw you the other day, when you put that letter on the board, and now this one. What’s that all about?”

“Aren’t we allowed to use the public noticeboard?” Alya asked, her hands going to her hips and a defensive note in her voice.

“And that hot chocolate delivery the other day?”

Alya huffed in response, but Luka just kept watching her with a look of mild interest, until she said, “It’s just like this game. Sort of. Like a blind date, without actually knowing who you’re dating.”

Luka’s eyebrow climbed.

“Look, we have these friends who’d be perfect for each other, but she can’t talk to him, and he’s completely clueless, so we’re trying to set them up.”

“Right,” Luka said slowly. “Does Marinette know about this?”

“Well, she doesn’t know who it is,” Alya muttered. “But she’s had this huge crush on Adrien for ages. We’re just getting them to set each other challenges, doing stuff like that coffee delivery, or… I don’t know, looking for a painting at the Louvre, something like that. Like dates, where they don’t actually meet.” Alya gave a sudden grin. “It’s going to be so hilarious when they finally work out who they’re writing to.”

“Is this some kind of practical joke?” he asked flatly, his heart sinking a little for Marinette’s sake, but Alya’s angry reaction was somewhat reassuring.

“Like I’d do that to my girl!” she said indignantly. “This is just… a creative way to help her get past some stuff. You met Marinette, so you know how she trips all over herself and stutters?”

She’d certainly stumbled over their names when she’d gotten flustered, but Marinette had been perfectly coherent through most of their conversation. Alya must have taken Luka’s expression as agreement, though, because she barrelled on.

“Well, imagine that, but like a million times worse. Girl just cannot string a sentence together around a guy she likes. And Adrien, well, he’s great with knowing what to say to his fans, and being polite to other models and his father’s business contacts, but not so good with,” Alya gestured vaguely, “normal stuff. He’s never really noticed Marinette like that, because he’s not real good with subtle, but he buys into that whole romantic movie, big gesture, winning the lady thing.”

“And that’s where this comes in?” Luka asked drily, nodding at the letter pinned to the board.

“Exactly!” Alya smacked her hands on the counter. “It’s like something out of one of those old movies. We get Adrien’s attention with the whole romantic mystery thing, and in the meantime, they can get to know each other. Marinette can talk to Adrien, because she doesn’t have to actually talk to him and she doesn’t know it’s him anyway, and Adrien can get to see how amazing my girl really is.”

“This seems like a very complicated way of doing things,” he pointed out as neutrally as possible, but Alya waved away the observation with a flip of her hand.

“You don’t know Marinette. Everything tends to be complicated with her.”

“If Marinette can’t actually talk to him in person, maybe he’s not the right one for her.”

“Oh, please! She’s been in love with him forever. Love makes you do stupid things, and she just needs a bit of a push in the right direction. I know Marinette.” Alya narrowed her eyes at him. “And what’s it got to do with you anyway?”

Luka just shook his head, not trusting himself to respond. He was honest enough with himself to admit that the pang of disappointment he’d felt when he found out that Marinette was interested in someone else might have had something to do with his judgement here, but even so, this had all the makings of a trainwreck of epic proportions. He didn’t, however, need Alya’s measuring gaze to know that it was none of his business, not if Marinette wanted this.

He shrugged, and turned away to straighten the coffee cups.

“It’s nothing to do with me,” he told her, and the note stayed pinned to the board until Adrien came in again some time later to collect it. And if Luka’s heart sank a little at the eager expression on Adrien’s face, and the thought that maybe this ridiculous plan might actually work, then he kept that to himself.