#airy x eve

[invisiblegarters]

So okay unexpected AiryEve, didn't think you'd show up but I'm not complaining.

And can I just say I love how easy that conversation was? I feel like even a few years ago something like this couldn't have happened without a ton of qualifications.

[fanfictionroxs]

Eve and Airy flirting: Near far wherever you aarrreee

Peeta: Hold my iceberg

[aprilblossomgirl]

Just cry. You can cry.

HIGH SCHOOL FRENEMY | EP.14

[strwbrychffoncke]

"i just wanted to tell you incase you forgot... 'i love you',, 3k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: the ways in which you tell sylus "i love you" and ways in which he reciprocates contains: lnds sylus x mc?reader (fem in mind but she/her is used like once or twice) ,fluff! ,kitten/sweetie used as pet names ,domestic!sylus feel ,cuddling ,playful banter ,baker sylus ,incorrect evol use but its wholesome ,sylus chases u around ,twins feature ,not much to say other than soft!sylus being in love w u / both of u being lovesick for e/o + twins shenanigans at the end (i think thats it) note: (mostly edited ,will check back later) added this track last minute but immediately knew who i wanted to write it for. first fic of the event woooo~ :x

-

sylus wasn't a man of love-filled sentiments.

or at least, that's what you'd initially thought.

a man like him, the big bad leader of onychinus, someone who was above everyone else and the most sought-after criminal, wielding a steel-cold gun in one of his bloodstained hands...

someone like that didn't know love, surely.

but oh, how wrong you were.

you were the only one that knew, under all of that tough exterior, the true tenderness that lied beneath it.

and you were the sole subject to it, from the very beginning.

-

you woke unceremoniously in a bed that was not your own, surrounded in a blanket of warmth but not solely due to the comforter surrounding your plush body:

it was mainly due to the otherworldly individual beneath you, who you were using as your personal body pillow of sorts.

you stir, letting out a small groan before peeking your eyes open to catch a glimpse of the man before you.

the big, bad leader of onychinus, sleeping soundly in bed next to you, arm firmly wrapped around your waist and your head comfortably planted on his chest— your favorite makeshift pillow.

you can't help but to smile at the sight.

feeling a touch mischievous, you begin trailing your fingers, touch featherlight, up from his waist towards his chest and back down, slowly shifting to drawing mindless shapes in the expanse of exposed skin.

he doesn't react to your touches, still deep in sleep, so you change your tactic.

you drag a single index finger up, up, up past his slender waist, then his slowly rising and falling chest, his pretty neck then up towards his sharp jawline to poke at his cheek.

he grunts in his sleep, but nothing more.

you let out a huff, lifting your head up and staring at the serene expression on his face— even lost in the land of dreams, you couldn't help but to admire every feature of his visage.

a couple of minutes pass by just like this until you decide you're feeling a little bored again.

so you repeat your earlier action, dragging your finger up slowly, slowly, just about to poke his cheek again—

when your wrist is swiftly caught by a warm hand before you reach it.

"it seems my dream of a kitten mistaking me for a toy wasn't a dream after all."

sylus' crimson eyes crack open to look directly into your bright (albeit still slightly-sleepy) ones, heart full at the little playful smile you're sporting.

"she seems bored," he muses, thumb from the hand still gripping your wrist gently caressing your knuckles back and forth— a subconscious habit whenever his hands hold yours.

"should i entertain her?"

his question goes unanswered as he shifts over on his side while letting your hand go at the same time, causing you to slip from your spot on top of him to behind him, facing his back.

"—or leave her to her own devices?"

"sylus!"

your laughs are airy, quickly enveloping the spacious bedroom, and sylus finds himself smiling at the sound.

you don't leave him alone for long, quickly pressing against him and hugging his large frame from behind.

sylus releases a playful scoff. "is this a new attack of yours?"

"yeah, you can't escape, i'm going to stick to you like this forever and ever!"

"how touching," his voice is filled with amusement. "i think i can get used to this..." he trails off, smile evident in his words.

you stay that way for awhile when you decide to repeat your earlier actions in the new space, retracting a hand as you begin to draw shapes into his back this time. at the same time, sylus begins to hum whatever song is on his mind, eyes shut as he revels in your touches, neither one of you in a rush to get up from this sacred space for two.

"what are you drawing, kitten?"

your finger dances across the bare canvas of his back.

"guess," you answer simply as you continue.

he lets out a huff of a laugh. "not going to make it easy for me, are you?"

you hum in response, dragging your fingers to create imaginary lines over the muscles.

"is this... a kitten?" you can almost hear the raise of his eyebrow and see the funny yet curious expression on his face.

"oooh, i didn't think you'd get that one. how about..."

your finger traces several lines again, taking your time before you stop and wait for his answer.

"hmmm..." the way he's concentrating trying to figure it out fills you with amusement like no other.

"a... plane?"

"wrong, it was mephisto!"

"..it was close."

"are you calling mephisto a plane..?"

"..let's move on to the next one."

a hearty laugh rings out as you pretend to erase the image.

"wait until i tell him~"

"you wouldn't dare," he jokingly threats, causing you to only giggle back in response.

you decide on something much simpler this time.

your movements are slowed as you start near the center, drawing a tilted line outward and up before curving it inward and mimicking the same on the opposite side, connecting them to form a heart.

i love you.

a short, amused laugh leaves him, immediately recognizing the shape, but shaping a question instead of an answer.

"i'm not too sure, sweetie. might have to try that one again," he says, voice soft and tender, a hint of a smile within it.

say it once more.

so you do.

you repeat your action, slower, drawing another imaginary heart on his bare skin and within it, your unspoken promise of devotion towards him.

i love you.

this time, he turns around to face you, pulling you flush against him. you let out a short laugh before its devoured by his lips on yours, caught in a dance of love and devotion, giggles bubbling out of you between the breaks as you try to catch your breath while he needily chases your lips.

and the message he wishes to convey is clear as day.

i love you, too.

-

someone like him was the last person you thought you'd ever associate sweets with.

but after the time spent together, you find it hard to imagine anyone else cautiously reading the instructions, mixing the ingredients precisely, and carefully readying the icing for the fresh cupcakes that have come out of the oven and are left cooling nearby, except for him.

you tiptoe into the kitchen, watching him prepare a piping bag for the freshly-made icing he's made while he hums (when you asked him why he goes through the trouble of making it from scratch, he countered by asking "doesn't it taste better when you put in the work for something?" and despite playfully scoffing at the little smirk he offered, you couldn't help but to agree with him).

you smile at his focused expression, reading glasses perched on his nose, some remnants of ingredients spotting his clothes as he decides on which icing tip to use for these particular cupcakes (the last time he made them, they resembled simple flowers. based on the icing tip he was inspecting now, it seemed he was going to try for roses this time).

now just a step away from his back, you reach out both hands, index fingers out as you poke both sides of his lower back at the same time.

he jolts at the sensation, small gasp emitting from his lips and shock washing over him as he cranes his neck over his shoulder to catch your satisfied smile.

"another sneak attack, kitten?"

"i couldn't resist."

you step up beside him, taking a peek into the bowl filled with icing.

"red this time? i would've never guessed."

he scoffs, smiling.

"am i that predictable to you?"

"well, after spending so much time together, its only natural, right?"

"its bad if an enemy learns to read you so easily; who knows what trap will be set in the future."

"you're right," your words trail off as you step back, causing the sly crow before you to raise a brow.

"they can plan an attack when you're vulnerable, like—"

behind him again, you jump forward, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"this!"

his hearty chuckle rings through the kitchen.

even if he saw your intention from the start, he made no move to stop you. he'd surrender to you if you so much as asked.

"so? what will you do with me now that i'm caught?"

"hmmm..."

you hum in thought, noticing sylus has picked up the piping bag and was inserting the icing tip into it, getting ready to fill the bag with the red icing.

he's waiting for your answer when one of your hands reaches forward, dipping your finger into the icing bowl and quickly withdrawing your arms, swiftly turning around—

when you feel yourself being lifted into the air.

you let out a surprised squeal, giggling as you thrash around in the hold of sylus' evol, said man's attention still on the icing bag as he scoops a dallop of red into it.

"such a naughty kitten," he says, evol pulling your suspended body over to him slowly as you laugh the entire way.

"and naughty kittens deserve a punishment," as he speaks, he dips his own finger into the bowl of icing, red now gathered onto the tip before looking up at you through the rims of his glasses.

realizing what he's planning, you thrash around to no avail within the confines of his evol, trying to create distance between you two.

"nooooo! im sorry! please- aha, hahaha! sylus!"

your attempt is futile, sly smirk curling on sylus' lips as his finger moves closer and closer to your smiling face that's trying to inch further and further away, pressing his finger right onto your nose, painting it in red.

"noooooo!" you whine, sylus chuckling in amusement.

"how cute," he muses. "maybe this will teach you to behave in the kitchen."

he finally lets you down with his evol, eyeing you as you're standing upright and before him once again.

"now, go and wait till i'm finished, i'll even let you have the first taste," he bargains, turning his back to you and walking back towards the icing bowl.

despite this, a smirk plasters itself onto your face as you creep your way up behind him once again, red icing still staining your finger from moments ago stretched out, ready to paint his cheek—

"i thought i told you to behave."

despite the countless attempts to catch him by surprise attacks, he knows what you're saying through them:

i love you.

your wrist is easily caught in his grasp, stopping your attack before it can hit his cheek, a displeased groan emitting from your throat.

he brings your icing-covered finger close to his lips, lapping at the red. you watch as it momentarily stains his lips before his tongue licks them clean, humming at the flavor.

"it seems.. better this time, don't you think?" he turns, looking down at you.

you huff out a breath, trying to hide your embarrassment at his little action.

"be patient, kitten, i'll be done soon enough..." he trails off, hand unraveling from your wrist. "or do i have to restrain you?"

"i'm going, i'm going!"

with that, you scurry out of the kitchen to wait in the living room, sylus' amused chuckle surrounding the kitchen soon replaced by his soft, mindless humming once again.

i love you more.

-

a man of his caliber having a playful side seemed like a far-fetched idea.

until you experienced it for yourself.

and since the very first time, you're convinced he may be the most playful person on the entire planet.

to be fair, you kind of expected this, after all, its not like it was the first time.

but when you snatched a cupcake when his back was turned and took a bite, you didn't expect him to notice— at least, not right away.

but he did, and when he began counting, you instinctually bolted out of the kitchen, cupcake still in hand, giggles trailing behind you, determined to not be caught by him.

you dashed past the living area, two crow masks peeking up from their spot on the sofa and shifting to another figure— their boss— who was trailing behind you, watching until your figures disappeared down the long corridor of the hall.

"i give her five minutes," kieran pipes up, turning towards his brother.

"i give her three!"

"you're on!"

. . .

even as you dash down the halls, careful not to hit anything and running in scattered directions, it doesn't take long for sylus to close in on you.

you make it to a lounging area, movements slowed from the amount you've ran in the past couple of minutes, beginning to catch your breath after not sensing him around when you feel a weight on your shoulders.

"caught you."

"...!"

he's equally out of breath, taking a few moments to even his breathing, leaning against you more and more before pushing your body down onto the sofa. you fall back on the cushions with a short oof! still in the midst of catching your breath before sylus lays what feels like his entire weight right on top of you.

"sylus!"

you push against his broad chest, completely crushed by his beautiful build of a body, laughter ringing through the living space at your futile struggle against the smirking man above you.

"it seems a little kitten is stuck," he heaves a couple of breaths. "what are you going... to do about it?"

"get... off!" you laugh.

"i'm tired after all of that chasing... not to mention this is comfortable for me," he takes a couple more breaths, looking down at your slightly-sweaty face. "so i'd rather not."

"you're heavy, sylus!"

you weakly hit at his chest when he closes his eyes, pretending to fall asleep on top of you.

"sylus!"

slowly, he lifts himself up with his arms, hands planted flat on either side of your head.

"attacking me after making me chase you? how very cruel of you, sweetie."

your breaths are mostly even now, watching for sylus' next move.

he slowly begins moving his head down, and your eyes naturally flutter closed, expecting a kiss.

he takes this opportunity to plant his knees into the sofa, shifting his weight onto them as he leans down, breath fanning your lips.

"you trust me, sweetie?" he whispers against your lips.

"always," you whisper back.

he suddenly lifts his head, arms lifting at the same time before his fingers immediately begin dancing over your midriff.

your eyes shoot open in shock and betrayal, laughs immediately ripped from your throat as you thrash beneath him, trying your best to get away despite being caged into the sofa.

"s-sy-sy- ahahah! sto-o-p! s-stop! hahaha!"

his fingers continue their brutal attack on your sensitive skin, bubbling laughter infectious as sylus joins you, pleased smile adorning his face at your current state.

he relents shortly after, allowing you to catch your breath again as he looks down at you in a daze, reaching out to straighten your hair.

"kiss..." your voice is breathless, but he catches it.

"hm?"

"you still owe me... a kiss...." you breathe out, looking up at him expectantly. "from earlier."

"ah, of course."

he leans down, capturing your lips with his, hovering over your body as your arms snake around his neck, pouring your hearts into the action. you both kiss with equal fervor, chasing each others lips, never able to get your fill of the other.

i love you.

he pulls away slowly, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close in fear of him leaving you all of a sudden. the look in his eyes says i'm not going anywhere, his forehead touching yours as you both breathe each other in before he tucks his head into your shoulder.

"lets stay like this... just for a bit," his quiet, husky breath hits your ear and you shiver at the sensation.

"okay," you smile, hands petting through his silver locks.

i love you, most.

and you stay together, just like that, losing track of time in the world reserved for two, heartbeats syncing up as you meld against one another, both with the shared sentiment of never letting go.

(only at your insistence of taking a shower and slipping into some fresh clothes when you think he's dozed off does he relent, slowly getting up and scooping you into his arms, making his way down the hall towards his room).

-

sylus wasn't a man of love-filled sentiments.

at least, that's what you'd initially thought.

a man like him, the big bad leader of onychinus, someone who seemed to be above everyone else, the most sought-after criminal wielding a steel-cold gun in one of his bloodstained hands—

the same hands that cradled your face, caressed your hair any chance he got, tickled you when you least expected it, carried you so lovingly at your beck-and-call, hugging you close to his chest, close enough that you could feel his beating heart—

the heart of a man who loved so wholly and completely, devoting his entire being to you.

so, despite what anyone else may think, may also assume at first glance, you knew the truth:

despite the odds, sylus was someone that knew love the best.

-

epilogue:

"so... who won?" luke turns to his brother under the crow mask.

"i did, obviously," kieran is all-too confident.

"what?!? nuh-uh, she was definitely caught in less than five minutes!"

"did we watch the same thing? that was maybe six!"

"are you.... stupid?"

"rude!"

"i didn't think you'd try to lie your way to win," luke crosses his arms over his chest.

"i am not lying!"

"are too!"

the bickering continues for a couple more minutes until luke pipes up again.

"wait, what was the prize for whoever won the bet?"

"......"

kieran is the first to speak up again.

"you know what, since you won, you can be the one to tell boss the reason so many cupcakes are missing."

"WHAT???"

later, the cameras in mephisto's eyes would relay the twins chasing each other around— just amongst the footage of them scarfing down the freshly-made rose-icing cupcakes.

-

a/n: spreading the soft sylus agenda... this is inspired by a number of domestic art/tweets ive seen if i find them ill add but.. he's so soft..... i adore him

-

[humanpurposes]

The Way You Taste

The lines between friendship and 'more' are becoming difficult to define with you and Aemond. You don't know what's holding you back, but lately you can't shake the feeling that someone is watching you.

modern!vampire!Aemond x reader

Main Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, blood play, creepy stuff (tis the season), mentions of murder and violence

Words: 3.8k

A/n: Happy Halloween/Halloween Eve 😼🖤 (depending on your timezone)

You can’t shake this feeling lately, like someone is watching you.

The season doesn’t help. The clocks went back a few days ago and the new cycle of daylight has thrown you off your axis. The mornings are bright but the night comes quicker. You watched the sun fade from the window in your office and by 4pm it was dark. Insanity.

Sure, you can wear your big coat and a scarf to fight off the cold but your limbs still feel shaky and unsure. And it still feels like there are eyes on you everywhere you go; work; the coffee shop round the corner; the supermarket; the gym; your own unassuming flat on the quiet side of Queen’s Park.

Dany’s obsessed with the news stories, always sending you videos and articles with the latest updates and theories. It began about a month ago when a student was found behind some bins in a service yard off Silk Street with a knife in her neck. She was only eighteen, from a small town in Dorne, eager to get a degree and start her life. She had been out with her flatmates at a well known pub in a busy part of town, went outside for a smoke and that was it. According to the police she might have had a chance if someone had found her. Instead she was left to bleed out for hours.

There have been three deaths in total, the student, a 30-something-year-old regular at the club Seven Heavens, and a bartender at Falling Star. Dany thinks the culprit must be some insane conservative with a twisted sense of morals and decency, determined to punish those who actually live their lives– or so she’s seen online.

You don’t know who the culprit is, you don’t really want to think about it. You can’t stop noticing every face you pass on the street, on the bus, on your way into the office, and you wonder, could they be a killer?

Your hands tremble and fumble with the keys to your front door. The key is funny, you have to sort of push it and pull it as you twist it, but the door opens and you scurry inside. The keys are tossed into their usual dish, your coat and scarf thrown on their hooks, shoes off, bag set down on the floor carefully so you don’t smash your laptop. 

You should lock the door. You will lock the door but your head is pulsing and the cold weather has left your throat dry. You need tea, or water. Maybe you could treat yourself to both. 

There are exactly three rooms in your flat. Bedroom, bathroom and the rest of it. The sight of your sofa covered in papers and notebooks fills you with dread but you move on to the kitchen and clear a space on the counter, setting out a glass and a mug. Teabag in the mug. Water in the glass. Water in the kettle. Fuck, the dishes are piling up. 

Your finger is an inch away from the switch on the kettle when your phone rings. The noise is faint, coming from the hallway because it’s in your coat pocket. So you go back around the counter, past the sofa and into the hallway. The ringtone sounds sharper the closer you get and once you’ve got the phone in your hand the name Aemond Targaryen appears on the screen.

Your heart lurches. You let the phone ring for another second before you answer in an airy voice, “hi.”

There’s a soft hum on the other side. “Hello, you. Did you get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Good day?”

You have to stop yourself from making a sound of exasperation. There’s only so much you can enjoy about a job when you give everything and get seemingly nothing back. “Fine. Long. Emails.”

Aemond hums. Maybe it’s meant to be sympathy but you have this same problem with Dany, the disappointment when they don’t hear what they want to. 

Dany had been the one to introduce the two of you around the end of August. Aemond is a cousin of her’s and at the time had just moved to King’s Landing from Oldtown. She didn’t know him particularly well, but said he got on with her brother, Viserys, which didn’t paint the best image in your mind. But then you met him and right away you knew he was unlike any other man you’d ever met. He was striking; tall, perfect posture, long silver hair, perfectly fitted suit. And his voice, gentle yet chilling. Hypnotic. 

He asked for your number the second time you met and you had given it to him on the basis that an exchange of numbers wasn’t a commitment. Maybe it meant nothing, maybe he just wanted to be friendly. Sometime over the last two months, ‘friendly’ became text conversations into the early morning hours, became phone calls, became coffees and dinner.

“Is everything okay, Aemond?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

You’ve wandered back into the living room. All the clutter makes you anxious. “Need to clean up a bit, get myself some food.”

“Can I come over?”

“Oh, um, I’d rather you didn’t, my place is a mess.”

“Come over to mine, then. I’ll make you dinner.”

You catch your lip between your teeth. 

You and Aemond had gone for dinner last Saturday night. He told you to wear something nice, picked you up in a cab and took you to a steak restaurant where you knew you could barely afford a side dish, let alone a main. He told you to order whatever you wanted, picked expensive wines to go with the food, insisted you get a dessert, and covered the whole bill.

He saw you home. It would have been a shame to end the night before 9pm, so you invited him in. You showed Aemond around, not that your place is spectacular, but he liked what you did with the bedroom, the plants and the postcards on the wall. In the living room you picked out a bottle of cheap white wine from the fridge. Harmless fun, surely.

All self restraint was gone. You were half delirious and cosying up to him on the sofa, telling him about your job, your shitty boss, your obnoxious coworkers. If you had your way you’d start your own blog or magazine, or disappear to a coastal town and write a novel, but that wouldn’t pay off your student loans or pay for a place to live. 

You told him about Dany’s new friends. She had her own startup with her family’s money behind her, and it was doing well but she didn’t have time for anything else. She was unreachable during the week, and every weekend she had started hanging out with her employees. Your chats are filled with photos she's sent you of pints and drunk selfies in clubs. And she never invites you.

But Aemond was there, the only person in weeks who had made any sort of effort to see you. You held his face in your hands and told him how beautiful his lips were.

Then he kissed you.

That took you by surprise. He moved you into his lap, trailed his hands along your legs to the hem of your dress, and all the while your lips moved together so perfectly. You wanted it to happen, more than you had allowed yourself to admit, but you hadn’t expected it. You pulled away and so did he. Something didn’t feel right. Something was holding you back.

He’s Dany’s cousin, you told yourself. 

“It’s alright,” you say, moving your bag to the sofa, paper and pens shifting around it. “Shit– I’ve got some work to do.”

“On a Friday night?”

It wouldn’t be so unbelievable, you staying in on a Friday, but Aemond has a way of picking up on the smallest of details. Maybe there’s a give in your voice. Maybe you’re breathing too heavily– now you’re thinking about it and you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

“I’m fine, honestly, don’t worry about me.”

“I do, that’s the problem.”

You can hardly think over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. And gods, you feel so guilty. Why do you feel so guilty? “It’s just that now’s not a good time.”

“Now as in, right now?”

Now as in this moment. Today. This year. Until you feel that you’re ready, only, you don’t know when you’ll be ready.

“Aemond, you know I think you’re wonderful, I mean, I hope you know that. And I… appreciated dinner last weekend. I just…”

There’s a flow of breath through the speaker, a slow exhale that sets your nerves alight. Aemond has a way of tapping his fingers when he’s impatient or when he’s thinking. You picture him drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“I thought I was being rather direct in what I wanted. I hate to think I’ve imposed,” he says. 

It’s hard not to overthink this kind of thing, after a lifetime of drunk flirting, harmless fun, no strings attached, “not looking for a relationship” and men keeping their options open. Aemond is intelligent and generous. He has an eye for detail, a way of reading you, and a self assuredness that means he can breeze through life effortlessly.

He’s perfect, and you’re not. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Aemond is silent. No breathing, no sign of life. It’s like that for a few seconds, but it feels like minutes. And finally he says. “I understand perfectly.” 

“I really am sorry,” you say, but the white noise of the call is dead. 

You finally make yourself that cup of tea. Dany calls and you don’t want to answer. But you do. She’s on her way to the pub. 

“It’s Jon’s birthday and we’re going to Falling Star!”

You don’t want to hate her for being around other people, but why can’t she do it without rubbing it in your face? “Enjoy. And don’t die,” you say.

“I’m too pretty to be murdered,” she says. A slew of true crime documentaries and faces in newspapers would say otherwise, but by then she’s already hung up.

The rest of your evening is a peaceful one. You don’t pay much attention to the dating show you put on the TV, more interested in an algorithm of videos, cats making funny noises, a man shoving his wife’s face into their wedding cake, a tribute to the three victims of the Silk Street murders– no new news there, new economic policies, fantasy book recommendations…

You check your messages. Dany’s just sent you a photo of her pint.

You scroll a little further down and hover your thumb over your chat with Aemond, but you don’t open it.

Nothing in particular wakes you. Still half asleep, you’re aware of your body, the exposed parts of skin against the fabric of your bedsheets, the rise and fall of your chest. Instinct tells you it’s a few hours after midnight. There are no strange noises, no sources of light, just the cold air beyond the duvet, pulled up to your chin.

Then it starts to slip away. 

Your hands struggle to catch up with your mind. You think about grabbing the edge and tugging against whatever is trying to pull it off you, but you can’t. The fabric slips through your limp fingers, dragging over your body until there’s no weight on top of you. Your limbs are frozen in place, curled over on one side, dressed in an old t-shirt, panties and nothing else. Your skin crawls at a silent breeze, but you can feel it again, eyes on you.

Then there are fingers, stroking along your bare legs, closing around your ankles. 

Your eyes blink open, adjusting to the darkness and you can see that the bedroom door is wide open. Without looking, you feel an awareness about the room, a presence looming at the foot of the bed. It pulls on your legs, dragging you further down the bed, positioning you flat on your back.

Even in the dead of night, the gleam of silver hair is undeniable.

“Aemond?”

His gaze meets yours. He smiles and starts to pull at the buttons on his shirt– trust Aemond to show up in a dream wearing a shirt and slacks.

The haze of sleep lulls your mind and sharpens your senses. You run your hands up your thighs, admiring every inch of his skin as it’s revealed to you.

Shirt discarded, his hands come to his belt and linger on the buckle. He hums and it infuriates you how even the slightest of sounds makes you desperate for him. But the belt stays where it is, so do the slacks. 

His palms fall to the mattress and he crawls towards you like an animal. You’ve rarely seen that side of him in real life, maybe that night when you kissed, the way he groaned against your mouth and grazed his teeth over your lips…

His hands are on either side of your head. The colour of his eyes and the line of his scar are difficult to make out in the dark. His body leans against yours, slowly pressing his weight on top of you, making a home for his hips between your legs. You don’t just let him do it, you wrap your legs around him, pulling him in closer as your hips start to rock. 

He leans down, placing a firm, slow kiss against your lips. You try to follow him as he pulls away, but he moves down to kiss your neck, then the base of your throat.

“You can’t lie to me,” he mutters against your skin, “I know what you need.”

He lifts your t-shirt enough to expose your breasts, taking one into his hand and squeezing, just to the precipice of pain. You’re already moaning when he takes the other nipple into his mouth, bruising and licking and sucking. 

With every moment that passes you feel the control slipping, his and yours. Perfect, sweet, refined Aemond, gripping his fingertips into your flesh like claws, restless and grinding himself against you. You thread your hands through his hair, surfaces of bone, chin and forehead, fall against each other. 

Aemond slips further still. He trails his lips along your sternum and your stomach, positioning his face between your legs. There’s no more pretence. He parts your thighs with his palms, pulling your underwear down your legs before he runs a single finger through your folds. You feel how effortless it is, how wet you are for him.

Until his finger is replaced by his tongue in slow, agonising licks. His eyes are on you, but the rest of him is obscured by your own body. You rock against him to chase the feeling, keeping a hand on his head to keep him where you need him. 

It’s like a silent conversation. He takes your queues, responds to your moans and the way your jaw slacks when he finds the right spot.

You watch his shoulder shift and feel the pressure of his finger at your entrance. He doesn’t push it in, not yet.

“Aemond,” you whisper.

He hums against your cunt and you feel it in the rest of your body, an echo through your bones and your blood.

He wants you to beg.

“Aemond, please,”

He slips inside you and you’re weightless. 

The noises you make aren’t conscious. You feel the air flowing through your lungs, the sound in your throat, panting and moaning as he nudges against the flesh inside you. 

It rises and rises until the pleasure tears through you. Aemond holds you in place with a palm splayed on your stomach, unrelenting, working you through the high.

“Aemond,” you whimper, “I can’t take it,”

He pulls away from you, and still gasping for air he comes to his knees on the bed, hovering over you. “You taste too fucking good,” he says.

You’re still writhing in the afterglow when he reaches for something in his back pocket. The shape of it is obscured in the darkness but you can see how he’s holding it, like he’s holding up a pen. It doesn’t even occur to you that it could be anything dangerous. 

“Are you going to let me have another taste?”

You should say yes, that’s how these things go, play along and see where you end up.

He leans over you again, on one hand. You watch the way his hair falls, the way he draws his tongue over his lips. 

It happens too quickly for you to make any kind of protest. Aemond puts the object into your face and there’s a stinging sensation on your lower lip. By the time he has pulled away you feel a liquid pearling at the cut he’s made, wet and warm. 

“What… what the fuck?” you utter.

Aemond surges back into you, a man starved, kissing your bloodied lips. His tongue delves into your mouth and you can taste it, the sweetness of your own arousal, the metallic tang of your own blood.

“Too good,” Aemond growls under his breath, “too fucking good,”

You meet him with hunger of your own and feel his mouth break into a smile.

“See? I knew you wanted this,” he says as his hand curls around your neck, “desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

Your body is screaming for another release. You rake your nails down his back, press your chest up and into him.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Aemond.”

“So why do you keep pushing me away?”

You pause. There’s hardly any space between you, the tips of your noses are the slightest move from touching. You see the stains on Aemond’s lips, the darkness in his expression.

“I’m not ready,” you say.

Aemond huffs to himself, you’re unsure if it's amusement or disbelief. He sits back on his haunches, grabbing you by your wrists to pull you up. He doesn’t let go. His hands are so much bigger than yours, curling around your forearms. “I could give you everything, do you know that?”

You feel yourself frown.

“Why aren’t you ready? What’s stopping you?”

There are so many imperfections in your life. People like Aemond and Dany, they make life look easy because it is easy for them. If they work it’s something to fill the time. 

Your eyes are starting to sting. “I– I have things I need to focus on. I can’t get caught up in this, I can’t distract myself.”

Aemond’s mouth curls into a small smile, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.” He brings one of your wrists to his lips, placing a delicate skin against it, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. "Why deny yourself the pleasure I could give you?"

It’s an enchanting idea, a life outside of a job that makes you miserable, untethered to a friend you can feel is drifting away…

You feel your head nodding.

“Good girl,” Aemond mutters.

You expect him to kiss you again, or lay you down on the bed and fuck you. Instead he reaches for something beside him. The knife.

You flinch away and get as far as the headboard. Aemond still has one hand on your wrist and pulls you back in. 

He takes the blade to his chest and makes a shallow cut down his skin. Your insides turn and tighten at the sight, unable to decide if you’re terrified or fascinated. 

You know what he wants you to do. That’s always the way with dreams, somehow you just know what you need to, even if what’s happening in front of you doesn’t make sense. 

You lean forwards, bracing yourself against his firm torso, tongue out, licking along the cut. His blood pools and burns on your tongue. It’s bitter and sweet, and you relish it.

Aemond moans, cradling your head in his hand.

He pulls on your hair to tilt your chin up. His face is full of admiration and you preen at the praise.

He moves your head down, to the bulge in his slacks. With his other hand he undoes his belt and you pull it away eagerly. He seems pleased at that and makes quick work of freeing his cock.

You delight at the sight of him, watching his hand work himself to hardness, precum glistening at the tip, and take him into your willing mouth. His sighs of pleasure spurn you on, your own arousal rising in your belly. 

Aemond’s grip on your hair tightens as he starts to thrust into your mouth. “Good girl,” he coos, “my perfect girl,”

Until he decides he’s had enough. You hardly comprehend it as he draws you away from his cock, turns you around and positions you on your stomach.

You gasp as he enters you, the sweet sting of stretching around his cock. It’s worth it when he reaches so deep inside of you. You can hear him gritting his teeth as he moans, like he’s torn between desire and restraint. 

And you wish you could watch him while he fucks you, moving in and out of you, his hands digging into the flesh of your ass, the blood dripping down his chest– you can still taste it.

Aemond’s hair tickles against your skin as he leans down, keeping his brutal pace. “Mine,” he misses against your ear, “you’re fucking mine.”

You cry out as your second orgasm washes over you, soft and simmering as he fucks you through it.

You press your fingertips into the mattress, basking in the heat of your skin, the dampness of sweat, the taste of blood on your lips…

When you open your eyes again daylight seeps through a gap in the curtains. You’re still on your front, still in your t-shirt. You move your hand between your legs and find a damp patch on your panties. 

Your legs and your arms are aching. You feel feverish, hot and cold, restless in your own skin. It’s that time of year, you suppose, flu season.

You can’t stop thinking about that dream. It almost makes you laugh, the absurdity of it, Aemond sneaking into your room, and the blood– the blood. 

It would make sense to be disgusted by it, but you’re not. You feel a sort of pressure ghosting against your lips and your tongue. You imagine the sight of him, his toned torso, offering his very lifeforce to you, and tasting yours.

“Mine,” he said. 

You drag yourself out of the bed. Everything hurts. Even setting out a clean t-shirt and sweatpants exhausts you. Worst of all is the hunger starting to appear in your stomach, the kind that twists and churns.

Maybe a shower will put your head right. It’s amazing how many problems can be solved by warm water. You move in slow, sluggish steps to the bathroom. With the water running, you turn to the sink and reach for your toothbrush, catching sight of your reflection.

Something about your face feels different, and you’re not sure it’s a bad thing. You can’t pinpoint it, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt so beautiful.

There is one thing though, a scab on your lower lip, right where Aemond had cut you in the dream.

“I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.”

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates!

[mischievousmoony]

𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛

⟢ james potter x reader (who is skilled at gift wrapping) ⟢ you and james wrap christmas gifts for your kids last minute ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: no warnings? lmk if i missed anything

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The crisp rustle of wrapping paper tears through the air as you unravel a sheet long enough for a rather larger box. 

You and your husband, decked in matching holiday pajamas, are sitting on the dark hardwood floor of your bedroom. Surrounding you are various presents that you’re working tirelessly to wrap late this Christmas Eve. 

“Why do we do this every year? Scratch that— why do I let you convince me to do this every year?” you suddenly ask when you get a glimpse of the clock on your nightstand. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James asks on an exhale of airy laughter. 

“Oh, nothing,” you hum as you measure out how much paper you’ll need. “Just trying to figure out how I let myself marry a chronic procrastinator. And how I let him be such a bad influence on me.”

James falters, dropping the flaps of snowflake-decorated paper he was about to tape down. 

“A chronic procrastinator? A bad influence!?”

You press your lips together to hold back a smile. “Keep wrapping. It’s almost three in the morning,” you say as your scissors satisfyingly glide through the wrapping paper. 

“No,” James protests, pushing the gift away from him and crossing his arms petulantly. “Not until we address your little comment.”

“See, you’re procrastinating right now by trying to start a debate about whether or not you have a problem,” you tease, your lips involuntarily turning up at the corners.

“It sounds like you want to finish the wrapping by yourself,” he jokes, but you both know he’d never leave you hanging. 

“Oh, come on,” you laugh. “If we had it my way the presents would have been wrapped ages ago. They would’ve been wrapped the moment we brought them home.”

“Why would we wrap one present at a time when we could wait and wrap them all at once?” 

“Only a chronic procrastinator would ask why we should get ahead on our tasks.”

James knows you’ve got him there, so all he can do is huff. “Stop saying procrastinate it doesn’t sound like a word anymore.”

“Alright, slacker,” you say through a grin.

James rolls his eyes dramatically as he repositions himself from sitting up to lying on his side. “I’m not a slacker,” he says, propping his head up on his elbow, “I just want to be efficient.”

Your eyebrows shoot up as James denies his tendency for putting off his tasks as he gets comfortable in front of a half-wrapped present. 

“Yeah, real efficient,” you say as you carefully fold the paper at the corners, creating perfect trapezoids on the sides of the box, which you tape down with a small square of sellotape. 

He takes notice of the look you gave him, and provides an excuse. “I’m just taking a break.” 

“This is the definition of slacking, by the way. C’mon we’re going to be dead tired tomorrow.”

“We’ll be fine, it’s only 3 a.m.,” James says as if it’s barely midnight. Regardless, he pushes himself back into a seated position and finishes taping down the paper over the box that holds a new toy truck for you son.

“Last Christmas the kids were jumping in our beds by seven,” you say, very matter-of-factly. 

“If they’re awake that early I’ll corral them to the kitchen and make a big breakfast with them to give you an extra hour,” he promises as he reaches for a new roll of wrapping paper— a dark green one with cartoon reindeers printed all over.

“You need sleep too.”

James shrugs. “Well, it was my fault we procrastinated wrapping these anyway.”

“Oh? So you admit it now?”

“What can I say? Is it so bad that after we put the kids down and I was all alone with my beautiful wife I’d rather cuddle or catch up on our shows or… other things.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“Other things?” you snort. 

“Yeah. Wanna do them right now?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

“James!” you scold him as a blush heats your face. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll focus.” He reaches for the slowly dwindling pile of presents and picks one that looks easy to wrap. You both prefer to leave the more complicated ones to you, as you always seem to have some unique way to wrap the strangest shapes. 

“Not that one!” you stop him. “That one’s from Santa, you have to use the shiny red paper and the golden bows.” 

“What? I picked this one,” he says, turning over the box of a new doll for your daughter. “I don’t want to give Santa all the credit!” James pouts. 

“And you’ll get it. In about ten years, give or take, when we tell them it was all a lie in the name of Christmas spirit.” 

James laughs and takes a look at the clock that reads 3:16 a.m. Santa can have this one, James decides. Even if he did continue to protest, you would probably convince him in the end. 

For the next twenty minutes, you two get lost in the rhythm of wrapping. With James handling the simple boxes, and you expertly finishing the oddly shaped ones, folding the paper in ways that obscure the gift’s silhouette while adding an elegant touch. 

You know your kids won’t give the wrapping a second thought, and it will all end up torn into bits on the floor, but you just love the way they all look under the tree. So perfectly arranged and beautifully wrapped, it makes Christmas feel all the more special.

As you straighten out a bow made from hand curled ribbons on the top of a dollhouse, pre-assembled for play tomorrow morning, James hisses and drops the paper he’s working with. You look up at him as he brings his finger up to his lips.

“Ow, ow!” 

“Y’alright?” you ask. 

“I’ve been injured! Wounded! No one told me how hazardous gift wrapping would be!” he wails dramatically, cradling his right hand with his left. 

You laugh at the sight of him, gathering that he has probably gotten a paper cut. Shuffling over to him on your knees, you outstretch your hand. “Let me see.”

He puts his hand in yours and you turn it over to inspect his pointer finger. It takes you half a minute to find the small slice in the top layer of skin. It’s nearly impossible to see, and you’re sure the pain has subsided now. Still, you bring his hand to your lips and press a soft kiss over the small cut. 

“Better?” you mumble against his skin. 

“Almost. I think I have another injury right here.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes to find him tapping his lips, puckered and awaiting a kiss. 

You shake your head at his antics but oblige him anyway and connect your lips in a gentle kiss. James’ right hand snakes out of your grip so he can wrap it around your waist to hold you into the kiss for a little longer. 

“Come on,” you say as you begin to pull away, “we only have a few more presents between us and those fresh homemade cookies laying out for Santa.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[lqveharrington]

Holidays | C.S.

summary: your first holiday/christmas outside of the districts

pairing: politician!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

includes: mainly fluff, reader is from district 12 (this is very important in this one-shot), coriolanus is manipulative in this (not a lot, but still), angst if you squint.

a/n: happy holidays 🎄

Despite living in the Capitol, your spirits were up when the holidays came around. Those living at the Capitol had many decorations up and participated in festivities that would certainly get those in the districts in trouble.

As the chosen wife of — the sudden rise to power and wealth — Coriolanus Snow, you were also put into the impression that you were to make this holiday season the best for you and your husband.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Coriolanus told you that he was to work late, strategizing to help his campaign as he was running for president next year. Of course, you were used to this and gave him a kiss bye as you started your day with the festivities that you used to do back in your home.

By the time Coriolanus came home, it was late and he assumed you were sleeping already. What he did not know was that you were still in the kitchen baking cookies and decorating gingerbread house while playing music from your record collection.

“Why are you still up so late?” Coriolanus wrapped his arms around your hips, resting his head on your shoulder.

You grin at his presence, shifting to meet his eyes. “I wanted to surprise you with cookies and a pretty gingerbread house.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” He kisses your cheek.

“I would like to think so.” You pop a gum drop into your mouth, taking one of your earlier cookies you made from the counter. “Want some?”

He hummed, opening his mouth. You broke a piece off and gave it to him, waiting for a reaction of some sort.

“Well?”

“It’s delicious.” He swallowed, reaching for the rest of the cookie in your hand. “I think I should take them all.”

You let out an airy laugh, handing him the baked good. “I think you should help me decorate this house so we can go to bed. I’m sure you’re tired, Coryo.”

———

“What are you doing now?” Coriolanus asked you as he got out of the bathroom, hair still wet. He brought the a towel to his head, watching you stand outside on the balcony. “My love, you’re going to catch a cold staying out there.”

“I know…” You mess with your silk robe, rubbing the sleeve with your thumb. “Just give me a few more seconds. I want to check off the last thing I used to do back in 12 for Christmas Eve.”

He refrained from scoffing at the mention of District 12, slipping one arm around your waist. “You don’t remember how bad it was back there before I saved you? Why do things that bring back memories of those days being treated like a peasant?”

You stayed quiet, listening to his words intently.

“I believe you should be grateful you aren’t spending time in the freezing weather and instead participate in the fun activities in the Capitol. Where you belong.” He pecked your cheek. “Unless you want to go back… Then that can easily be arranged.”

“No, don’t.” You frown, looking up at the shining moon. “I love it here. A lot. And, I’m really grateful for it, really.”

“Good answer.” He runs his hand up to your chin, tilting it so you would face him. “Just this one thing and then come to bed, okay?”

You nod, pecking his lips. “Thank you… Love you.”

Coriolanus smiles at you, pressing one last tentative kiss to your lips and leaving for the bed, not bothering to take the time to understand what you were doing.

Leaning against the cement railings, your focus moves back to the bright moon, smiling sadly at it.

“I promise I’ll be back and see you again…” You whisper into the crisp, night air, the wind lightly blowing at your skin. “We’ll be okay. Just watch over mom for me. I’ll see you both again.”

You check your watch for the time, the second hand hitting the twelve. “From your somewhat cool older sister: Merry Christmas, Dante Everdeen.”

read more about coriolanus snow here !!

a/n pt2: MING BLOWING 🤯 she’s related to katniss, isn’t that silly :)

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[saturnville]

brown sugar

pairing: lewis hamilton x black oc (victoria "tori" scott). summary: he loves her. she’s too blind to realize it. warnings: angst. reference: brown sugar (2002). wc: 5.9k. an: this took forver, ngl. and I don't even know if I like it for real LOL, but I hope you all do! tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neewrites @cocobutterqwueen

Working hard for what he desired was a concept that was instilled in him from a young age. If he wanted something, his father would say, it was up to him to put in the work to make it happen. He'd have help, he'd have support, but the grit had to come from within. It was a lesson he carried with him throughout his life. 

As a child, he was determined to become a successful racing driver. He'd now become the primary name in Formula One as one (if not) the greatest racing driver and the first Black driver, especially of his caliber. He'd broken barriers and found himself doing things he'd never thought he'd do; designing, producing, and mentoring. 

He was determined in every aspect of his life, including his love life. Or, the lack thereof. He was used to the fast life of money, cars, and women, but as he grew older, it seemed unappealing. Bringing random women homemade his stomach clenched in discomfort, staying out too late made his head hurt, and having a large bed to himself grew lonesome. 

But, he knew what he wanted. He put in effort to ensure that, even selfishly, he got wanted; always did. And it was going to be her.

-

"Hello?" Her voice reverberated throughout the airy penthouse. Her heels kissed the hardwood floor as she entered the foyer of his home. Her nostrils widened as she inhaled deeply. He was still present. The scent of his favorite cologne lingered and tickled her senses. "Lewis!"

"Do you like yelling my name or something?" he joked as he came around the corner. As he came into view, she smiled gently. He looked very comfortable. He wore a pair of loose-fitted black sweatpants and pulled the matching sweatshirt over his head. His hair, as usual, was pulled into a low bun and a lazy smirk played on his lips. 

She rolled her eyes playfully and welcomed his hug and kiss on the side of her neck. She shuddered. "Try again. I came to drop this off." In her hand was a black restaurant-like bag. Lewis dropped his hand to her waist and turned his head to the side. He watched as she swallowed thickly. She said, "Nothing much. I cooked and had a lot left over." 

Lewis' eyes lit up in excitement. Her love language was cooking. Her grandmother was the 

chef of her family, often teaching everyone, including herself, her family recipes. And since leaving the States to move to Europe for business, her grandmother's recipes were the bridge that kept her connected with her Mississippi roots. Lewis was always an indirect benefit of her love for her roots. 

"You spoil me," Lewis said boyishly, allowing her to put the bag in his hand. The scent was familiar. Greens, green beans, cabbage, vegan mac n' cheese (an extra step she took), black-eyed peas and rice, and a small portion of. "Thank you." Lewis visited the States plenty of times, but nothing was as fulfilling as Grandma Eve's cooking, and he learned that from the first time he went to Mississippi with her. 

"Something like that, but that's all I wanted." 

Lewis's face turned upward. "You're not staying?" She shook her head. 

"I have a date." That didn't go over well with Lewis. He grunted in disdain and took a step back from her. She pursed her lips and turned her head to the side. "Don't act like that. I told you I had a date three days ago." 

He never forgot about her date. He simply didn't care. Not because he didn't care about her happiness and romantic prosperity, he didn't believe that the guy (or any other guy, for that matter) that she'd gone out with, was worthy of her. They weren't worthy of being in her presence, let alone breathing her air. He never forgot, he just knew she deserved more. 

"Mhm," Lewis hummed. He dug into the bag and plucked a piece of cornbread from the napkin atop the containers. "Yeah, I know. Guess I gotta eat all this by myself..." She chuckled and waved him off. She dropped a kiss against his cheek and waved, "I've got to go. I'll tell you about it later." 

Lewis nodded. It made his chest hurt saying, "Enjoy, love," but by the smile on her lips, he knew she appreciated it. 

"Thank you, baby!" 

He huffed deeply as she left his home, the nickname she gave rubbing his insides warmly. He only hoped he'd still hear her say it. 

-

She met the man. She said she met the man, who took her out and was everything a partner should be. He was kind, generous, and a leader--the overall catch. He tried not to show the jealousy, the envy, the discomfort on his face when she spoke of him, of this David character. 

He tried to stay happy, smiling and supporting her newfound love with the man who seemingly swept her off her feet. Lewis kept showing up for her in every way he could until he couldn't anymore. 

There was no reason (in his opinion), to show up when another had filled his place. Lewis knew it was wrong, but how long could he accept being pushed into the background by the woman he'd come to know and love in a way most wouldn't imagine? He knew it was wrong, but his heart couldn't take it. 

Once her phone calls slowed, texts grew less, and she stopped showing up how she used to, he didn't force it. He did what most hurt people did; he fell back. 

-

"You talk to Lewis lately?" Her friend asked. Tori thought for a moment. She hadn't seen him, she hadn't spoken to him, and she hadn't been to his races in a while. Life had been on the rise and her schedule grew busy. She'd accepted the position as senior partner at the law firm and had found love. Her life had changed so much that she hardly realized their disconnect. 

Tori took a sip of her almond red wine and twisted her lips. Suddenly, the sweet red was bitter against her tongue. She didn't meet the eyes of her friend, Jen, who grew curious with her silence. Tori swirled the liquid in the cup and shrugged. "No, it's been a while. He...he reached out to congratulate me on the promotion and I was told he came to the party, but I didn't see him. I haven't heard from him since." That was a month ago.

"I did," Jen countered. "He spoke to everyone, left a gift for you, and tried to get to you, you weren't around, so he left." 

Tori's stomach jerked. How had she not seen him? She'd known Lewis like the back of her hand, which included being able to sense his presence. How had she failed? 

"You were with David for most of the night, so, that's expected. I know you two are close, so the fact that you haven't said much about him is shocking. Did you at least thank him for the gift?" 

Shame fell over her. "I never knew he got me one. I just assumed he came and went because I didn't see him. I was so focused on everything else." 

Jen's eyes narrowed. This was odd. "So you don't remember the black box with the gold ribbon? Cursive writing on the bottom?" Tori shook her head. At first, she thought it was from David, but when he did not take credit for it, she simply pushed it into the corner of her room and said she'd get to it later, along with the other gifts that awaited her attention. 

Tori groaned, "I feel terrible." She hadn't known her best friend come to celebrate with her, she hadn't recognized his handwriting on a gift he got her, and she made no effort to show up for him within the last few weeks. And even worse, she hardly realized the shift. 

"You should," Jen shrugged. "I'm all for expanding your circle, trying new things, exploring new people, but abandoning your friend in the process isn't cool, T, and you know it. He loves and cares for you a lot, so I can only imagine how it feels to ignore my calls and texts while you're living la vida loca with this new guy and his circle." 

This time, Tori's eyes narrowed. "What does David have to do with this?" 

If only she wasn't so naive sometimes. Jen chuckled and shook her head, "I see you don't know your friend as well as you think you do." 

What was that supposed to mean?

-

Tori went home that night and sauntered to the corner of her room where the remaining gifts resided. Her friends and family were quite generous, having blessed her with money for new outfits, a new lunch box to carry, coffee mugs, and decor for her new office. However, her eye was trained on the black box with a gold ribbon. It was off to itself in the corner, hidden by everything in front of it. 

Tori crawled toward it and shuffled it toward her. It was heavy in her hands. She shook it. On the bottom was the cursive writing. To My Love, congratulations on all you've accomplished. Xx, LH. 

Her forefinger and thumb pulled the ribbon and opened the box after. She couldn't stop the tears from swelling once she saw what was inside. There were small knickknacks, such as her favorite snacks that she never had the time to get and a pearl necklace that matched his. But, what tugged at her heartstrings was the letter that was framed beautifully. A letter to herself, from herself. One that she swore she'd never see again. A note was on the front. Since your dreams have become a reality, here's your reminder that you can do all you put your mind to, Xx, LH.

"I wrote myself a letter. I don't remember what I did with it, but I wrote to my future self. All things that I'd hoped to accomplish in five years." 

Lewis turned his head, "And what's that?"

Tori sighed dreamily. "I want to make senior partner. Hopefully, own property and stop renting. I want to travel and go places I never thought I'd be able to afford. I want to find love. I want to be happy, Lewis. Truly happy." 

"And you think you'll get there in 5 years? To true happiness?"

She nodded, "I do."

Dear Tori, 

I can't believe you did it! Promotion to senior partner is no easy feat. Not only are you a senior partner, but you're the youngest in company history. When the world kept trying to decline you a seat at the table, you brought a folding chair and made your presence known. I hope you're proud of yourself. 

Did you ever take that trip to Athens? I hope so. I know you're a mythology nerd. I hope you went with Lewis; he always supported your nerdiness. 

And love? Is it there yet? How is the dating pool? Is it still terrible or have you found a man that you love? Is he caring, humble, generous (not just financially), and supportive? Make sure you're not settling! You know Lewis wouldn't approve of you settling. You're too good to settle. 

Write back in five years. I can't wait to hear about what you've done. 

I'm proud of you. All the love, 

Tori

Tori sighed heavily. She'd accomplished a lot that was on her list. She made senior partner, she explored Greece, Rome, and Alexandria, Egypt for her birthday the previous year with Lewis, and had more fun than she could have ever imagined. She remembered the trip like the back of her hand. From how he surprised her with the tickets on a Saturday morning and sent her on a spa day to prepare. How he had an itinerary planned for their 14 day excursion across two continents. His intentionality and persistence in ensuring she was fulfilled never went unnoticed...until recently. 

It made her wonder...did she have everything she wanted? Sure, she got the promotion she desired and deserved, she bought a home, and she met a good man. But, did she love David, was the question, and if she didn't love him, how did she allow him and her newfound success to blind her from the genuine connections she had before? When and why had she changed? 

Her eyes wandered over the box again. To my love. She missed him, she had to admit. Seeing his beautiful smile and eyes light up whenever she walked into a room and feeling his warmth whenever he hugged her. She wondered how he was doing. Would he pick up if she called? 

-

Lewis sat on the balcony of his penthouse humming along to the music that played on the outdoor speakers. His eyes caught the twinkle of the stars above and the winks of buildings. The night, quiet and gentle, had settled into a familiar sense of loneliness. He nursed a glass in his hand, swirling the liquid around, its color catching the light of his environment. The weight of the past few weeks had weighed on him heavily, especially with the growing distance between him and Tori. 

He missed her presence in his life--their conversations, her laughter, and the way she effortlessly made his house feel like a home. He replaced their last interaction in his mind, the way she casually mentioned her date with David. The bitterness ate at him ever since, not because she was with someone else, but because he hadn't been honest with her or himself. 

Lewis sighed and set down the glass. He picked up his phone and scrolled through the messages he'd sent her, most of which went unanswered. It hurt to feel her drifting away, especially knowing she was happy with someone else. But he couldn't keep pretending that he was okay with just being her friend. He couldn't keep pretending that he didn't love her. 

His phone buzzed. A message from Tori. He felt a strange mix of hope and dread as he opened it. 

Tori: Hi...I've been meaning to catch up. It's been a while since we talked. Been thinking about you. How are you?

He stilled. She thought of him. After all this time, she thought of him. 

Lewis: Hey love. It's good to hear from you. I've been okay, just busy with everything. I'd love to catch up if you're up for it.

Lewis gnawed on his bottom lip as he awaited her reply. He saw the three bubbles appear, but they disappeared just as they appeared. Fifteen minutes went by. He sat in the same place, phone in hand, tapping the screen every time it tried to go to sleep. His jaw clenched in annoyance and his stomach churned with an emotion he couldn't identify. 

She reached out once after not speaking to him in so long, and once he replied, she disappeared. Was she purposefully playing with him? 

Lewis: I see you're busy. I hope everything's okay.

Twenty minutes later, he received another message. 

Tori: Sorry, Lew. Dinner w/ David and his friends. Can we catch up another time? 

He didn't reply. Lewis stood from the seat outside and walked into his house, leaving the phone by its lonesome all night long. 

-

There was a gathering for her friend, Tone. He wanted to celebrate his birthday at his pool house and invited his closest friends and acquaintances to join him. So, Tori packed a bag, put on the best swimsuit she owned, and walked through the double doors with a smile on her face. 

As she moved through the room, her eyes scanned for familiar faces, until they landed on Lewis, standing on the balcony, looking unusually distant. 

Even from her position, she noted how different he seemed. His usual warm and welcoming demeanor was replaced by an aloof presence. He chatted with people, but Tori noticed he wasn't as animated, not as lively. 

She debated on if she'd approach him. Before she could finish debating, her feet carried her to him, her heart inexplicably heavy. 

"Lewis," she called softly. A small smile was on her face as she stepped closer. He turned to face her. The expression on his face was unreadable. "Hey, stranger."

He offered her a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, Tori. Long time, no see."

An awkward chuckle fell from her lips as she felt the sting of his words. However, she continued, "How've you been?"

Lewis shrugged once. "Busy." There was tension in the air, palpable and uncomfortable. Tori shifted her weight, unsure of what to say next. His demeanor was so different from what she knew. 

She looked around, noticing how everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, oblivious to the sudden awkwardness that grew like a weed. "I've missed hanging out with you," she said gently, hoping to prod at something within him. 

Lewis nodded, but there was a coldness behind his eyes. "Things change, I guess." 

Ouch. Tori swallowed hard, trying to understand where he was coming from. "You seem different. Is everything okay?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Even so concerned, she still managed to miss the point. In the same flat tone, he said, "I've been dealing with some things." He avoided her gaze after that. 

Tori's chest tightened. She realized she hadn't been there for him, too caught up in her own life to notice the distance that had grown between them. But she couldn't understand why he was being so distant now, so cold. 

Tori chewed along her lip, hesitating before she spoke again. "Is this above David?" she asked, her voice hardly above a whisper. 

Lewis's jaw ticked. He turned to face her fully, a mixture of frustration painted on his features. His eyes rolled once. "It's not just about David, Victoria," he said, his voice low but firm. She gasped slowly. "It's about everything. You're so caught up in your new life, your new job, your new boyfriend. Have you forgotten about the people who were there before all of this?"

His words hit her like a ton of bricks. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She hadn't realized the extent of the distance she manufactured and hadn't noticed how her actions were affecting those around her, especially Lewis. She felt a lump form in her throat, guilt washing over her. 

"I'm sorry," she finally managed to say, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to push you away. I didn't realize..."

Lewis shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. "I know, love," he interrupted softly, resignation evident in his voice. "But it happened. And I can't just ignore that."

Her mind raced back to her conversation with Jen and her revelation while opening gifts. She was losing touch with what truly mattered. Standing here now, feeling the weight of Lewis's words, she understood that her new life, while exciting, had pushed away those who had been there for her. Her realization about David became clearer-while she cared for him, he didn't understand her in the way Lewis did. David's presence highlighted what was missing, rather than fulfilling her in the way he had hoped.

"I miss you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her eyes welled with tears as she faced the uncomfortable truth and consequences of her actions. 

Lewis looked at her, his expression softening for a moment. "I miss you too...but I can't keep pretending that everything's okay when it's not." 

The weight of his words settled heavily between them. They stood there in silence, the noise of the party fading into the background as they stood in the thick of it. Just as she prepared to say something else, she felt a hand settle around her waist. She looked up--David. Her eyes cut to Lewis, who chuckled lowly. 

"Hey, babe. Got off early." David pressed a kiss against her forehead and looked at Lewis, who stood expressionless. 

"Lew..." 

"I'll catch you around, V." With a nod toward David, Lewis set his cup down and walked away. If things kept going the way they were, he'd never speak with her again, and she couldn't live with that. 

-

A week passed and she hadn’t heard from Lewis. Her messages went unread and her calls went unanswered. It had been a week since she saw Lewis. She'd sent messages and called, all of which were ignored. She went as far as sending flowers. Flowers! David never got flowers from her. But Lewis did. 

She couldn’t get ahold of him and it drove her mad. She often pondered about what could possibly be going through his mind--was he fed up with her? 

She spent minutes, hours, and days with her eyes trained at the nearest blank wall, going through the motions in her head. Save for tonight, she didn’t have much time for that. She had an evening event planned with David that she couldn’t get out of even if she tried; she confirmed her RSVP and paid the registration fee. She’d have to suck it up and deal with it like a big girl. 

When she heard a knock on her door, she sulked to the entryway and unlocked in reluctance.

David’s presence filled the space as she stepped away from the door. "You alright?" he asked, concern knitting his brow as he took in her somber demeanor.

She forced a smile, but it felt like a mask slipping from her face. "Yeah, just a long week."

“M’fine,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze. She swiped her purse off the side table. She tucked it under her arm, rolled her shoulders back, and nodded. “Let’s just get through tonight, okay?”

David eyed her intently but said nothing further. He opened the door and allowed her to walk ahead of him to the car, which she got in herself, as she often did because he was too busy trying to race to the driver’s side.

She scoffed. Lewis would never let her touch a door handle. 

-

The ride to the event was turmoil. David was oblivious to her turmoil as he mindlessly hummed to the pop songs on the radio as he drove.

When they arrived at the event, Tori plastered a smile on her face. T the atmosphere was vibrant--an array of colors as the theme was tropical living, with a surplus of exotic foods and drinks from all over the world. However, the underlying tension between Tori and David crept through. 

“Gonna get a drink,” David said in her ear. “Do you want anything?” Tori rejected and ushered him to enjoy himself. He pressed his lips against her forehead, to which she gave a tight-lipped smile. 

David nodded once and retreated toward the bar. She watched from a distance as he spoke with the bar attendant, breaking her gaze every once in a while to speak to others she was familiar with. But, when she saw his eyes light up and his smile widened when a woman made her way toward him, her eyes lowered. 

Who was she? She was pretty, Tori admitted. She was taller than she was, curvier in shape with light eyes. The woman leaned in, petted David’s color, and giggled at whatever he whispered in her ear. Her jaw ticked. 

The icing on the cake was when her lips touched the corner of his mouth. He did nothing. He only pressed further into her space. He seemed comfortable, which meant he’d done this before. Her tongue ran over her front teeth as her stomach bubbled and her throat grew tight, She turned on her feet and walked toward the bathroom. 

She dapped water on her face and looked in the mirror. This was not the place to fall apart. 

Tori returned to the event a few minutes later and still, David was entertaining the woman with no more shame than he had lacked before. 

As the night grew, her discomfort and frustration did, too. She spent most of her night alone speaking to familiar faces while David smooth-talked that woman. And soon enough, she couldn’t take it anymore. The more she glanced over, the more tears pooled her eyes, the shakier her voice got when she spoke, and the quicker her resolve wore down. 

“Excuse me,” she said quietly, swiftly exiting the conversation. She opened her clutch and fished out her cell phone. One way or another, she was going to leave before she suffocated. Her thumb hovered over the dial pad as she debated entering the 10-digit number she knew by heart. If she called, would he answer?

Tori gnawed on her bottom lip as she debated. Her determination to get out of the door curbed her ability to hear David calling after her. “Tori! Where are you going?” 

“I’m leaving,” she said quietly, not turning to face him. “You can continue with the girl you were with.” 

David huffed and rolled his eyes, “It wasn’t like that. You’re overreacting.” 

Tori turned slowly. “You mean to tell me that you come to an event with your girlfriend, go to the bar, snuggle with some broad, and you think it wasn’t like that?” 

The disrespect was glaring. 

David’s hands went up. “Because it wasn’t! She’s a co-worker.” Tori rolled her eyes. He disrespected her and was okay with it. He was comfortable with disrespecting her and saw no fault in it. She could only imagine what happened when she wasn’t in the room.

“Consideration is one of the best things someone can give another person,” Lewis told her as they walked along a trail. “If something would hurt you, I’d never do it to you. And if I did hurt you, unintentionally, it’s up to me to listen to you and take accountability, even if I didn’t mean to. It’s the kind thing to do.” 

What a difference between the two. Originally, David fit in the picture of what she thought she wanted, but everything was a facade. If he couldn’t admit his faults, how kind, generous, and supportive was he? What kind of leader did that make him? But Lewis, her partner through life’s ups and downs embodied empathy, understanding, and emotional maturity. 

The realization hit her hard. A mix of sadness and clarity. She’d been naive and out of the loop for so long, but in this bittersweet moment, she began to understand how she felt. Her life was good, but there was potential for more. David filled a space, but there was still a lingering emptiness without Lewis. 

Then, her conversation with Jen registered in her mind. How Lewis brought her that considerate gift, handwritten and thought out. David didn’t get her anything. Nothing but congratulations, a kiss, and an offer to buy her coffee on her first day. Her connection was nowhere near as deep and genuine as she had hoped and thought. 

The dots connected. Lewis loved her in a way she didn’t think to acknowledge. And with the revelations she had, the recent interactions with David, and the lack of interaction with Lewis that had her in emotional turmoil, she understood that she may have loved him the same way.

Everything became clear.

“Go back to her,” Tori said after some time. She held the phone to her ear and listened as it rang. “We’re done.”

The phone rang and rang. Her heart sank further as the waiting period grew longer. Then, she heard him. “Hello?” she heard on the other line. “Tori?” Hearing his voice made her eyes water. 

“Will you please come get me? I’ll be at the hotel on Fourth Street. Will you...” Tears began to flood her eyes as her frustration broke through.

She heard ruffling in the background and keys jingling. Lewis’s voice was clear, “I’m on my way.” 

Lewis arrived fifteen minutes later, waiting by the passenger door. Tori sighed in relief. When she was close enough, he opened it and assisted her in the car. 

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Lewis nodded, his eyes still trained on the road. “Anytime.”

-

The silence from the car ride lingered, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Tori stood awkwardly near the entrance, arms wrapped around herself, feeling the weight of everything she’d endured. Her eyes were red from holding back tears and her body was tense, still bracing for the chaos she left behind with Lewis. 

Lewis moved with quiet grace. He didn’t rush her, rather approached her with a familiar tenderness she forgot existed. “C’mon, let’s get you comfortable.” 

Tori found her way to the couch. Lewis knelt in front of her and lifted the hem of her dress. He took her foot in his hand, one by one, and plucked the expensive heels off her feet. Tori watched him, her breath caught in her throat. She could hardly believe how natural the ordeal felt. His touch, even in this simple act, was a balm to her frayed nerves. Her feet slipped free and she wiggled her toes, sighing in relief.

Lewis stood and offered his hand. A beat passed between them. She felt an array of emotions. Vulnerable by the events of the last few days, but she pushed them aside and took his hand. They made it to his room a few moments later. Tori followed him to his closet where a drawer full of her clothes was located. 

Without being prompted, Lewis’s hands were steady as he unzipped the back of her dress, giving her space to shrug it off. As her dress slipped down her waist and pooled at her feet, Lewis rummaged for something for her to wear, wanting to give her privacy and the dignity of handling herself. 

She couldn’t help but note the distinct difference in the approaches between David and Lewis. There was never such a powerful, wordless communication that made her feel seen. Lewis allowed her to control the pace. So, when she walked toward the bathroom and beckoned him to follow, he did. 

They faced the large mirror and Tori’s heart fluttered. He was very handsome, she noted. Still dressed from the evening’s excursions, she presumed. He wore a blue and white sweatshirt with baggy jeans and boots. A hat covered his unbraided hair but it still didn’t mask his beauty.  

Without much thought, she leaned into him. The warmth of his body eliminated the coldness she felt earlier. She closed her eyes and basked in the steady rise and fall of his chest. As she found herself relaxed against him, Lewis’s hands found their way into her hair, fingers deftly undoing the pins and ties. The sensation sends a shiver down her spine. 

Tori’s mind raced as she felt overwhelmed by the gentleness of his touch. It was all too much and yet it was exactly what she needed. Every brush of his fingers against her scalp, every slight shift of his body to accommodate her, spoke volumes. She felt her defenses crumble and a soft sob escaped her lips. 

Lewis didn’t speak; he held her. His arms wrapped around her, firm yet tender like she was a precious jewel. Tori buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him. It was intoxicating; a mix of nostalgia and comfort. His grip on her was tight—he’d never let her go. Through her pajamas, she felt his warm hands caressing her back as she shuddered with emotion. He whispered sweet words in her ear, further accelerating her emotional rollercoaster. But after a few moments, ori pulled back slightly to look at him. His eyes are filled with concern and something much deeper, something that made her heart ache with longing and desire. She missed this, and she missed him much more. She missed how he saw her and knew her so well. He knew her.

“What did he do?” Lewis’s voice was low. He released an arm from her body and wiped her tears away from her eyes, ignoring the brown makeup stains on his sweatshirt and the black mascara under her eyes.  

Tori smiled sadly and shrugged her shoulders. Simply, she replied, “He wasn’t you.”

The words cycled in his head like a wheel. What did she mean by that? Did she mean it literally or was there something hidden behind her words?

“Tori…” Lewis dropped his hands from her waist and sighed. “What are you talking about?”

He needed to hear her say it all. Everything he desired to hear, he needed to hear her say it. 

“He wasn’t…he isn’t you, Lewis.”

He said nothing. 

“I don’t know what I was so clouded by but,” she paused, taking his hands in her own. “He’s not as considerate or kind, not as sensitive or sincere. He was all on a girl this evening and saw no issue with it. He didn’t open my door and saw no issue with it. Then I started thinking…you’d never do that to me because you never have.”

Lewis’s face turned up. “So it’s about what I can do for you.”

Tori’s eyes widened. “No! No, it’s about the intent behind what you do that sets you apart. You…are just so kind and considerate without wanting anything in return. Not saying you don’t deserve it, but your selflessness and overall nature are so beautiful and I cannot believe I was blind to it all this time.” Her cadence increased as she continued to rattle off her enwfound revelations regarding him. 

Lewis’s dark eyes studied her face. He searched for any trace of uncertainty. His heart pounded so loud that he heard it in his ears; a mix of emotions swarmed within him.

“Do you mean that?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability. 

Tori nodded empathetically, squeezing his hands tighter. “Every word. I mean every word. I was so caught up in what I thought I wanted, in what looked good on paper. But you—you’ve been the one who’s always been there, who’s always seen me, even when I didn’t see myself.”

She took a breath, “David was what I thought I wanted, but you...you’re what I need. And I can’t believe it took me this long to see it.”

Lewis swallowed, his throat tight. “It’s nice to know you might feel the same way…” His voice was thick with emotion, and for a moment, they both just stood there, letting the gravity of the moment sink in. The air between them crackled with unspoken words. Tori’s heart ached as she saw the pain in his eyes, the hurt he’d been holding onto for so long. “I’m so sorry, Lewis. For not seeing you, for not appreciating you like I should have.”

Lewis shook his head, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re here now, though.”

She blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his forgiveness. Always so kind. She stepped closer, closing the gap between them, and rested her forehead against her chest. “I’m here,” she whispered

Tori pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “I do now,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry I made you wait. But I’m here, and I’m yours, Lewis. If you still want me.”

Lewis’s eyes darkened with emotion, and he gently cupped her face in his hands. “I’ll always want you.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was tender but laced with the promise of everything he’d been holding back. It was a kiss that spoke of his love, his desire, and his quiet, steadfast determination, despite all the ups and downs, to finally have what he’d always wanted—her.

[daisy-milk]

Non Dimenticar

three times in which you needed minho, though it wasn't in you to ask

➠ lee minho x reader

➠ wc: 1.7k

➠ summary: both you and minho are independent induviduals, and that aspect thrives in your relationship. though it makes it hard for you to reach out to him when you need it. you and him learn that sooner or later you both will have to learn how to ask for help.

➠ warnings: slight angst (maybe its normal level angst idk its pretty sad), mentions of passing out, mentions of injury, mentions of hosptial/emergency room, overworked reader

➠ masterlist

➠ a/n: i am currently a little tipsy and therefore this is not proofread

he gets it. he really does. he understands because he is the same way. all his life, he has had the same mentality, but now that he’s met you, he has learned; and perhaps it was because you were so similar in that sense that he learned what it looked like from an outside perspective. 

it was your inability to ask for help and openness to receiving it. 

minho, as well, struggled with this. throughout his life he had that mindset. one of, ‘whatever is happening will pass. you must power through. don’t drag others down with you,’ and he knew what it felt like from a personal level. pretty much, you both lived a very much ‘just thug it out’ lifestyle. minho never saw it as too much of a problem though. it didn’t seem to hurt others, in his eyes it kept them safe even, ignorance is bliss, no? but that was until he met you. 

minho saw in you, the struggle that was deep within him. the one many urged him to overcome, because he never would see any issue in it.

the first time he began to become aware was when the two of you were working out. you were both doing bicep curls, your attention on the mirror in front of you as you counted your sets. minho and you took turns and he was using a heavier weight than you, so naturally you dropped yours in favor of letting him switch the plates. you must have been distracted however, and in switching, you accidentally dropped the heavy plate onto your big toe. minho wouldn’t have even noticed if his eyes weren’t trained on you at all times. you didn’t even make a sound when it dropped on you, just an airy hiss, and through your reflection in the mirror you tried your best to play it off. the weight was heavy enough to raise concern, there was no way that didn’t affect you. therefore, minho spoke up,

“hey, you good? that looked painful” he grabbed your arm as you stepped away. 

you shook your head, “nah. i’m fine. i’ve had worse,” a chuckle leaves your lips in an attempt to put your boyfriend at ease.

minho gave you a look. one of uncertainty. though he didn’t want to pry. he knows that even if it was hurting there is a reason you aren’t asking him for help. 

perhaps he should have asked though. you didn’t say anything further but he couldn’t help but notice the quite obvious limp you wore as you walked out of the gym. he noticed, as he peeked at your uncovered foot when you got into bed with him that your toe began to swell and bruise a nasty shade of purple. he noticed the way, even after days, you struggle to put your full weight onto your foot. he urged you to see a doctor, but you brushed it off, saying that it’ll heal on its own, you’ve had worse. 

again, he didn’t pry and you never brought it up. though he knows now to keep a close eye on you at the gym. 

the second time was probably the most brutal. what started as a simple stomach ache soon became an even worse pain that had you doubling over in pain. be it cramps, your pesky lactose intolerance, or food poisoning, you always had an excuse for when minho began to worry. because naturally he would become worried at the sight of you rendering unmovable due to the pain. though no matter what, each time you would ease his mind with a new excuse and a wave of your hand. the excuses lasted a while. though it was only a matter of time until something worse happened. he had gotten a call from you late into the evening, “hey…” your voice was low, it sounded as if you were far from the mic, “can you… can you uh pick me up. i’m at that pho spot near your place. i’m- i… uh don’t think i can drive home.”

“did you drink?” he had asked. you had told him no, but offered no further explanation. he could tell there was something you didn’t want to tell him; he knew there was a reason you sounded hesitant to ask for his help. 

minho had been right because upon arrival he was met with your nearly passed out form, drooping from the driver’s seat of your car. he rushed to you, and you were conscious, luckily. though you did let out a loud groan in pain, your hand clutching your abdomen tightly. without another thought, he rushed you to the emergency room. 

fate was on your side that night. appendicitis. the doctors had told you that you were lucky that you hadn’t waited. if it were perhaps a day later, your appendix may have ruptured. the two of you shared a brief look as the doctor debriefed you. it was a knowing look. 

during your surgery minho thanked every star in the sky that night. he also made sure to schedule himself a check-up with his physician as well. he had to take care of himself to take care of you, is what he told himself.

the third time wasn’t a physical injury per say. minho caught you in your room. using the spare keys you gave him, he welcomed himself into your apartment as he normally did, though you weren’t expecting him this time. he wanted it to be a surprise. he knew you were studying hard and came in to surprise you with your usual coffee order and some homemade pastries felix made. 

instead he found you at your desk, uncomfortably splayed out before your computer. surrounding you were litters of paper and textbooks, most with notes and formulas, but as he looked closer there were papers completely scribbled out, torn, crumpled; it looked like a disaster. he couldn’t count the amount of tabs open of your computer, the chaos that reigned the screen made his head hurt just looking at it. there were at least 2 empty coffee cups on the floor and another on the table, the ice melting into the now lukewarm americano. his hand cropped the one he brought you a little tighter. 

“sweetheart?” he questioned carefully, kneeling down to reach face level with you. 

though you were curled up, he caught a clear glimpse of your face. you looked nearly lifeless and his heart shattered. minho knew it was just finals. he knew that you were probably fine, but what made him break was the fact you were going through it all alone. it had been days since you contacted him, and it wasn’t an issue for him, the two of you were good at maintaining your own personal time, and as per usual he never pried. but the thought of you, pulling through like this for days left his stomach falling into the deepest pits within himself. 

“my poor baby…” his finger traced your cheek, now squished against the table. your skin was dull, eye bags too present, day old makeup faded and smudged all over your eyes. minho kicked himself for not coming sooner. 

minho’s arms curl under you and he pulls your body into his arms. you’re so knocked out that you barely notice the movement. as if it were second nature, you curl into his hold as he hoists you up. his face softens a little as you do so, relieved that even in this state you know to trust him completely. his arms bring you to your bed where he carefully tucks you in, giving a gentle pat on your head as he moves to clean up your desk.

scattered papers and endless notes littered the surface of your desk. it wasn’t just your desk though. your room itself was left in a messy array, the days of stress piled up and you couldn’t bring yourself to clean, as litter and clothes became too much to handle. without a second thought, minho cleaned, folding clothes, tossing garbage until your room was spotless. he finished at your desk, beginning to pick up your papers as you woke.

silently, you approached him, your hand resting on his from behind as he gathered some sheets of paper, 

“minho…” you said groggily, “don’t worry about it… i-i’m not finished with those. gotta finish them then i’ll clean it up”

you attempted to grab the notes but he stopped you. his hand took the papers from your own. without a word he continued to gather the papers and pile them neatly to the side. you didn’t have any energy left to stop him, to argue. you just let him do this thing. after he powered off your computer, he finally turned to you. his hands now rested on your cheeks, gently brushing the soft skin on your face. his head tilted at you as if you were one of his cats, his thumbs brushing the crusty makeup around your eyes. 

“did you sleep well?” finally he spoke

”i have a lot to study…”

”did you eat today?” he continued 

“there’s only one more day before my project is due…” he remained quiet and continued to caress your face, “… i won’t have time to study after my classes and…” you began to lean into his touch, softening up from both your sleepiness and his affection, “…and…” you could melt into the way he looked at you right now, “…and i have to finish… i’ll rest when i…”

”you must be so tired, hm?” there was no other infliction in his voice aside from affection

“…yeah,” you admit, “…i’m really tired.” 

tears began to well in your eyes as you dipped your head down. he didn’t let you though, using a gentle finger to tilt your head back up. new tears traced down the same path as the ones that were now dried on your cheeks. 

“let’s go take a shower?” he asks and you nod. his hand leads you to your bathroom as he begins to use your makeup remover to gently wipe the makeup from your face. 

his hands are too gentle, you think, as he cleans your skin.

”after this, we can study in bed, yeah? together.” he gazes down at you as he tosses one wipe for another, “next time… please call me. i know you want to do this alone, i get it, i thought the same way too. but now that i have you, i could never want to be alone again. trust me when i say, i will never be tired of being with you, helping you, no matter what it is. just please, call me when you need me,” he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, “i promise i’ll call you when i need you too.”

please leave feedback please please please

[em1i2a3]

In The Heat of The Summer, You’re So Different From The Rest.

Bjorn x fem!reader

Author’s Note: Howdy y’all. I took a bit of time off from writing because Christmas was an absolute shit show with all the gift shopping and family gatherings. I managed to write this on my breaks during work, and today I was finally able to sit down and work through the little slump I hit to finish this thing! I am back on the roll though and have so many damn ideas running through my head, I cannot wait to post more and let you guys in! Hope you guys had a great Christmas (or holidays!), and I hope you all enjoy this new little one shot. Enjoy your New Year’s Eve if I don’t post before that! :)

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, minors DNI. We have oral sex, both female and male receiving at the same time, P in V sex (unprotected, you know the drill, wrap it up before you go heels to Jesus please lol, stay protected), there’s an established FWB relationship here, I don’t think I missed anything!

A p.s from the author: Y’know when you hear a song and you’re like “holy shit this is a good song to base a horny little smut piece on”? Yeah Summer by Brockhampton is the fucking culprit for the inspiration of this little one-shot. Love the song, adore the lyrics and my god does it make me want to be in warmer weather right now lol.

Word Count: 4,474

Nothing had prepared you for Yvaga III’s twin suns. The warmth felt suffocating, and it weighed everything down, making the air shimmer with a golden haze that made your skin perpetually damp with sweat. The lush greenery and rolling hills were beautiful, sure, but it was hard to appreciate it when every article of clothing clung to your back, and every movement you made sent fresh beads of sweat down your skin. Sometimes, you even found yourself longing for the dark and sterile chill of Jackson’s Star.

You sat in the shadow of the ship, the heat of the day clinging to the air, sticking onto your skin, a film of sweat painting your entire body. You wore a white tank top and a pair of boxer shorts you borrowed from Tyler, knowing they would provide a more airy and baggy fit. Your legs were stretched out in front of you, and you held the data pad in your hands, looking at the scan you had conducted on the ship.

“The air conditioner is fucking broken.” You called out over the drilling noise that echoed above you, throwing yourself back into the tall grass that cushioned you and the ship, sweat trailing down your temples as you squinted up at the shimmering sky.

“I think we knew that when we woke up drowning in our own sweat this morning for Christ sake.” Navarro yelled from the top of the wing above you.

“I feel like I’m overheating, does anyone have an ice pack or something?” Rain complained, her voice carrying from inside the ship as she stepped into the light, her face reddened by the heat, looking as miserable as you felt.

”We’re saving them for tonight.” Tyler responded, “I’d rather not have one of us die from heat stroke while sleeping.” He added, as you wiped the sweat off your forehead with the back of your arm, your chest filling with the thick air.

”This place is gonna fucking kill me.” You muttered, lifting yourself up from the grass, dusting the back of your shorts off “I’m going to lay in my bunk.” You called out, feeling all the sweat dripping down your skin as you made your way into the ship. Thankfully it wasn’t as bad as being outside, but it was still stuffy, the dull scent of sweat mixing with the moisture in the air. You kicked off your shoes, entering the living quarters you shared with Navarro, throwing yourself onto the bottom bunk with a loud groan, before quickly flipping yourself over to stare up at the beams that held up the bed above you. The tank top you wore was soaked through, and the waistband of your boxer shorts were damp, sweat was pooling everywhere, and all you could do was try to fan yourself with your hand, hoping that it would help.

The sound of heavy boots on the metal floors echoed outside of the living quarters, immediately gaining your attention, a groan escaping your lips as you closed your eyes.

”Go away.” The steps didn’t stop, and a moment later the door to the room hissed open. You tilted your eyes towards the doorway, seeing Bjorn standing against the frame. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, the dark fabric sticking to his legs. Like everyone else he was glistened with sweat, and flushed red from being exposed to the prolonged heat. His sharp blue eyes scanned over you slowly, lingering on the way your tank top was clinging to you before returning his eyes to yours.

”Are you always this dramatic, or is today special?” He asked, amused by the sight in front of him, as you shot him a tired glare.

”What do you want, Bjorn?” He stepped inside of the room, letting the door shut behind him.

”You looked like you were going to faint out there,” He said, a smirk widening across his face, leaning against the wall near the bunk beds, “Thought I’d make sure you didn’t melt into the floor or something.”

“Well, I didn’t.” You muttered, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, his eyes flickering to your tank top again, watching your chest rise and fall. He was practically stripping you with his eyes at this point, the way they roamed over your exposed legs, picturing the last time he had held them, or nipped at the skin of your thighs. It was impossible not to picture you under him, especially when you were splayed out like this and breathless.

”You look like you’re suffering,” He said, his tone laced with mocking sympathy, “Want me to get a fan?” You rolled your eyes.

”Do you see a fan anywhere?” You shot back, your voice sharp. Bjorn grinned, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a single large ice cube, holding it up into your line of sight between his fingers.

”I brought you something better.” He commented.

”And what are you going to do with that?” You asked, your eyes flickering from the ice cube then back to him.

”Help you out,” He responded, pushing himself off the wall to sit on the edge of your bunk, the mattress dipping under his weight. The faint smell of sweat and aftershave itches your nose as you sit up fully, “Unless you’d rather be uncomfortable, cause if that’s the case I’ll use this on myself.” You squinted at him.

”This feels like a setup.” Bjorn’s smirk widened.

”Always so suspicious…” He murmured, “You know me better than that love.”

“That’s exactly why I’m suspicious.” Not moving as he leaned in closer, bringing the ice up to your neck without waiting for permission. The first touch felt electric as the cool droplets slid against your heated skin. You gasped softly at the sensation, a gentle relief washing over you, feeling Bjorn’s hand come into contact with your thigh, rubbing it slowly, caressing it with such softness that it almost made you climb on him.

“You’re jumpy,” He remarked, trailing the ice down the curve of your neck.

”It’s cold,” You replied, your voice shaky despite your best efforts to hold in your reactions.

”That’s the point.” You felt your cheeks heat up at the way he whispered. The ice left a wet, glistening path down your skin, as his knuckles moved the drops of water along your collarbone. The touch was slow, and when his eyes flicked to yours, the intensity made your stomach tighten.

”Been a while,” You said softly, your voice catching in your throat, Bjorn’s eyes relaxing a bit, his hand on your thigh sliding up to your waist, nodding.

”I know.” He whispered. The two of you had this on again off again thing together, oftentimes you turned to him just for some physical contact, but it was so natural you guys had found yourselves addicted to one another. The dry spell came when the close living quarters were established, and neither of you could figure out how to sneak around properly without the whole group figuring things out, so plans were scarce.

The ice trailed lower now, slipping beneath the neckline of your tank top, settling on one of your breasts, his fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt.

”Let’s take this off hmm?” You hesitated slightly, the tension between the two of you thickening. Slowly, he pulled the damp fabric over your head, tossing it to the floor. His gaze dragged over you, the hunger burning behind his blown out pupils, lingering on every curve of your body, and every bead of sweat that created a sheer on your skin. A small smile appeared on his lips.

”Much better,” He muttered, the ice now tracing over the swell of your breast, the coolness causing your nipples to harden, your back arching towards him. His free hand came up to push the cold trail of droplets over the rest of your heated skin.

”Still too hot?” He asked, moving closer to you.

”Bjorn-“ Your sentence died as he dropped the piece of ice off the side of the bed, sliding his hands to your hips, gripping tightly before pulling you forward to lift you effortlessly onto his lap with a practiced ease, a sharp gasp escaping your throat. His stiff chest pressed against yours, his hands trailing to your thighs, holding you in place. He looked up at you, his grin widening now, your hands coming up to hold either side of his damp neck.

”That’s much better.” He commented, settling himself beneath you, before claiming your mouth with his in a kiss that was tense and rough, his hands roaming over your back with the confidence of knowing exactly how to touch you under his belt. He broke the kiss, moving his lips towards your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before soothing the marks with his soft tongue. You breathed in shakily, your fingers now tangling into his hair, his hands pulling you flush against him.

”Bjorn,” You moaned, his name leaving your lips effortlessly, feeling his open mouth peppering hot wet kisses along your jaw. His fingers digging into your thighs just enough to remind you how firmly he had you in place.

”Something you need to say?” His breath stuck to your skin, a smile ghosting against your neck.

”You’re being cocky.” Bjorn chucked, the sound resonating against your throat.

“Am I? Cause I don’t really hear you complaining.” Before you could retort, his hands shifted, one trailing up the small of your back to pull you closer to him, the other settling on the soft skin of your waist. His calloused fingers tickled the sensitive flesh of your lower back, as his mouth returned to yours, his lips moving against yours gently. The weight of him beneath you, the heat radiating from every inch of his body, was overwhelming to your senses, but the tension was burning and tightening even more in the pit of your stomach. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging gently at it before deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, making your breath hitch briefly, your hand coming up to cradle his cheek, a moan vibrating against his lips. You could feel his touch travel down to your ass, gripping the flesh in his palms, massaging gently, as he guided your hips towards his so that you could feel how hard he was through his shorts.

”I think we have too many clothes on.” He whispered against your mouth, the both of you giggling softly.

”Couldn’t agree with you more.” You smiled, kissing him one more time before moving off of him, going further back onto your bunk while peeling off the boxer shorts you had on, throwing them off the side of the bed, your gaze attaching to Bjorn’s as he stood up from the mattress, removing his shorts and boxers in one go. You were always surprised at how ready he was when the two of you would have sex, and this time was no exception. His cock was hard, the tip was a blush red, but he wasn’t too riled up yet, not enough to have precum dripping out from the tip, but the sight still made your mouth water. He made sure the door to the room was locked before joining you on the bed, your fingers trailing over the skin of your stomach as you watched him settle on his knees, opening your legs to have him settle between them.

”Eager are we?” He commented, pushing some of the stray hairs out of your face, plastering an array of kisses over your face, on your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose, but completely avoiding your lips, trying to tease you.

”I could say the same for you, it’s obvious you’re the catalyst for this situation right now.” You point out, a smirk drawing up on your lips, as he pulls you onto him, your thighs now straddling his waist, “Point proven.” You say breathlessly, leaning down to kiss him roughly, holding his stubbly cheeks between your hands, feeling his fingers digging into the meat of your hips. He pulls away from the kiss, his sharp blue eyes glossed over, drunk on his own anticipation.

”Turn around,” He instructed, his voice steady. You could feel the heat creeping up on your skin, your heart pounding against your chest, as he guided you in turning your body with an ease that sent a thrill through you, you hesitated for a moment, following his lead, twisting until you were straddling him in reverse. He pulled you back a little bit, just enough so you could feel the heat of his breath travelling over the back of your thighs, and cooling your wet core, a small groan escaping Bjorn’s lips at the sight.

”Just like that, stay right there.” He whispered, steadying you as his lips pressed against one of your thighs, sucking gently on the flesh, leaving a small red mark right below your butt. The intimacy of the position had your heart racing so much you could feel your head spinning, your hands bracing yourself on his thighs as his mouth came up right against your cunt, his tongue teasing against your slit with a precision that made your breath catch in your throat. He knew your body like that back of his hand, he knew all your weaknesses, and he loved every second he had you squirming under his control. A soft moan escaped your lips, your body responding by pressing against his unyielding tongue, your fingers digging gently into his thighs. His stubble scraped against your skin, the roughness adding an edge to the overwhelming heat of his touch and breath. You pushed yourself more towards him, your back arching at the way his tongue worked against you, another moan escaping your lips, reaching down to grab onto his cock, feeling and hearing his breath hitch at the new contact, bringing yourself down to the tip, your tongue flicking against it to tease him, earning a groan. His movements faltered for a moment, as his mouth moved off of you.

”You’re really trying to one-up me huh?” You smiled.

”Always,” You replied, adjusting now so you were almost flat against him, your mouth now wrapping around the head of his cock, sucking and tracing your tongue along the sensitive nerve endings, savoring the low groan that it coaxed from him, tasting the saltiness of his precum. You began to move your hand in sync with your mouth's movements, listening closely to the uneven breaths Bjorn took, as he refocused on his own task, his hands now holding onto your lower back moving your soaked core back down onto his mouth. His tongue explored every inch of you, tasting every last drop that fell from your slit, his lips teasing and coaxing reactions from you that left your body trembling on top of him. He was much more experienced than you, and he just knew what to do with your body to make you melt into him, he knew your weak spots, he knew that if he took your clit into his mouth you’d give up immediately, but he didn’t want that, this newfound position was driving you both crazy at this point.

The shared rhythm you found was intoxicating, the heat between the both of you building with every movement, and every moan and gasp for air. You took him deeper into your mouth, pulling up just enough to suck on the tip, feeling Bjorn groan against your skin, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming stimulation his tongue was providing. Your hand tightened around his shaft in response, your movements growing bolder as you took him in deeper, working to draw out those sounds from him again, craving the reactions he was giving you, feeling his body tensing beneath you, his mouth pulling away from you for a split second.

”God keep going, don’t stop.” He begged, burying his face back into you, his eagerness playing out in front of you. You moaned against him, your focus splitting between the pleasure he was giving you, and the satisfaction of feeling him unraveling under your hands and mouth. The tension between the both of you built with every movement, and every passing second, the air thick with heat, and with the unspoken understanding as you moved together, giving and receiving in perfect sync. You could feel his calloused hands slide up your back, then back to your hips, his mouth now moving to your clit, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, his lips turning up into a smile. You pulled off him for a moment, catching your breath before focusing on the now reddened tip of his cock, running your tongue over the head, focusing on the most sensitive area just below the head. His breath hitched, his voice breaking as he groaned your name, his hips shifting beneath you.

The position left no room for barriers between the both of you, the intimacy of the act alone was just enough, but the raw physicality of the moment was the thing that was pushing you and Bjorn closer to the edge. His hands moved again, one sliding up your back to steady you as the other gripped your hip, his touch grounding you even as his mouth continued to work you into a frenzy.

”Please Bjorn, don’t stop.” You begged, your words spurring him on, as you focused to match his intensity, the tension continuing to build until it was almost unbearable. Every sound and tremor the both of you shared between each other was overwhelming, the pleasure being a fire consuming everything around you.

When the tension finally broke, it left you in absolute shambles, your body was moving involuntarily at that point, grinding on his face, as his hips raised slightly, so you could take him deeper into your mouth, his cum coating the back of your throat. You swallowed every drop, moaning against him as you rode out your orgasm, coating his face with your slick. Your bodies tangled together in a mess, feeling the world blurring around you. Bjorn lapped up the slickness coming from you, before pulling away, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your thighs, his breath warm against your skin. You took your mouth off him, a sigh escaping your lips at the sensations that were still running through your body.

“Okay…” Bjorn muttered after a long moment, “That was impressive.” You laughed softly, pushing yourself up, so you could roll off of him. Your legs felt like jello as you practically dragged yourself to the space beside him, seeing his mouth still coated with your slick, a drunk haze glistening in his eyes.

“Impressive?” You echoed, glancing up at him with a faint smirk, “I think we deserve more credit than that.” He chucked, his lips pressing against yours for a moment, before pulling away, watching you lick yourself off your lips.

”Oh definitely, but I don’t think we’re done yet.” He whispered, a smile coming up on his mouth as he watched your eyebrows raise.

“You’re ambitious,” You replied, feeling his fingertips trace circles along your waist, “Didn’t I just ruin you?” Bjorn laughed loudly, feeling himself stirring back to life, the blood running hot in his veins as he nodded.

“I think I’ve got enough left in me to ruin you right back actually, we can call it even after that.” His voice sent a fresh wave of heat through your body, as the familiar pull of desire reignited in your stomach, despite the comedown you were currently experiencing from your orgasm. His shimmering blue eyes searched for yours, the burning craving and lust coating the stare.

“You’re actually serious?” You asked, your voice trembling as his hand moved lower, brushing over the curvature of your hip.

”Very serious,” He replied, leaning over to your ear, his hot breath hitting against the shell, “And by the way, you look incredible like this- flushed, spent, and already ready for more.” He whispered, his words sending shivers down your spine, as he pulled back, shifting so he could sit with his back against the frame of the bunk bed.

“Now climb on.” He added. You looked up at him, now noticing that he too was a blush red all over his naturally pale skin. You laughed a little, pushing yourself up onto your knees.

”You make it sound like you’re an amusement park ride.” You commented, putting your thighs on either side of his hips, the intimacy of the position making your pulse quicken, as you settled on top of him. He reached up, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

”Well, I’m your amusement park ride…And I want to feel you.” You laughed lightly, leaning in, your lips brushing up against his in a kiss that started soft, but quickly escalated into something deeper, more urgent. It was sloppy, and wet, and the both of you could taste each other on your tongues. Bjorn groaned softly, as his hands slid down to grip your waist, pulling you closer to align your bodies perfectly. These were the times where the both of you knew there was something else between the two of you, there was no denying the craving was just a ploy to be closer to you. He could never keep his eyes off you throughout the times where you weren’t sleeping together, and you were the same, but the desire of being something more was left unspoken, it was just the right thing to do.

The earlier tension was still there, simmering just beneath the surface as your hands moved up to hold his neck, feeling Bjorn's fingertips tracing lazy patterns against the soft expanse of skin along your back, the both of you continuing to kiss messily, until your lips were sore. He pulled back, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, your pubic bone feeling Bjorn’s erection pressing up against it.

“You ready for me?” He asked, one hand coming up to push your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear, as the other one settled on your hip.

”Yes.” You replied, your voice trembling, bracing your hands on his shoulders, while you lifted yourself slightly so he could reach around you to line himself up with your sensitive slit, the both of you letting out a synched groan as you sank down onto him, the stretch familiar and intense, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. His hands tightened on your waist, his forehead pressing against your chest briefly before looking up at you, seeing your head tilted back in pure ecstasy, your neck fully exposed to him. He took the opportunity to trail kisses up your damp skin, nipping at every spot he could, feeling you settle down fully onto his cock.

“Fuck, “ He managed to say, “You feel so good.” You let out a shaky laugh, your nails digging into his shoulders as you began to rock your hips, the movements slow at first, testing how much your sensitive walls would be able to handle. You could feel Bjorn’s hands sliding down to your ass, gripping it gently as he rolled his hips beneath you in sync with the way you rocked against him but with a new intensity that made you gasp. The closeness of the position only heightened every sensation that struck your body like a tidal wave, every time his hips met yours you could feel the blood in your veins setting ablaze as you pressed into him even more. Bjorn’s teeth grazed against the skin on your neck, leaving a visible mark, before soothing the zap of pain with his tongue.

”God you’re fucking incredible.” He moaned, thrusting up into you, your head tilting back as your legs tightened around his waist.

”You’re so fucking good to me Bjorn.” You managed to breathe out, your fingers tangling into his hair, pulling it gently, “But I need you to be a little rougher with me now.” He chuckled softly, though it quickly dissolved into a groan as you picked up the pass, your hips moving against his with an urgency he had never seen before, his little gasps for air being heard over the creaking of the bed.

”You’re gonna kill me.” He commented, his voice strained but filled with amusement, his hips now finding your rhythm, grinding up into you as his lips brushed against yours, his tongue teasing yours briefly.

”Good,” You whispered against his mouth, “You deserve it.” You added, letting out a breathless laugh. The pace grew faster, more desperate, the tension building between the both of you again with every thrust and sound that escaped into the room. Bjorn’s grip on you tightened, his movements rougher and sloppier, his breath hot against your skin. You could tell he was close, and as you trembled against him, already chasing your second orgasm, he whispered scrambled sweet nothings into your ear, trying to compose words together even though it was hopeless at this point.

When the tension finally snapped, it made you cry out. Your hands tightened in Bjorn’s hair as his cock twitched in you, his warm cum coating your fluttering walls. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding your body close to his as he rested his forehead against your shoulder, the both of you attempting to catch your breath, feeling your muscles twitching involuntarily. He pulled back slightly, looking up at you, his ice blue eyes overtaken by the wide expanse of his pupils, a lazy smile drawing up on his lips.

“Was it worth it?” You murmured, your voice teasing, as you brushed a hand through his damp hair. He laughed gently.

”Every fucking second,” He replied, the sentence dripping with satisfaction, “But I will definitely need a break before the next round, you have me spent.” He added, his lips meeting yours briefly as he pulled out of you, feeling his seed drip onto his thigh.

“You must’ve been dying to get a moment alone with me during our little dry spell.” You commented, pulling yourself off him, laying down on the mattress, the pillow puffing out beneath your head.

”Oh you wouldn’t believe it, we have to make sure that doesn’t happen again cause I don’t think I’ll be able to survive another one.” He replied, turning onto his side so he could face you, “I might fucking implode.” He added, earning a laugh from you.

”For once I actually agree with you…” Your voice trailed off, as you turned onto your side as well, “I really missed this.” He smiled, leaning in to give you a gentle kiss.

”I missed it too.”

[gremlin-girly]

Day 31: Fireworks

Pairing: Steve Rogers x f!agent!reader

Fandom: MCU

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, first kisses, mutual pining, Tony being Tony, innuendo

Summary: You know who you're kissing at midnight. Steve knows who he wants to kiss. Now - how will you make it happen?

Word count: tba

A/N: WHEW! What a year folks. Still going through 500 drafts and edits but I'm on track and that's all that matters 😭 Hope to see you next year 💘

Prev | Fluffcember Masterlist | Navigation

Steve's eyes never left you from the moment you entered Tony's New Year's Eve party.

He knew you were getting ready with Natasha but he wasn't entirely prepared for what you'd be wearing. Maybe because he was too used to seeing you in work slacks and a shirt that the thought of you in your little black dress, hugging you like a second skin, was utterly sinful.

You had on one those stupid golden Happy New Year!! headbands and that should have helped his brain focus but God, you were right there with your head tilted back in a warm laugh at something Clint had said.

"Hey pal," Bucky nudged at his arm with a knowing smirk. "Someone caught your eye?"

Steve tugs his gaze from you to frown at Bucky. Bucky sips at his beer and raises an eyebrow at Steve before looking over at you.

"Have you asked her yet?"

"Asked her what, Buck?" Steve knows what his best friend wants the answer to but he can't bring himself to say it out loud.

"Asked her who she's kissing at midnight." Bucky takes another swig of beer and eyes Steve suspiciously. "And from your play-dumb act, I'd say you haven't. You've got five minutes, Steve."

Steve swirls his beer and casts another longing glance over to you. He shouldn't be so scared of asking you a simple question, or asking you on a date, but every time you were around he felt like butterflies had taken flight in his stomach and he was suddenly just that little punk from Brooklyn all over again.

What if you said no? What if you turned your nose up at him like so many others had before? What if he wasn't good enough to be your boyfriend if, by some miracle, you said yes?

So wrapped up in his own worry, he didn't notice Bucky waving you over. He almost had a heart attack when you spoke, gripping his beer bottle so hard the glass began to creak dangerously.

"Hey boys," you beam, taking up the empty space next to Steve. "Happy New Year."

You were so close to Steve that he could smell your perfume. Light, airy and sweet. A blush creeps up his neck as he quietly wishes you a happy new year in return.

"Happy new year, doll." Bucky greets, hiding a satisfied smile behind his beer. "We were just talking about you."

Steve shoots Bucky a warning glare.

"Oh really?" You smirk at Bucky. "Nothing bad I hope."

Bucky shakes his head. "Not at all. Just wondering who you'll be kissing at midnight."

Now it's your turn to glare at Bucky. "You've spoken to Nat haven't you?"

Bucky shrugs nonchalantly. "Don't know what you mean."

Steve looks between you both confused. "Erm, who are you kissing?"

Your cheeks glow red as you turn to Steve. "Depends. Are you kissing anyone at midnight?"

"I-"

Steve is at loss for words, his thoughts interrupted by the beginning of the countdown. Bucky jumps up and makes a beeline for Nat, who gives Steve a wink of her own.

"Nine!"

"Well?" You press, smiling shyly at him.

"Eight!"

"No." Steve says quickly, his lips twitching upwards.

"Seven!"

"I'm not kissing anyone." Steve's heart is in his throat as he begins to slide off his seat.

"Six!"

"Good." You nod looking up at him, closing the small distance between the both of you.

"Five!"

"You can kiss me then." You murmur, carefully watching how his gaze is glued to you.

"Four!"

"Then we can watch the fireworks outside." Steve's voice is low, breathless whisper and his smile has gotten bigger. Worry seeps into his mind but he pushes it away when he feels your soft hands reach up to his cheeks and gently guide his face to yours.

"Three!"

"I like that idea." You brush away stray hair from his face and your eyes flit to his lips.

"Two!"

"I have quite a few of them." Steve teases softly, his own hands finding your waist. He could learn to get used to this.

"Not as good as Natasha's." You grin, inching your face closer to his.

"That's fair." He chuckles, sucking in one final breath.

"One!"

Your lips meet in a sweet kiss, one you both melt into for a lot longer than you both realising. It's Tony's voice that makes you both break apart, beet red, hearing the whoops and cheers of you friends and colleagues.

"Looks like some of us will be starting the new year with a bang." Tony taunts you both, shaking a bottle of champagne that pops loudly above the chatter. "Now... New Year new bottle, anyone?"

[neiptune]

Knock knock🤍

Daichi Sawamura + New years kiss + newly dating couples

Birthday boy deserves it ✨

daichi sawamura x will you be my new year's kiss?

You’ve been dating Daichi Sawamura for less than two months but when he asked whether you wanted to spend new year’s eve with him, you didn’t think twice about saying yes.

That’s not to say you aren’t feeling nervous about tonight: while Daichi is very kind and never once made you feel uncomfortable, sometimes it’s hard not to feel intimidated by his innate charisma. He’s so attractive and he hardly even tries, which is so unfair. New year’s eve can put a lot of pressure on couples and while you’re not official yet (hence why you don’t expect any serious commitment on his side) it must mean something that he wants to spend such a special night with you. Everything has to be perfect.

Little do you know Daichi is on the exact same page and when he rings your doorbell, he’s more nervous than he’s ever been. When was the last time he spent new year’s eve with a significant other? He genuinely can’t remember, casual dating is not really his thing and he’s not been in a proper relationship in years. If tonight goes well, maybe he’ll be able to muster the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend.

“Hey”, you smile as you open the door. His brain short circuits upon seeing how pretty you are in the outfit you’ve picked, reply coming after a pause that stretches for a moment too long. 

“Wow. I mean, hi”, Daichi clears his throat, nose a pretty shade of darker pink and a few snowflakes melting on his shoulders, “you look beautiful”.

“Thank you. Come in, I need five more minutes”, with a grin, you take his hand to gently guide him inside. He hums, gloved hands softly tilt your face towards his.

“Did I already comment on how gorgeous you are right now?”, Daichi smiles when you wrap your arms around his waist and bring him closer with an airy chuckle, lips brushing against his.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it again”.

He clicks his tongue.

“You’re so beautiful. Can’t believe you’re my date for new year’s eve”.

“You’re not too bad yourself”, you smile and kiss him, because you can’t quite believe he’s your date either.

The familiar sound of a ringtone interrupts the sweet moment and you step back, giving him space to take the call.

“Be right back”, you mouth as Daichi brings the phone to his ear with a dopey smile.

“Hey, mom. No, not yet, why? Oh. No, sorry, you know I have plans already… well, can’t you tell them? No, don’t put her on the phone, don’t-”, he heaves a deep sigh, “hi, Emi”.

As you make sure you have everything in your purse, you curiously listen to the odd conversation and watch him pace across the living room, getting increasingly restless. When he runs a hand through his hair, you ask what’s going on and he briefly presses the phone to his chest.

“My siblings. They want to spend tonight with me, christmas wasn’t too fun because they were sick. I’m trying to explain that I’m busy”, he whispers, then resumes the conversation in a normal tone, “I’m really sorry, Emi. I know. What if I come by tomorrow? No, stop, I can’t talk to Daisuke, I’m in a rush-”

With a giggle, you watch as Daichi shuts his eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Tell them they should come. We can pick them up”.

He looks at you, astonished.

“What? But-”

“Please! We’ll take a stroll and watch the fireworks together. Plus, I get to meet them”.

You know they’re way younger than him and, honestly, despite the perspective of meeting part of his family during the holidays feeling scary and all, it also fills you with excitement.

And so, you do end up picking them up. His mom is so sweet and you’re the one she thanks the most, she takes your hands in hers and bows and tells you just how happy she is that he’s son has finally found someone special. Daichi’s face is so red his youngest sister asks if he’s sick.

Dinner reservations are promptly cancelled but you hardly care as two smaller gloved hands are holding yours, guiding you towards different kiosks amidst crowded streets. Daichi buys six portions of traditional toshikoshi soba from a portable vending stall and you all eat together, chatter and light teasing warming your heart as you’re exposed to his older brother side for the first time. He’s sweet, which doesn’t come as a surprise at all, and caring. Makes sure his siblings eat without getting too distracted by all the questions they ask you, an endless, rapid sequence you can hardly keep up with.

They’re surprised when you ask back, curious about their favorite colors, which presents they received for christmas, Daichi’s most embarrassing moments when he was younger. He huffs but there’s so much affection simmering beneath an exasperated smile, one hand distractedly playing with Emi’s dark hair.

It’s almost midnight and Daichi’s siblings couldn’t care less as they glide from one end of the ice rink to the other, the upcoming shrine visit long forgotten. You rest your head on Daichi’s shoulder while you watch them and his arm is around your waist to keep you close.

“Thank you for doing this”, he murmurs, “I’ll make it up to you”.

“There’s nothing to make up for. I had so much fun, they’re really sweet”.

“Runs in the family”, he grins and you roll your eyes.

“Hard to disagree. You are sweet”.

He hums, content.

“So, will you be my new year’s kiss? Given that I’m sweet. And so handsome”.

You look up and meet his playful gaze, soft smile tugging at your lips. A light snow is falling, frosty flakes already melting in the creases of his green scarf.

“Yes”. Given that I’m also falling in love with you.

thank you for trusting my writing and for drawing yet another GORGEOUS header, hope you enjoy! happy holidays mwah

[cambria-writes]

welcome to the very final chapter of honey and the hatchet! 🎉 it quite literally took eight whole entire years to get here, but i finally made it!

big thank you to everyone who's stuck around, read and flooded my notes with likes and shares this story around. i cannot express in any language i know how significant and meaningful that is.

for those who might be wondering, i used these photos of a suite at the macarthur to kind of situate myself.

...also sorry for kind of maybe edging you at the end there lol anyways enjoy!

pairing: patrick jane x named reader/ofc word count: 4,883 rating: A for adult content, MDNI warnings: smut, wearing, i know nothing about opera, PiV, unprotected sex, mild dom/sub, sir kink, neck grabbing but no choking, hair pulling if you squint, mentions of planned murders, relatively minor injuries (jane might have a cracked rib it's probably find), confession, the L word, this was not proofread and i'm almost sorry, please let me know if I should take anything else!

previousmasterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: ℭ𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔷𝔞

Several Months Later

An opera house. A fucking opera house is where you end up spending Christmas Eve. It’s not something that a lot of people would get upset about, normally, and you know this. That’s why you’ve schooled your face into an expression that’s more rich, entitled boredom than resentful impatience.

But you’re in a box for a fancy show, wearing a dress that definitely costs more just to look at than your apartment likely does in a whole calendar year, and there’s free alcohol. Not that you’ve been indulging up until now, but it’s nice to know that there’s expensive, free booze for when you will be able to pay attention to literally anything else. 

Right now, your eyes are half-heartedly trailing around the stage, eventually halting at the Sopranist singing her heart out. You can’t make out the lyrics at all—never could, with how broad and loud the voices are in operatic compositions, nevermind the insane acoustics of this place—but the sound of the song feels appropriate. A slow build that keeps on building despite several fake-outs that make you believe you’re finally out of this eternal musical waiting.

Conveniently, it’s when the Sopranist pauses for a quick breath that you hear it. The drag of a foot against an old velvet rug. You whip your fan open and feign interest in the elaborate emotional display the singer is putting on. You’re not worried; you know you look like every other bored twenty-something in this place.

Patrick had personally made sure of that. 

“Enjoying yourself?” A woman asks, her deep, airy voice drifting around you as she moves to sit down to your left, French accent heavy in her words. She flips open a small hand fan with a short “thwap” before turning her attention to you.

Madame Jonquière is someone whose gaze feels heavy. Patrick hadn’t told you much about her. Just that she was at Stonewall and that he owed her a favour. Didn’t mention what the favour was for, and you didn’t bother prying any further. Madame Joncquière’s eyes go down to your hands for a second before meeting yours again. She smiles politely and inclines her head expectantly. You realize you haven’t answered yet.

“Sorry, yes,” you reply quickly. Clear your throat before looking back at the stage. “I can’t understand most of it but it sounds lovely. Thank you for letting me accompany you tonight.”

Madame Joncquière swings open a hand fan with a muted ‘fwap’ before fanning herself. “Oh no, thank you for your presence tonight!” she exclaims quietly, leaning forward closer to you.  You grin and leave over. “No one ever wants to come to the opera house with me anymore. They all think it’s boring!”

You laugh quietly along with her. Madame Joncquière leans back into her chair and fixes her gaze to the stage. You appreciate the space she’s leaving you. Despite the fact that she knows damn well that you’re here to make sure she doesn’t get assassinated, she seems to be taking everything in good stride.

You watch his back as he carefully pours a drink out of a shaker. You have no idea what prompted him to pick you up at 11:30AM for cocktail hour. On a Wednesday. In the empty, closed bar of some man who happened to also owe him a favour. You hadn’t expected an explanation. But Patrick had kept silent the whole car ride. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, but the whole time you can’t help but feel like you’re being psychologically edged. You can only refrain from asking the slew of questions floating in your head for so long.

A highball glass filled with some strange red-purple liquid swirling enticingly inside it. The colours almost make the ice look like it’s sparkling. You’re dazzled for a second before looking up at Patrick.

“One Purple Haze for our esteemed guest,��� he says, dramatically, with a flourish and a bow. You laugh quietly before picking up the highball. Hold the glass up to the light to watch the colours mingle.

“It’s definitely nice to look at.” Distracted, you don’t notice Patrick walking out from behind the island to stand behind you. You don’t flinch when his cold hands part your hair to slide down your neck and rest on your shoulders. “Am I really expected to drink this before lunch? I haven’t even had breakfast.” 

“I did tell you to get up early last night,” Patrick says, voice low, by your ear. “Sounds like someone snoozed their alarm four too many times.”

You don’t answer. You instead try to see how quickly you can down the purple haze that was handed to you. Hoping to maybe inherit some of its own haze. You only stop when you’ve gulped down half.

“It’s a bad one, by the way,” Patrick adds, pressing a soft kiss at your temple before moving away. He sits on the stool next to you, slotting his knees between yours. “You’re supposed to pour the liqueur last to let it settle at the bottom. It isn’t supposed to swirl like that.”

You hum in understanding a look at the glass in the light again. “Shame, it looks nice this way.” Bring the glass back to your mouth for another sip. “Why am I getting a lesson in mixology today?”

“You’re going to the opera,” he starts, and you chug the rest of the drink before bracing yourself for another briefing. “And I’m going to need you to remember to order this, and how it’s supposed to be made.”

You frown. “Okay, so if I get it and it’s well made that means… what?”

Patrick smirks. Your stomach flips, entirely unaided by his hands running up your thighs. “It means I might have gotten… held up.”

“And this is… bad?”

Patrick hums and leans in, brushes his nose against your jaw. “If you consider first degree murder ‘bad’ then yes, it would be quite bad.”

You scoff at the blazé tone he takes, but it’s half-hearted. His fingers are working their way up your loose shorts toward your hips. 

“It might be a bad idea to sip at something that might have been poisoned.”

Ah, so this was it. 

Patrick hadn’t kept you in the loop for the entirety of this particular… situation. Not only because Madame J had gone to see him directly rather than the CBI, for reasons that hadn’t been obvious at the time, but because this seemed to be a personal slight. You’d kindly asked to be kept at an arm’s length for it all; solving murders had been one thing, but actively trying to prevent one felt beyond you.

You put your hands over his to halt their movement. Patrick immediately pulled back, brows furrowed in concern.

“I feel like too much hinges on me here,” you say quietly, pointedly staring at your knees. You can see the veins starting to honeycomb on your hands. Your fingertips feel cold and stiff.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick answers, just as quietly, pulling one of his hands back to run down your face, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I can bully Rigsby into it.”

You can’t help but laugh a little. He’d probably love the chance to go out at the opera with someone who also wants to be there.

“How long do I have to think about it?” 

“Only until Saturday,” Patrick answers, and you can hear the apology in his voice. The last-minute nature of this annoys you–it only gives you three days, including today, to decide whether or not you want to be the final hurdle.

“I’ll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow.”

The evening goes well enough. You still can’t understand much of what’s being sung, but you enjoy the performance. The drama and emotion in the acting, while singing, is something that’s at least legitimately interesting to watch. 

You occasionally look over the audience as well. Your perch from the box gives you a fantastic vantage point to see most everyone in the hall. The hairs at the back of your neck have been raising every now and then. Same feeling as you get being observed in the dark. But every time you try to scan the crowd, everyone’s either facing the stage or canted forward in somnolence.

You hear a knock at the door of your box before the door opens. This is it, you think. You’d ordered drinks just as you were coming back from the intermission. You take a quick look at the dainty gold watch Patrick had wrapped around your wrist earlier in the evening. It’s been… fifteen minutes. Which seems like an awful long time to prepare a purple haze and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

You don’t bother turning at all until you hear the serving tray being gently placed on the table between you and Madame J. You note, with no small amount of relief, that your purple haze muddled to absolute fuck and back. Perfectly safe to drink then.

Your server speaks up just as you notice, reaching for your glass, that there’s quite a spill on the tray.

“Au plaisir, mesdames.”

A thrill runs up your spine. Madame Joncquière looks up while you slowly wrap your fingers around the cool glass. She almost makes a joyful exclamation, but seems to stop halfway through taking in a breath for you. Keep your eyes on your drink while you listen to retreating footsteps, muted on carpet, until you hear the door open and close again.

Madame J’s hand lands softly on your shoulder to give it a squeeze. 

“How wonderful of Monsieur Jane to come look in on us himself!” she says to you, barely above a whisper. “Shall we cheers to that then, chérie?” 

Your heart still thrums in your chest from the thrill of it all. You raise your glass along with her, but just before knocking it against Madame J’s, you draw your hands back.

“Would you mind indulging me?” you ask quietly, trying to control the smirk threatening to take over your expression. 

Madame Joncquière clearly sees the scheming glint in your eyes and doesn’t hide her grin. It’s toothy, like a fox. And you feel like a peer, having caught a rabbit dead to rights. 

“Absolument! What would you like?” She leans in closer over the small end table between you. 

You carefully move to grab her wine glass and press your glass to her palm. She beams and immediately gets your meaning. You link arms together, giggling quietly as you try not to spill your respective drinks. 

“Cheers to yet another wonderful night on this train wreck of a planet,” you say, tilting the wine glass to clink against the highball. 

“I’ll drink to that!”

No sooner has the wine touched your lips, you hear a small commotion in the audience. Not enough to interrupt the show, but not something that won’t be noticed. 

The wine is bitter and sour on your tongue and you don’t bother to school your expression into something tame. Madam J laughs quietly behind her fan and offers your drink back. You hastily hand her back her awful wine and nurse your significantly sweeter cocktail.

The rest of the evening is blessedly uneventful. Patrick doesn’t make another appearance, but you don’t expect him to. You were surprised that he showed up personally in the first place. At the end of the show, after having another attendant–a real one, this time–slips you both back into your coats. Opens the door and thanks you for your patronage and only closes the door behind you once you’re most of the way down the hallway. Madame J links your arms together as you walk, chittering away about the singers’ performance. 

Once you reach the lobby, excuses herself for a moment to make a phone call. You make your way over to a plush lounge chair by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a seat. It’s fairly early, for a Sunday evening, so you pass the time people watching. Your phone vibrates in your coat pocket just as you see Madame Joncquière making her way over to you. Quickly look at your phone notification. 

‘Have her drop you off here,’ followed by an address and a room number. You don’t have time to respond back and ask where the fuck that is before Madame J extends her hand out to you. 

“I’ve been instructed to provide transportation for you, chère,” she says as you accept her hand to stand. “You’re alright to give my driver your address, yes?” 

Your body doesn’t seem to know if it should be excited or apprehensive. You acquiesce to Madame J after a second. Once you do actually enter her car–a vintage Cadillac with the classic wings–and let the driver know where to drop you off, she practically begins vibrating in her seat next to you. 

“Oh, please, you have to tell me who you’re meeting there!” she says, eagerly reaching for and grabbing your hands. The question must be written on your face because she laughs giddily. “Ma belle, the MacArthur is a veritable oasis in Sacramento. If you’re going there and you don’t know this, someone is very eager to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

This time the excitement wins over; you can feel your face heating up and you’re not entirely sure what your face is doing. You struggle to come up with something to say to that–what do you say to that?--but Madame Joncquière giggles some more and pats your thigh.

“So it’s Monsieur Jane, after all? What a man. I wonder who he conned into letting him stay there tonight.” 

“Probably someone else who owes him a favour,” you mutter. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to smile too widely.

“That would be a pretty sizeable favour to cash in on for leisure.” Her tone says she’s just thinking out loud, but you think you understand what Madame J’s trying to say.

Awful big favour to cash in on one woman. Must be a special one.

You try not to think too much about it.

The general manager meets you at the car. You wouldn’t have known he was the general manager if Madame Joncquière hadn’t turned into a gossipy 14 year old girl at the sight of him exiting the hotel doors. He opens the car door for you and helps you out with a hand.

“Lovely to have you, Ms Benraft. I’m Stephen Crawford, General Manager,” he introduces himself, taking a moment to lean forward to address Madam J. “Always a pleasure, Madame. Your friend will be in good hands with us.” 

“Always a pleasure, Monsieur Crawford. Have a wonderful night, chérie,” she finishes while addressing you, tossing a wink. “À la prochaine!” 

The general manager understands his cue to close the door, and the Cadillac slowly pulls away. 

You’re guided through the main building, where Stephen explains the history of the hotel and its various accommodations, all of which go into one ear and out the other. You’re taking directly to your lodgings, and  the general manager assures you that all amenities have been accounted for, including a late dinner and, in his words, “a small wardrobe in anticipation of whatever you would find comfortable”. 

You’re starting to understand why Madame Joncquière reacted the way that she did. Patrick has treated you to luxuries before–dinners, various events, even a trip out of the country–but none of it felt quite this… decadent. Almost overindulgent, actually. 

It truly feels like being spoiled rotten, and you’re still not sure how you feel about it.

Stephen hands you a very intricate key and steps back to wish you a good night, and that the front desk is available 24/7 should there ever be anything you need. You thank him and wait until he’s out of sight before turning back to the door. 

Your blood feels like it’s effervescing in your veins.

You consider knocking first, but decide to just let yourself into the room. You’re expected, after all, so it shouldn’t really matter, right? 

The first thing you notice is the fireplace. Then, the plush chairs, then the bed, then the bay window. The lighting is dim; only two lamps lit and the faint glow from the electric fireplace. The last thing you register is the sound of a shower running. 

You carefully close the door behind you and shrug your coat off, throw it in the direct of one of the chairs to your right. Walking further in, you spot a desk in a took to the left of the door with a chair conveniently pulled out. You carefully sit down to remove your shoes. Beautiful as they are and however aesthetically pleasant it was to have them match your dress, you’re happy to have them off. Carefully massage the soles of your feet, rotate your ankles, before leaning back in the chair.

This is lovely. You almost feel like you’re in one of those secluded little getaway suites in Bali or something. The vibes certainly match, even if late December weather is a bit too chilly. If you actually just let yourself enjoy everything for a second, and stop worrying about what it cost, this is just very nice. 

Maybe you’re starting to feel a little less spoiled and a little more pampered.

You’ve half dozed off by the time you feel warm hands on your shoulders. You sleepily hum, content, and sit up a little straighter. Stifle a yawn behind your hand and hear Patrick chuckle behind you.

“Have fun?”

You groan as you stretch. “Mm, would’ve been more fun withou–”

You cut yourself off after turning around and actually lay eyes on Patrick’s face. His lower lip is split on his left, and there’s a cut above the brow on the same side that you immediately know was from getting decked in the face. There’s also a disconcertingly large bruise on his left side, above his ribs, and you can’t fathom what would have caused that.

“Oh my–shit, are you okay? What happened?” 

You get halfway to standing up before Patrick gently presses you back down onto the chair. “Nothing too bad, I promise,” he answers, almost cajoling. Well, he’s breathing fine, from what you can see and hear. And he doesn’t seem like someone who got stabbed, you don’t think.

You still let the fingers of your left hand glide over the bruise. Patrick does a decent enough job to hide the wince, but it’s still there.

“Can I at least know what caused this one?” “Fire extinguisher.”

The words take a second to sink in before you start laughing. The image in your mind is absolutely far more cartoonish than what actually happened, for sure, but after an entire night of holding your breath, you can feel the tension start draining from your shoulders.

You turn back to face away from Patrick, and he resumes kneading the stress out of your traps and your neck. Thumbs dig into your neck on either side of your spine. It feels heavenly. Your breath catches when a shudder runs up your spine. There’s a heat that flares at the base of your spine when you feel his fingers gently wrap and brace against the sides of your throat.

“You did well tonight,” Patrick whispers into your hair. Takes a moment to brush your hair away before pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. 

You temper the rising, bubbling pride. “I didn’t even have to do anything.”

You can feel his laughter at the back of your neck. Hands slide down your arms before you feel him resting his forehead on your shoulder. 

“Switching your drinks was a clever idea.” You feel Patrick pulling away, squeak in surprise when he grabs the sides of the chair to spin you around. Crouches in front of your–and only now do you realize that he’s only got a towel around his waist, which parts dangerously wide as he lowers himself. “Made it a lot easier to catch our guy.”

Whatever tension in our shoulders Patrick hasn’t been able to dispel and disperse with his hands just… vanished. It had been a relief, initially, to know that Madame was safe and sound and not at risk of dying a slow, horrible, poisoned death. For the past 48 hours, it’s been a struggle to reign in your mind. You could barely sleep at night just for trying to distract yourself from what would happen if you didn’t pay well enough attention.

Patrick runs his hands over your thighs, up to your hips, tapping twice with his thumbs.

“I’m here,” you say airily, shaking off your thoughts to look Patrick in the eyes. “Just basked in the fact that it’s over now.” Lift a hand up to his face and gently smoothing your thumb below the cut at his brow. “Starting to wonder if I should have been worrying about you this whole time, instead.”

“Probably should have,” Patrick shrugs, and there’s a thrill that runs through you when you think, Of course I should have, of course you’d be getting yourself in some kind of mess.

He doesn’t say anything else when he stands back up and extends a hand out to help you to your feet. You feel silly for it, but you giggle when he makes you twirl, puling you back in with a hand at your waist. 

“Love the dress,” Patrick says, dipping in for a peck on the lips. “Where’d you get it?”

You scoff to compensate for the blood rushing to your face. “Some absolute scamp made me wear it tonight.”

Leading you into a slow, gentle sway by the fireplace, he puts on a show of looking offended. You laugh lightly at the exaggeration, but clear your throat once his expression settles. 

“I suppose the scamp should take it back, then,” he answers, voice low as the hand that held yours skips over ribs and moves up your back. 

You tilt your head when he begins to place opened-mouthed kisses down your neck. You let him pull your zipper down but otherwise don’t help him. Not that he needs much help; once the zipper stops, nearly at the very bottom of your spine, the top of your dress simply crumples away, taking the rest down with it.

Patrick takes a moment to pull back, hands smoothing down your upper arms as he takes a look at you. There’s a very self-content smirk on his face when he takes stock of the lacey, racy lingerie you’re wearing. A hand reaches down and tugs at your garter before letting it snap back into place.

God, the way he looks at you with such open, raw hunger continues to do things to you that you hadn’t known anyone was capable of. Until him.

“Even happier to see someone can follow instructions,” Patrick comments, sounding every part like the cat that got the cream. Both hands both over your hips, up your ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.

Patrick leans in, lips barely brushing against yours. “Think you can keep following instructions?” 

You sigh shakily at his tone. “Yes, sir.”

You can feel his chest vibrate with his rumble of appreciation. He doesn’t speak when he tugs you along to bed. Doesn’t need to tell you what to do when he sits, tossing the towel from his waist in the general direction of the sitting area, leaning against the headboard. You dutifully install yourself on his lap, slowly settling your weight over his thighs. 

With two hands firmly on your rear, Patrick pulls you in as close as he can. Thrusts his hips up as he does so. Just the heat of his erection, throbbing against your damp underwear, has you moaning behind tightly sealed lips.

“That’s it,” Patrick encourages when you begin to rut against him without prompting. “Take what you want, I’ll give you the rest.” The rest of his sentence is almost unintelligible as he takes turns between kissing and nipping at your breasts. The bra is a pathetic excuse for fabric, and you understand why he had you wear this particular set; it almost feels as though there’s nothing at all between your skin and the wet heat of his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before you have to brace yourself against Patrick’s shoulders, and soon after that you find yourself whining as you toss your head back. The friction and heat are both wonderful in their own respect, but the angle is wrong, and it’s not nearly enough. 

You’re ravenous, and Patrick is a meal that loves to hold himself out of reach just a bit past long enough.

“Use your words,” he breathes into your collarbones, one hand moving us to massage at one of your breasts while the other moves lower. Down past the delicate lace waist of your panties, thumb teasing around your clit. 

“Fuck,” you choke out, unable to keep yourself from grinding down harder and faster in the hopes that something will change. 

“Not quite enough words,” Patrick quips, and you growl, annoyed. Bring your head back forward and do your best to maintain eye contact. 

It still feels embarrassing, even now. To say it out loud.

You’re learning to accept that… maybe you’re just. A little bit into that.

“Please, sir,” you start, clearing your throat and swallowing thickly. “I would very much like you to fuck me, please.”

Patrick practically purrs, satisfied. This part, too, is well rehearsed. You muster just enough self control to raise your hips. Enough room so he can pull his cock forward. Enough for you to gather saliva in your mouth and let it dribble down. Over Patrick’s hand, and over his cock.

He groans with the feeling of it as you exhaled in something you think might be awe. His eyes are close and head tilted back. He looks debauched, you think, but not quite enough. 

“Can I–can I touch, sir?” you pants, hands already raised by the sides of his head.

“Can’t say no when you ask so nicely,” he breathes out. You immediately run your hands through his hair, digging your fingertips into his scalp. He moans, a drawn-out thing that has your cunt clenching in a desperate way. 

A shudder like electricity shoots through you when you feel Patrick simply pulling aside the gusset of your underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. He takes a second–during which you whine in complaint–to get a hand at the back of your head, fisting the hair there just enough to get your attention. Look down at him with impatient, hooded eyes. 

“You’ll forgive the terrible timing,” he starts, sounding about as breathless as you’re sure you currently do. “But there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You’re right,” you groan, leaning your head forward to rest against his. “It’s terrible ti–”

Your sentence is blissfully interrupting when Patrick thrusts up into you. Not quite hilting himself, but damn well near it. You’re not sure what you would call the sound that cracked its way out of your throat. He groans in unison with you, and you’re not sure who’d trying to pull who in closer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes out, one hand guiding your hips to slowly move against him, the other smoothing the hair at the back of your head. “I love you.”

You keen, a quick, sharp pitched sound. Push yourself just far away to look him in the eyes. Takes him a second to build enough composure back off to raise his head and look at you straight on.

He’s been unguarded before, sure, but not like this. There’s something swirling in your chest and low in your abdomen. Something heavy, heady. 

“Christ,” you exhale, lifting your hips before slamming them back down. Your sharp inhale catches in your throat and Patrick bites back another groan. “Worst timing. Other women would question your motives.”

“Mmh, good thing you aren’t any other woman.” The end of his sentence is punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust upward. You can feel the tip of his cock just brushing against your cervix, and the jolt it sends through has you grinding down back in turn. 

Patrick winds his arms around your back and presses your against his chest. You feel him bracing his feet against the mattress, immediately move to grab the edge tof he headboard. Feel him chuckle under you, flinch when you feel teeth against one of your nipples through the sparse lace.

“Fortunate that I love you too, then.”

You don’t get to properly register the sound you hear bubbling up from the back of Patrick’s throat before he thrusts back up into you. Sets a pace that might’ve been brutal, but even in the haze of oxytocin in your brain you can recognize that this is relief. 

A man that’s been alone and snarling at and against the world for so many years just… just told you he loves you.

When you feel a hand make its way around your throat, you take the cue. 

It’s a tomorrow problem.

Tonight you can just feel, and bask in several jobs well done.

Tag List

@fucklife-or-me @mamacakeishereforfun @newavenger @yearningforsappho @natsukee @piper570 @rikuisthesweetestboy @berry-blink @wandabillywrites @leftovers-and-headrubs @pauphs @gamingfeline @racoonkitty @dogmatic255 

[aipurjopa]

★ INTRO POST ☆

I’m Ai aka Purjopa

she/her

18

I draw stuff 👍 (no nsfw)

Main blog: @purjopa (except I don’t post anything there but when I submit asks or reply to stuff it’ll be on that blog because this is technically a sideblog. All my posts will be here though)

How I Tag

Art tag: #purple’s art

A side note about my art tag: tumblr broke a while back so there’s two of them yet they look identical. One of these two tags is missing half of my old art while the other one has everything. Not sure why, keep that in mind!

Text Post Tag: #sketchy.txt

Reblogs: #reblogs!

Spoiler tags: #[media name] spoilers

Main Interests

Mcyt: Unstable Universe, Lifesteal, Hermitcraft, Life Series, (ex)DSMP (as in: I’ll probably make references to it or rb the stray post but I don’t give 2 shits about that series anymore)

I often draw: Spoke, Parrot, Wemmbu, Minute, Zam, Grian, Scar, Joel.

Please don’t tag my art as shipping unless I’ve indicated it’s ship art myself. Please also don’t bring up other ships on my posts. (This goes for all fandoms, not just mcyt btw)

Rhythm Games: Project Sekai, Bandori, Enstars

My Favorites: Airi, Akito, Saki, Aya, Hina, Ran, Souma, Tori, Esu, Hinata, Yuta

Other Games: Sky Children of the Light, Genshin Impact, Minecraft, Honkai Starrail

Other Media: Frieren, How to Eat Life Series (by Eve), Skip to Loafer, Spy x Family

Other tags I commonly use

#🌌: Havoc duo (parrot and spoke)

#🪐⚡️: pride duo (planet and spoke!)

#words per second: unstable universe protagonists (wemmbu parrot spoke)

#laurels: golden laurels (minute and wemmbu)

#swap au: my prsk swap au (the one with runaways)

#vivid street: next gen! : my next generation vbs au (featuring chasing x destines, my ocs)

#long lived au: my frieren inspired prsk au

the rest is up to you go figure out my friend………

[phoenixinthefiles]

Six?...it Only Felt Like Four

Pavitr Prabhakar x reader ❤️...🔸🔷🪻 I hope and pray I got him right @vhstown @daydreaming-en-pointe @1610milesperhour

The incessant ringing of the doorbell shakes you out of your daze.

Your homework could wait. It was only the start of the school year; one rushed assignment could be excused. Plus, now that you focused, the sound of the doorbell was a little rhythmic, which could only mean...

You were glad the only other person in the house right now was napping, no one could make fun of you for the embarrassing mad dash you made to the front door.

You yelled out that you were coming and stopped in the hallway mirror to check your appearance.

good enough.

With that, you open the door to see your boyfriend who has a smile on his face to match yours.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" He exclaims. Your brows immediately furrow, and your eyes follow his as they flicker to his hands.

He's holding a pretty blue and gold box with a ribbon so perfectly tied you know he couldn't have done it himself. It's really nice but...

"It's nowhere near Valentine's Day, that was like six months ago."

His smile doesn't falter.

"Only six months? that's close enough, nothing has really changed."

"It's summer," you deadpan.

"It feels like nothing has changed."

He says it in an airy way like it's just so obvious.

Like he hadn't been complaining about the historically low temperature when you first met this winter.

You shake your head with a small smile.

"We've been together for four months; six months is a long time."

He smiles to smirk, and you prepare yourself for what's coming next.

Here we go.

"My love, I wish us much more than six months."

You scoff incredulously. But He grins with a proud look on his face.

He's still as optimistic as the day you met him.

"Pavi."

"But six months is half a year. Half a year plus half a year is a full year, and a full year from Valentine's Day is Valentines Day.-

"Unless it's a leap year" you interject.

Pav continues as if you hadn't spoken at all, "So, it is basically Valentine's Day Eve. Which means I'm early, and it's after noon so... Happy Valentine's Day!"

He shoves the gift out towards you but instead of taking it, you blink at him dumbly.

"I don't know if I should be more concerned about the mental gymnastics you just did, or the fact that I understood you."

"Don't be concerned at all, you're just assimilating to me."

You grin, "that's concerning."

He rolls his eyes and the head tilting he does causes some of his, insanely perfect, hair to fall in front of his eyes.

Your fingers itch to smooth it back.

"Stop deflecting," he says, a knowing grin forming.

You sigh and your eyes flicker from the gift back to him.

"I didn't get you anything." Your hand reacts on your impulses and you brush back the hair from his eyes. He freezes for a moment and his shoulders rise close to his ears as he smiles warmly.

You return his smile with a far more shy one and the you two stand there, grinning like idiots, until his eyes make their way back down to the gift in his hands and he clears his throat.

"I don't believe receiving a gift is part of gift giving."

"When did you become a dictionary?" You scoff playfully.

"Deflectinggg." he responds in a sing-song voice, tilting the gift box in a taunting manner.

You sigh again and take it from him, "Are you sure?"

"Ayyōṭā, open it."

You run your fingers over the raised decorations on the box. It's a pattern of swirls that almost look like the Mehndi you'd seen Pav drawing on himself. It wasn't as unique though, it was definitely made with a pattern, but the gold brush seemed done by hand.

You squinted and tilted the box around a little.

"Did you do this?"

"The box? no. I did tie the beautiful and symmetric bow."

"Uh huh." You give him your most skeptical look.

He cracks with a roll of his eyes.

"Auntie was very willing to assist me."

"She probably wouldn't have been if she knew you would take all the credit."

"And certainly not if she knew you wouldn't open it."

You glare at him and his stupid charming smile for a minute, before giving in and carefully unwrapping the bow. Opening the lid revealed a hand painted yo-yo.

When you first met he had attempted to impress you by showing the tricks he could do on a yo-yo. It was really corny, but it still drew you in so you didn't have any room to talk.

You gasp and carefully take it out.

"Pav, it's so pretty."

He grins boyishly and his shoulders rise once more.

With the hand not holding the box, you run your fingers over the yo-yo; aimlessly tracing the designs.

"I didn't know you could paint. I mean I know you've done Mehndi but I didn't know the steady hand transferred over."

"Mehndi," He responds, mocking your pronunciation.

You roll your eyes and he laughs softly.

"Painting is easier; there's no possibility of Aadhya carrying out her threats when my hand cramps."

A giggle bubbles out of your lips, more out of nervousness than amusement, because his becomes a little too soft as he smiles at you.

His personality is so infectious, he lights up and practically glows when he smiles, and when he turns that radiance on you?

Your heart practically sings in affection.

"I'm happy you like it."

"Of course I do, it's amazing. But it might be a bit too much for someone who's only just learned walk-the-dog."

"It's a very impressive walk-the-dog. I was fooled!"

"That's not as big of a compliment as you think."

He rolls his eyes and mumbles something but you barely hear it, focusing on the yo-yo in your hands instead.

Before you can second guess yourself, you throw your arms around him.

He lets out a small squawk, but his arms immediately come to wrap around you.

It's insanely probably ridiculous to be so happy over something so seemingly inane.

But it's Pav, nothing he does is meaningless. A hand-painted yo-yo because you learned one trick?

It wasn't ridiculous when it came to him.

He's a constant positive, he's stunningly stunningly soft-hearted, and he listens to you ramble about the littlest things. As evidenced by your new gift.

He's your valentine.

Just six months too early.

[loaksky]

Congrats on 2k!!!! 🥳🥳Could I request a neteyam x reader with the laughing more around them? 🥰🥰

fifth installment for the party; thank you for participating!

neteyam x fem metkayina!reader, pure fluff, wc: 1270

yesterday was officially the last day to send in anything for my 2k party, so thank you to everyone who participated! after this installment, i have two more little drabbles that will most likely make it to you guys by the end of today!

The people of Awa’atlu have a saying. They say that the ocean can feel every visitor’s deepest desires. That if you whisper your wishes to the rippling waters, perhaps the waves will deliver. 

On the eve of your nineteenth orbit, you murmur your wish for a great love. It’s spoken into the quiet of the lapping seafoam, barely evading the pricked ears of your closest friend and confidant. 

Tsireya thinks that you’re asking for strength, or maybe even the courage, to serve the people. It’s what’s written in your stars, but your heart, so full of love with no one to love, yearns for a taste of what your parents have, what the leaders have, what the island’s lovers have. 

You don’t expect the ocean to give so soon, but eclipses later, over the beat of ikran wings and chattering villagers, the sea delivers you your great love in the form of Neteyam. 

His family seeks refuge, seeks a calm in the storm that rages in the distant forest. The people are hesitant at first, want nothing to do with the family that hosts demon blood. But Tsireya, ever diplomatic and kind-hearted, spearheads their assimilation. 

You keep your distance at first, watch from afar as she falls headfirst into the Sully’s youngest son while you observe the eldest with curious heart. He’s kind, exceptionally so, with an unbreakable duty to his family and to the island, and that’s what breaks the fragile tension between the two of you. 

He’s collecting tangles of seaweed and the fragments of shattered shells when you happen upon him on what seems to be the sunniest day in a long while. Your skin is warm, accustomed to the relentless beating of the sun’s rays, while Neteyam’s worked a sweat that beads at his hairline. 

“The elders are grateful for the time you take to give love to the reef,” you say quietly, hand coming up to shield your eyes. 

Neteyam stops, gaze swinging towards you. He gives you a sheepish smile, tucking the last of the weeds into a pouch slung across the broad of his shoulders. He’s closing the distance and your face draws upwards as he stands a few paces away. 

“Least I can do,” he replies, fingers fidgeting with the strap of the small knapsack. 

Your head tilts and something shutters across his face as his eyes dart over your features indiscreetly. 

You can’t help the small laugh that bubbles past your lips when the two of you stand there in a prolonged silence. His expression shifts and you note the smile lines that dent his chiseled cheeks. 

“Were you up to something” he finally asks. 

You shrug, shifting the weight from one leg to the other. He scratches the back of his neck, ears twitching when you breathe another airy laugh. 

“Wanna go for a swim?” you ask shyly. “We can work on your breathing and you can cool off.” 

His smile widens.

“Yeah,” he agrees slowly. “I’d…I’d really like that.” 

Your best friend argues that you’ve changed. Something inside of you shines so bright and she has an inkling that one of the new villagers is responsible.

Sees it in the way your gazes linger unbeknownst to the other. Or maybe it’s the way the two of you end up falling so far behind during swims and excursions, only to be found giggling and splashing in shallower waters. Definitely could also be the way you two separately seem to always have the other on your minds. 

“You and Neteyam seem…cozy,” Tsireya says tentatively, looping a hollowed pearl through a thin braid in your hair. 

“Could say the same about you and Lo’ak,” you retort. 

A smile threatens the corners of your mouth as you begin to absently draw shapes in the shore. You almost take her lack of a response as an answer, but her own laughter tinkles into the air. When you follow her gaze to the sand, you find that you’ve vacantly etched a certain forest boy’s initials. 

Before you can splutter out a poor excuse, your name is called. 

Like you’ve summoned him, your gaze flits to an approaching Neteyam. The heat of your cheeks intensifies as you quickly rake through the sand to hide your heart’s latent subconscious. 

“Tsireya,” he greets, nodding towards the leader’s daughter. 

His eyes find yours a moment later and you’re suddenly shy, the pads of your fingers rolling over the newly threaded pearls in your hair.

“Hi,” he says quietly. 

Tsireya’s grinning like a maniac as she gives the final braid the tiniest of tugs and stands from where she sits with her legs crossed. 

“Hi,” you murmur sweetly, eyes widening a fraction when you notice your friend gathering her things. 

She bids you a wicked farewell, masked as a singsong declaration that she’ll see you at the evening meal. Your heart lurches in your chest when Neteyam takes her spot next to you. 

The quiet is accentuated by the ocean’s lull, wind whistling through the leaves of the imposing mangroves. Like clockwork with the two of you, the smallest breaths of a laugh blow through your nostrils. 

Neteyam’s already watching you, the ghost of a smile quirking. 

“What’s funny?” he presses, leaning so that your shoulders bump. 

You shake your head. 

“Nothin’,” you say quietly, unable to form the words to tell him that you’re enamored. 

That you asked the ocean for your great love and it delivered him to you, perfect and missing nothing but a pretty bow. 

Like the thought slips and he captures it, he clears his throat. 

“Tsireya told me to ask you about the ocean’s wish,” he says sheepishly, eyes flitting to the gleaming blue waters, calm like it’s listening. “You know what she’s talking about?” 

Your chest is alight. 

“Yeah,” you say gently, angling to face him. “The Metkayina says that the ocean can feel every inhabitant’s deepest desires. Maybe it will grant a wish, maybe not. It is only the will of the waters.” 

His lips part in understanding, nodding as his gaze sweeps back to yours. Your skin still brushes his, balmy and soothingly warm, and in this moment you realize that it’s easy with Neteyam when both of your beating hearts are glaringly stitched to your sleeves.

“So…I should make a wish?” he asks, fingers millimeters away from yours. 

“Only if there is something you desperately desire,” you say softly. 

The words are weighty, laced. You’re trying to say more than you’re letting on, and Neteyam’s always been good at reading between the lines. It’s only a matter of if he’ll squash the fear. 

“Oh,” is all he whispers. 

“Is there something you want?” you ask, unable to meet his prying gaze. “To ask the sea for, I mean.” 

“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse. “I do. Badly.” 

Your stomach is in knots and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone more. 

“Oh,” you parrot. “I see.” 

This time he’s the one who laughs, dimples making your already weak resolve crumble. 

“Have you made yours?” he asks, and you don’t want to disappoint yourself by reading too much into the shift of his eyes, round and golden like the sun. 

Your nod is delayed. 

“I have,” you respond.

“Do you…” he trails off, swallowing down the lump in his throat, “Do you think it’s come true?” 

Neteyam’s breath stutters, chest hitching, when your gaze seems to scan his features thoughtfully. Your mouth twitches as you grin, almost glowing, and you pin him with a look that tells him all he needs to know. 

“Yes,” you hum. “I think it has.” 

neng © 2023