#but hopefully it's more delicious breads

[zanmor]

inspired. who knows what undiscovered breads await us

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 8

Pairing: Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sister!Reader

A/N: Writing Nesta post-acosf is so confusing so I apologise if she’s a little ooc!

Word Count: 5,552

-Part 7- -🌌🌠- -Part 9-

It’s been while since you last ate with all of them.

Even so, the atmosphere is familiar. Jovial. Pleasant enough you can allow yourself to slip into spectation, vanishing in your mind’s eyes, becoming an observer without presence. Shadows flicker at the corner of your vision, and you’re brought back down to reality.

The restaurant lights are warm and yellowy, a magic barrier constructed at the room’s border to keep the temperature pleasantly mild, inky darkness swirling just beyond the threshold. Candles flicker, almost in time with his shadows. It’s hard to tell when natural darkness ends and his begins. But he doesn’t really like it when people stare at them, so you avert your eyes. Scratch the backs of your hands beneath the table, softened a little by cream.

By what you can only assume was a stroke of bad luck—or good, depending how you want to feel for the rest of the night—everyone had already settled into the dinner by the time you arrived, leaving a single seat open. Yes, you could’ve pulled over a chair, or requested one to be magically summoned, but that would be drawing attention to the issue, which would undoubtedly make the ineffable off-ness of your relationship with him that much more blatant.

So there he is, a steady presence to your left, situated at one end of the table. Elain to your right. How unfortunate. Or lucky, depending on the angle.

Take a sip of your water, unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth. Lean slightly over to your sister. “Have I missed anything?” Cocoa flick to you, warm and soft in the mellow light, a little tired. Half-circles beneath her eyes. “Nothing much. I was planning on visiting Lucien again—hopefully within the week.” She answers mildly, a faint smile in her eyes. “There’s also a possibility of Nesta going over to have a look at the libraries in the Day Court.”

“Woah,” you mumble. “Looking for anything in particular, or simply for recreation?”

Elain shrugs, eyes flicking across the table. “Ask her,” she says simply.

Spine stiffens.

With fae hearing, plus the close proximity, there’s a high chance everyone heard that exchange. Refusing to do so will only draw more attention. You shoot Elain a reproachful look for putting you in this situation but she smiles encouragingly.

You find the elegant shape of your eldest sister a little further down the table—across and two over. Opposite Cassian who is beside Elain. Sharp eyes flit to your own a second after you’ve sought her out—she definitely heard. At least you didn’t vocalise any dismay over the forced interaction.

“Day Court?” You inquire, raising your brows in interest. She nods, lips parting in a smile, “quite the trip, isn’t it.” You laugh—trying to remember where the Day Court is in conjunction with Night. Come up short. “Already read through all the books here?” You reply, trying to keep the conversation fluid. Gaze absently flicks over the various plates and trays of food, picking out the things you’d like to try. A waft of something delicious floats down the table—a covered bowl sits between Rhys and Feyre. Soup, most likely. It has your mouth watering from the scent alone. Would be divine with some buttered bread.

“Nowhere near,” she responds, still smiling. “But there’s a particular author we’re after, and I’d like to see if I can find more of his books in those libraries.” You hum, nodding your head in acknowledgement. “Different from The Runaway?” She blinks, then nods, “you’ve read it already?”

“Yeah. Finished it last week,” you answer, peering at the dishes closer to you, wonder what you can pick. It’s mostly meat. Some roast potatoes, poultry next along covered in an orange-red sauce that smells spicy.

“What did you think?” She asks, carefully ladling gravy to the edge of her own plate. It’s your turn to blink, recalling the story to the forefront of your mind. Exhale heavily, leaning back into the chair. “I don’t know, really,” you admit honestly, “there was a lot in it, I suppose. I’m still digesting it, in a way. Do you know what I mean?” She nods, eyes softening at the edges—you’ve said the right thing. “I think there’s a lot in it; a lot happened to him, and I think it did a good job on highlighting how perspective can be manipulated. I also like how the creature was only alluded to in earlier chapters while the first part of the plot was unfolding so you end up overlooking it?”

She gracefully cuts through a potato, dipping it in the gravy before neatly depositing it in her mouth. Elegant and refined. “Yes, I thought that was an interesting way of telling his story. The complications between Yvette and Hans helped with the initial distraction, I think.” Lips twists into a slight frown. “The section—I think around chapter seventeen? Eighteen…?” You pause, picturing how far through the book it was, then shake your head. “Around there, anyway. The section about those lights in the sky?— I had to put the book down for a bit.” You admit, smiling as you recall the passage.

Nesta nods her head. “I couldn’t believe it, either. I think I actually had to stand up and get myself another cup of tea to calm down when he connected the dots.” A grin parts your lips wider, skin warming at the memory. “Anyway,” you say, redirecting the conversation, “a different author.”

She nods in confirmation, “a different author.”

“Romance?” You ask, remembering her appreciation for the genre.

Something passes through the room, hairs slowly raising at the back of your neck. Eyes slide to Elain, but she’s conversing with Cassian, attention shifted away from you. Gaze flicks back to Nesta who has a tight smile on her lips—it’s still odd to see her smiling so openly and frequently.

“No, actually,” she begins slowly, cutlery lowering to her plate. Her fingers remain pressed tight to the metal. “It’s a spell-book,” she says, silvery-blue eyes gleaming like moonlight despite the warm glow about the private space. Brow furrows a little as you peer at her across the table, “a spell-book?” You ask. “What do you need a spell-book for?” Her spine straightens, attention moving to her meal as she slices into some meat, mouth opening to continue.

“The baby warrior’s been having doubts about his wingspan, I’ll bet,” Amren croons from across the table, snatching your attention. Your brow dips further, eyes now shifting to find Cassian further down the table—the other side of Elain. He seems fine, laughing brightly. “Is there a problem with them?” You ask Nesta, remembering how torn up they’d been after the mess with Hybern and the cauldron.

She shakes her head, lips lifting into a grin as she meets Amren’s steel-coloured eyes. “She’s just jealous,” Nesta returns, “Varian not treating you well?” Sharp eyes flash with challenge. “Maybe they should compare notes. I’m sure your mate could learn a thing or two,” she taunts, effectively ending your conversation with Nesta. A part of you wants to learn more—your natural inclination—but Amren’s whisked her away into conversation, Mor stuck between them.

Attention again flits to Elain, but she’s still contained in conversation with Cassian, leaving only the keen pair of eyes on your left to entertain yourself with. Raise the glass to your lips, forcing down a mouthful of the alcohol, ignoring the light pulsing in the forefront of your head. Skin prickles beneath his attention, fingers shifting over your cutlery as you move to take food to your plate.

It seems rude to interrupt Elain’s conversation—you always go to her first. She speaks to people other than you, and probably enjoys doing so. You should leave her to enjoy the night. Take another drink of the clear liquid, shadows flickering in your peripherals as you set your sights on Nesta. Wait for an opening.

“What do you want the spell-book for?” You ask, feigning ignorance to their conversation. As if the question just appeared on your tongue, falling out before you could stop it. Two sets of sharp eyes cut to you, a single set of caramel flicking to steel warily. “A containment spell,” Nesta answers, slicing up some vegetables on her plate. “To bind.”

Amren’s lip curls into a distinctly predatory grin, almost warning. “Needing to spice things up so early in your relationship?” She croons. “I would have given it at least another few months before you two were in need of a bonding activity.” A fourth pair of eyes joins the discussion though he’s still wrapped in his own exchange. The hazel to your left has probably been observing for some time, too.

Nesta offers the petite female a tight smile, equally warning. Mor claps her hands, hastily breaking up the exchange. “Will you pass that down? Cass, be a dear and— no, next to it— the other side—yes! Thank you!” You watch slightly enviously as she ladles soup into a bowl, taking a slice of fluffy bread and slathering butter over its surface. Trace the soup as it’s returned to its place at the far end of the table, between Rhys and Feyre, one seat down from Nesta and Cassian.

And just like that, dialogue ebbs and flows around, leaving you with no way in. You’re quite glad for the reprieve. These dinners generally leave you in need of a weeks sleep to recover, by which point the next one is already scheduled. Exhausting. You don’t know how they manage it. Attention is still weighing on you as you raise your cutlery, poised to begin slicing into the meat upon your plate.

Elain is still preoccupied—to your steadily growing dismay. Nesta and Amren are locked in a verbal sparring match, while Mor chimes in here and there, occasionally attempting to rope Cassian in, too. Just to stir things up. Shadows flicker in the background.

His attention is becoming difficult to ignore. Clear your throat softly, focusing on cutting through the meat, slicing it into bitesized chunks. “Is something the matter, Azriel?” Shift the cutlery in your hands, easing up the pressure on your knuckles from the effort of cutting. He watches silently, his own plate clean and empty.

“Not at all,” he replies quietly, voice unliltling and void of inflection. Your brow twitches toward the centre, neatly spearing a chunk of flesh. Swallow in preparation. “Nothing?” You question, equally softly, biting down on the dead animal. It comes apart easily on your tongue, softened in a skillet somewhere, bathed in oils and rosemary, sprinkled with salts and spices. Force yourself to chew and swallow. “Nothing,” he repeats back, hazel eyes resting on your jaw, flicking to meet your gaze.

Finish your mouthful, move to the next sliver. Spike it on your fork. Half raise it from the plate then stop, lowering it quietly. “What are you watching?” You ask, eyes flicking down to your plate, skipping away from his. “Many things,” he answers vaguely. Shadows flicker at his back, wreathing his wings, tucking behind them. “I’d rather not be part of those things,” you murmur, finally biting down on the tender flesh. Chew enough so it’s digestible, then swallow. Think about nice things, like the books at the house, golden eyes, and dried flowers. “You’re in public,” he replies, tone still without inflection. “That’s an impossible request.”

Three pieces left, and it’ll be done.

“You can look elsewhere instead of staring a hole in my head,” you murmur. “Maybe,” you add hastily, softening the sharp suggestion. These situations always put you a little on edge. So many people.

He’s quiet for a bit, but his attention doesn’t shift, despite his gaze moving to be further down the table. You manage another chunk of meat, teeth dully masticating as you grind the flesh down, focusing on the herbs and spices in place of the ashen, earthy flavour of the animal carcass.

Azriel’s attention weighs into you, skin prickling, hairs raising at the back of your neck as you try to ignore it. It’s probably being exacerbated by your imagination. Raise the fifth and final piece to your mouth, thinking about rotating planets and cocoa, of whiskey and caramel as your teeth bite and chew absently. He’s still observing; you shift in your chair, swallowing the mouthful. Reach for your glass, gulp down the clear liquid.

Nearly choke, the alcohol burning your throat. Nose scrunches before you can help it, covering your mouth with the napkin while you cough as quietly as possible. Elain pats you on the back making you smile as you overcome the initial shock. “Something go down the wrong way?” She asks, lips curving in a grin she’s clearly attempting to suppress in favour of a more sympathetic expression. Puts those attempts to rest when you laugh quietly, nodding to the liquid. “Too eager,” you whisper, refolding the napkin. Elain covers her own mouth, shoulders shaking with muffled mirth; you shoot her a playful glare.

Mor, sitting opposite Elain; beside Nesta, breaks from her conversation with the two, attention flitting to you, as if she had been lying in wait for her chance. “So!” She says, golden hair shining resplendent beneath the glow, like a flame encased in honey. “When shall we go shopping?” Her hands clap together, red lips parting in a friendly smile.

Oh.

You’d blessedly forgotten that promise of hers.

Swallow uneasily. “It’s fine… The polish and lip tint were lovely,” you smile, hoping she’ll leave it be. “Nonsense,” she chirps, collecting a few more roast potatoes onto her plate, Amren gingerly taking a few after her, nose almost wrinkling with suspicion. “You love books, and I apparently need a reason to spend time with you, so a shopping trip is perfect!” You offer her what you hope is a steady smile, one that disguises the strain you’re feeling, “I don’t want to be a bother—it’s fine, really. There are plenty of books in the library, anyway, and I’ve barely made it through the first two levels.”

Brows shoot up to her hairline. “Every book? You’ve been reading all of them?” You blink at her surprise, then hesitantly dip your head. Anxiety bubbles in your stomach, hands gripping one another as tension slices through your shoulders. “Are they— Am I not supposed to?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that. Read away!” She laughs, raising her hands in a calming gesture. “I hadn’t expected your interests to be so different, is all,” she smiles. “I tried to read a couple from the library when I was younger and nearly bored myself to tears.” You smile faintly, relaxing back into your chair. “I guess they’re not for everyone,” you reply, posture softening against the back of your seat.

Mor laughs, the sound like wind chimes caught on a stray breeze, golden hair glinting in the warm light. You have to look away. It feels wrong to even look at her—to try and place her individual beauties. Peer down at your empty plate, hunger gnawing at your stomach lining. You should have remembered to eat before coming along.

“So what about tomorrow?” She asks, dipping buttered bread into her bowl. Raise your head to look at her, confusion lining your brows. She smiles easily, “for a shopping trip, of course.”

“Not every creature enjoys being put through your endless chatter, Mor,” Amren snipes from her side. The blonde female pouts, throwing a glare to the petite Fae on her right.

Warm toffee eyes flick to cocoa, brightening with an idea, “Elain could come along too!” Spine goes rigid, every ounce of willpower straining to keep from glancing to your left, wondering what he’s thinking. Swallow heavily, stiffening as your older sister is brought into the discussion. Mor smiles eagerly, “what do you say, Elain? Fancy a shopping trip tomorrow?”

Nails slice into your palms, piercing small crescent shapes into your skin—you’ve been trying not to bite them. Press further back into your seat, muscles coiling with anxiety. Not both of them.

You can practically feel the moment steely silver eyes pick up on your reluctance, like she has a sixth sense for picking at scabs. But Elain sighs apologetically, “that would be lovely, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline this time.” Relief washes over your skin, bathed in a cool breeze. “I told you so,” Amren snickers to the blonde female.

Mor’s brows dip together, “oh, piss off Amren. I know you like picking out clothes to wear for Varian with me.” The cunning female raises her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies smoothly, Mor’s lips twitching at the obvious denial.

Turn to Elain, taking in the natural glow of her features. “Have plans?” You ask quietly, hand absently resting over your stomach. Involuntarily glance at the soup further up the table, tongue flicking out over your lips. She shakes her head, softly curled silky hair cascading over her slim shoulders. In your peripherals, you can make out how shadows stretch across the table, reaching. “I’ve been dreadfully tired lately,” she admits, equally hushed.

Brow furrows in concern, about to ask further, but Mor’s on you again. “Guess it’ll just be us tomorrow!” She smiles genuinely, excited for the plans. When you glance sidelong at your sister, she’s already settled back into conversation with Cassian, your youngest sister and her mate joining in. You nod in surrender, accepting it’s something that has to happen. It would be overtly rude to decline her invitation now.

“Great! We can squeeze in a lunch, too,” she grins, washing down the soup with a glassful of wine. “Maybe you can direct me to some of the more interesting library books,” she suggests, eyes sparking with excitement. You nod again, fatigue beginning to weigh on your shoulders. It’s nice watching them, but you frequently forget how draining it is to be involved.

Lean back into your chair, pulling your stomach in as you feel pressure grow—you’d die of embarrassment if it started growling. Hastily drink some more in attempts to fill it up. Hungrily eye the plates of food. Maybe the poultry wouldn’t be too bad with the sauce—chicken was hard to come by all those years ago.

A delicious scent catches your attention, shadows skittering away as he silently ladles soup into his bowl. Nobody asks about the shuffling round of plates. Stomach rumbles and you flush, hands clamping over your stomach as humiliation burns along your skin. Mouth almost watering, but you force yourself to wait; appear only mildly interested in the food. An appropriate amount of attention for a dinner.

His hand knocks into the bowl, pushing it aside to make room for another dish, so it’s to his right. Almost subtle enough to appear accidental.

Still, you finally help yourself to the soup, equal parts affection and shame weighing in your gut.

————

The night air is crisp and cool, soothing the warmth of your skin as you follow quietly a way behind the group.

Feyre and Rhys have already made their way home, not liking to spend too long away from Nyx, despite knowing he’s well cared for. There seems to be discussion ahead of taking things further for the night, perhaps more drinking.

After having left the restaurant, Nesta had sought you out. You’d been surprised to say the least—a little on edge—but it had been nothing to worry about. She’d merely extended an invitation for you to join her on their trip to the Day Court. Perhaps to seek out some books you’d been interested in, she’d suggested.

You’d politely declined.

Now you turn to Elain, the darkness bringing out the slight dip below her eyes. “You okay?” You ask, the chatter of the streets soothing background noise. Fading to a constant hum in the back of your mind, falling into the empty recesses. She nods, sighing heavily. “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping,” she replies quietly. “And, I’ve…” shakes her head. “Maybe I’m coming down with something,” she sighs again. “You always were more prone to sickness than the rest of us,” you reply, nudging her shoulder playfully.

She smiles gently, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Maybe I’ll come and cough on you so you get ill for once,” she grins.

Nose wrinkles as you smile, “gross.” She laughs at that, then the two of you fall quiet, walking together in companionable silence. Trudging your way back to the River House, keeping fairly close to the main group who are still deciding whether or not to turn in for the evening.

You know you’ll be heading back to the House of Wind for the night.

Curious to see if a response has been written.

————

The House is quiet. Halls empty and silent as you pad down the corridor to your room.

Maybe you should check with Nesta whether she wants you to move out of here—switch to the River House. Anxiety slices at your gut, fatigue weighing your eyelids at the thought. You’re sure she’ll say something if she wants you out. You aren’t keen to initiate conversation with her unless necessary.

When you enter your room, candles are already lit, courtesy of the House. A few clothes lay on the floor, but it’s mostly clear. Almost tidy.

Parchment rests across your desk, and you eagerly hurry over.

Nothing has been added.

Excitement dies away, scratching at the backs of your hands absently.

Wearily take a seat, playing with the pen between your fingers, chewing on your lower lip. Debating the merits of bothering him when he’s taken no interest in your last comment.

Toss the thoughts out your window, throwing all caution to the wind.

Long day?

Bite down on your tongue, pulling at the top most layer of skin until you bleed. Wait for the paper to disappear. Seconds tick by, counting as they drain away. Steadily turning into minutes. Lean your cheek on the table, slumping forward as boredom creeps in, the pendant clunking as it hits the wooden surface of the table.

Do you remember your twenty-first birthday?

You aren’t particularly sure where the question comes from. Maybe the still-boxed jigsaw puzzle sitting atop a dusty stack of books has something to do with it.

Paper vanishes, and you perk up, straightening in your chair, fingers flexing. Excitement stirring in your chest. Absently reach for a pot of cream, unscrewing the lid as you trace the desiccated skin of your knuckles. Slowly soothe it in, rub the dips between your fingers, pretending your hands are someone else’s.

Parchment reappears, having you eagerly lean forward.

No.

You scowl at the curt response, twiddling the pen in your hands.

Sour and miserable indeed. Were my earlier questions not interesting enough to deign a response?

Letter vanishes, your feet tapping against the floor, fidgeting with the writing instrument. Turn to the anthology as you usually end up doing while waiting for his reply. Flip to the page you’d bookmarked, removing the silver embossed fabric. Lips quirk when you spot the title: Explosions: Rapid Division.

Shift the book so it’s in the centre of your desk, reading the introductory passage, instinctively scanning the diagrams with intrigue. Paper reappears atop the pages.

You forget I am a high-ranking individual with a multitude of tasks to attend to. I don’t get to spend my days simply lying around to pester the only person who’ll give me a scrap of attention.

Cheeks heat with embarrassment, yet you find yourself smiling at the familiar sharpness of his tongue. Ease out a deep breath, relaxing into your chair, flicking the pen in your dry fingers before lowering it to the parchment.

I think if you truly felt pestered, you wouldn’t be responding at all. Feeling lonely over there, Eris?

The paper vanishes, and you treat yourself to an image of his brows narrowing, lip curling as ire blazes in caramel eyes. Mouth widens into a smile as your feet tip-tap on the floor-boards, absently dipping your finger tips into the pot of cream again, putting more over the roughness of your skin as you wait patiently.

Parchment reappears, heartbeat picking up with excitement.

And what about yourself? The hell-cat is leaving for quite a while, isn’t she?

Lips part on a sharp exhale, spine straightening as your eyes flick about the room anxiously. How does he know that? Should you tell someone? Brow narrows in concentration, mind scrambling to think up a response that won’t give anything away, without sounding so vague he knows you’re avoiding the question. Swallow heavily, rubbing in the last of the cream, reaching for your pen. Lower it to the desk, and falter. What do you say? Is feigning ignorance too obvious?

The letter vanishes before you’ve had a chance to even put a speck of ink upon it, and it dawns on you that the question was timed. Picture the way his lips part is a slow smile as he sees the blank paper.

Manipulative bastard.

I suppose she’ll be taking the brute with her, too?

Fingers tighten on the pen, teeth grinding. Is this why he warned you about Eris? Because of how quickly he can extract information through carefully assembling pieces? Jaw tenses, but more silence will be confirmation.

How do you know any of that?

Chew on your lower lip as you await his reply, heart pounding. Azriel would be furious. Swallow down the nausea, teeth sliding beneath your nails—toeing the line of biting down, but restraining yourself.

Really, how do you think Court politics works? Of course we keep tabs on one another. I’m sure your shadowsinger has plenty of spies littered throughout Prythian. Possibly further, too.

Blood ices, peering down at your necklace and the map contained within. Imagining how wide his net must be to thread throughout it all. How much work it must take to keep everything running. Ruthless discipline. How tiring it must be. The weight, the pressure to keep it all maintained.

Head beginnings swimming at the thought of it. Would you even be able to keep up with him?

Why are you telling me this?

The pen scratches over the parchment, struggling to keep lines clean through the slight tremor in your hands. You can’t even begin to comprehend how much work must regularly go into sustaining such a network.

It’s a little embarrassing that you don’t already know. What are they teaching you over there? How to be an emotional burden?

The words hit sharp in your chest, hooks latching into the soft, vascular muscle of your heart. Poised to shred in an instant. Awaiting for the split second of weakness to rip. Rupture the organ in a clean tear.

Fear spikes.

I understand why your brother wants nothing to do with you if that’s how you speak with people.

The words are stamped into the page before you have time to reason it out. Blood rushes round your ears, wincing as your fingertips burn with the faint embers of power that have begun sparking up every now and again. Preemptively reach for the hand cream, preparing to soothe the itch once it fully manifests.

He’ll read into that comment. You know he will. Read between the lines to figure out just how much that one stung.

Parchment reappears and you warily lean forward, eyes skimming the clean script.

I’d been wondering where you kept your lovely claws, cygnet.

I didn’t mean to write that.

Wipe hands on your skirts, anxiety kicking up in the pit of your stomach. Roiling with worry.

You knew perfectly well what you were doing. You simply despise the way you are.

Has anyone else commented on how similar you are to Nesta Archeron?

Heart sinks to your stomach, biting on your tongue until you taste copper. Dislike how deep he’s wormed his way already. How did things go from light-hearted sparring matches to full scale battle in so few conversations?

And what about you? You write, mimicking his earlier diversion. Do your brothers share your affinity for poisoned words?

The parchment vanishes for a while this time, though you don’t even try to distract yourself with the anthology. Leg taps anxiously, trying to rub cream into your hands, hoping if it’s done tonight, they won’t ache tomorrow. The last thing you need right now is another flare up. Try to focus on the scent—light and sweet. Like gardenias and sugar.

Your attempts to redirect are as graceful as the first steps of a freshly birthed hound. Perhaps once you settle into your skin you’ll become more skilled at deflecting uncomfortable topics.

Skin prickles, hairs standing on end as you again raise the pen in hand. Considering routes to return to earlier discussions that weren’t so intrusive.

Alternatively, you could choose lighter conversation starters. For example, why did you send the anthology?

Certainly not the most succinct switch in direction, but better than continuing down that path. Ease a breath into your lungs once the paper vanishes, reminding yourself you don’t have to reply to him. At any point, you’re free to leave. Lean back in your chair, stretching out your limbs, muscles spasming and aching in your shoulders, fingers trembling as bones click in your spine. Deflate into the seat, muscles relaxing all at once.

You haven’t noticed anything yet?

Brows furrow, peering at the volume. Close it and flip it over—nothing on the back. Reopen it to the contents page, peering at the compilation of titles, authors, and page numbers. Scan the introductory section again, searching for anything to give you a hint at what he’s talking about.

(Writing about.)

I’m mildly concerned to ask? You write, keeping the conversation light, steering away from the earlier topics. Hoping he’ll keep away from family-related chatter.

Then read away.

Heart spikes at the ominous reply. What the hell is he talking about?

Eris, are you serious?

Paper vanishes, reappearing moments later.

Nothing but.

Roll your eyes at the response, but again set pen to paper.

If you were a human, you’d be riddled in various worry-marks by now. Does that thought upset you?

Lips quirk faintly, hoping it irritates him sufficiently.

Is this how you cope with discomfort? Pretending it away? Making light of it?

Damn him.

Instead of…?

Instead of hiding like a coward. Your blithe little act is growing dreadfully monotonous.

Straighten in your chair, shifting uncomfortably. Are you boring? Is that it? Is that the whole reason he…

Do fae have milestone dates like humans do? You said you don’t remember your twenty-first.

Paper disappears, and you become aware of the tension coiling in your shoulders. Maybe you should turn in for the night. Writing to him is supposed to be fun, not make you feel so…

Squirm uncomfortably, slouching in the seat. Crick your neck, releasing built up pressure, stretching your toes. Move to blow out the candles, but the letter reappears.

You really are turning out to be quite dull.

Brows scrunch with hurt, then even out. It’s ridiculous to be upset over behaviour he’s made no effort to hide. You shouldn’t be surprised he’s not changing, yet you had hoped…

Swallow, then sigh, the pen feeling heavy in your hand.

And you’re unnecessarily barbed.

(Who taught you to be that way, Eris?)

(Am I going to grow up to be like you?)

Paper vanishes, but you find yourself awaiting a reply. Marinating in your room while your lids grow heavier, shoulders slumping with fatigue, the base of your spine beginning to ache.

Stand from your desk, eyes flicking unwillingly to your nightstand, a small, royal blue gift box sat neatly atop it. The tule bow as resplendent as ever—shifting between vivid purples, reds, and pinks. Azriel’s gift.

(Sometimes, when it gets particularly bad, I like to look at it before I go to sleep. Fantasise about being the female he likes, instead of the one I am.)

(Sometimes, when I want to indulge in misery, I like to imagine dressing up for him. Imagine him telling me how pretty I am, imagine him sliding the golden hooks into pointed ears.)

(Sometimes I imagine.)

(Sometimes I imagine, because it’s the closest to reality I’ll ever get.)

Hear the distinct sound of paper on the table, and you still. End up turning anyway. Move over to your desk, reading the message.

You can do better.

Write again when you’re ready to show your claws.

Slump into the seat, head tipping back, staring up at the ceiling. Arms fall dully to your sides, too tired to feel anything.

Sigh heavily, forcing yourself to stand in favour of pulling away your clothes. Rid yourself of every constraint, pendant clunking on the bedside table.

The same-old, off-white cotton night gown swallows you, falling to your ankles as you settle into the mattress.

And to think, you’d been considering asking what things were like in his court.

How nice it might have been to make a trip of your own.

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[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART VIII

Summary: As Nina and Tommy slowly appear to come to terms with their feelings, they realise they might not be as discreet as they thought they were. An unexpected visit complicates things.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, references to past attempted assault, harassment, violence, Stefano, no proofreading, English is not my first language. This is set between season 1 and 2.

A/N: alright it has been awfully long since I last updated this, but believe me when I say I was stuck. Hopefully I’ll be more active from next week on.

As usual, there are some dialogues which are supposed to be in Italian, but I chose to write them in English for the sake of the readers (and mine, ‘cause otherwise I should’ve translated lots of stuff). I just kept some words and sentences here and there to give the idea.

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If there was one thing that Maria Ferrante took very seriously, it was the Sunday lunch. She was already up and about at dawn, free to walk from place to place in her kitchen without the rest of the family in the way. She only left it to attend Mass, and once she was home again, there was nothing that could distract her from her cooking. It was known that a good ragù needed to be cooked for hours in order to be perfect, after all.

When Nina walked into the kitchen at eleven a.m., after almost twelve hours of well-deserved sleep, the delicious smell of the sauce filled her nostrils, making her stomach growl.

“You missed church this morning,” her mother scolded her, agitating a wooden spoon in her direction.

“Did I?” She absentmindedly murmured, peeping into the pot. The boiling red sauce, mixed with the finest meat one could find in town, crackled exquisitely, appealing to her empty belly.

“This family lacks discipline,” Maria asserted, moving to cut some vegetables. “I cannot remember the last time we all went to church together. We’re losing all the good habits.”

Too captivated by her new target to pay any attention to her mother’s rants, Nina stealthily took a slice of bread from the basket on the table and put it in a plate. Then, taking advantage of her distraction, she dipped it into the pot.

“Nina!”

With a grin on her face, Nina moved away from the stove, unbothered by her mother’s curses. She took a bite from the bread, and hummed in appreciation when the sauce-covered crumb melted on her tongue. There was nothing like dipping fresh bread in ragù on Sunday mornings. However, her breakfast was soon forgotten when she caught sight of Tommy outside the kitchen, fully dressed and perfectly groomed as usual. Her father was explaining something to him, but they were too distant for her to listen to what they were talking about.

There it was, that strange, funny feeling that seemed to pervade Nina every time he was near. It had grown stronger, since what they had called their “moment of weakness”, and she could no longer lie to herself. She could no longer deny that she was intensely, inevitably drawn to him. She longed for a gaze, a word, an accidental touch, anything that could grant her a fleeting moment of connection. And she couldn’t comprehend how that man, who she had met as recently as a month ago, had managed to invade her every thought, her every desire. She had to force herself away from him. She had to push him out of her mind, so that when the time came to watch him leave, it wouldn’t hurt as much as the thought alone was hurting her now. It wasn’t right. It was fair to Agnese, it wasn’t fair to her family, and it wasn’t fair to herself. She had to let those feelings pass.

She looked away from Tommy, coming back to herself, and when she turned to her right, she noticed her mother was looking at her with a strange look in her eyes. Nina averted her gaze in discomfort, the woman’s inquisitive stare never failing to make her feel like an open book. She walked past her and put her plate in the sink, a poor attempt to escape her piercing eyes, but she could still feel them on her, following her every move. So Nina grabbed the wooden spoon, hoping that making herself useful would do the trick. “The sauce needs stirring.”

Her brothers bursted into the kitchen, diverting her mother’s attention away from her, and Nina almost breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Where have you been?” Their mother asked them, placing her hands on her waist.

“We had some things to take care of,” Pietro said, and Nina figured the vagueness of answer was an answer itself.

“On a rest day?”

“There’s no such thing as a rest day when it comes to business,” Salvatore brushed it off in a playful manner, approaching his mother to place a tender kiss on her cheek. That gesture seemed to make her soften, cause the annoyance slipped out of her face, replaced by an expression of resignation. “You look too beautiful to get angry, mum,” he continued, walking towards the stove.

“Bootlicker,” Nina mumbled, earning herself a kick behind her ankle. “Ouch!” She exclaimed in surprise, sending her brother’s way a sore look. Salvatore, in return, was blatantly smirking to himself. “Stronzo,” she spat out, giving him a shove.

“Keep your hands off me,” he shoved back.

“You started.”

“It was my foot, not my hands.”

“Enough you two,” Maria interrupted them, raising her voice. “See, this is what I mean when I say that this family lacks discipline,” she said to no one in particular.

With the shadow of the smirk still present on his face, Salvatore brought his index in front of his mouth. “Quiet,” he teasingly whispered.

Feeling her blood boil, Nina raised the wooden spoon in the air in a silent threat, but Pietro was quick to take it from her hand. Clearly, he didn’t trust his sister to restrain herself from actually using it. Nina inhaled deeply, telling herself that the angrier she got, the more Salvatore would find satisfaction in bothering her. Much to her luck, her brothers soon decided that the content of the pot was way more deserving of their attention. Making sure their mother was too distracted to stop them, they took a slice of bread each and dipped it in the sauce.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Maria snapped, putting down the knife she was using. With long steps, she walked over to her children. “Out,” she ordered, pushing all three of them towards the door. “No discipline, no discipline at all.”

Vincenzo Ferrante, who just like Tommy had heard all the commotion, shook his head in a mixture of resignation and disapproval at the sight of his snickering children getting out of the kitchen. Concealing his embarrassment, he murmured some excuses to his guest, half relieved by the fact that at least he hadn’t been able to understand the foolish reasons of that fuss.

“Nina!”

Shit. Nina squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, still with her back to the very reason why she had tried to get back into her house as fast as she could. She didn’t have the stomach to face her cousin, not after what she had done, not with the things that she had been hiding from her. That she was still hiding. She had stabbed in the back the only person in her family who had ever shown her an ounce of recognition, who had treated her like a person and not like some bad seed to be rogued out. But maybe that’s exactly what she was. A bad seed.

“Hi,” she faked surprise, turning to face her.

“What have you been up to?” Agnese asked her, adjusting the empty basket she was carrying on her hip. “Feels like you’re ignoring me.”

“I’m not,” Nina replied, maybe a bit too quickly. “I’ve been… busy,” she lied, the pathetic excuse making her feel even worse.

“My mum asked me to go buy some groceries, and I need someone to accompany me,” Agnese said, seemingly oblivious to her cousin’s fib. “I was going to ask Rosa, but why don’t you come with me?”

“Sure.”

Truth was, Nina didn’t want to go. How could she keep on talking to Agnese, spending time with her, all while pretending she hadn’t done something awful to her? And what made her despise herself even more was that guilt wasn’t the only reason why she didn’t want to see her. There was a stinging, but almost imperceptible feeling deep inside her, too close to annoyance, and resentment. Resentment. As if she were in the position to be resentful. Out of all people, Agnese didn’t deserve it. So she swallowed those feelings and went with her cousin.

“Don’t you wanna know how things with Tommy are going?” Agnese asked her as soon as they had passed the gates of their shared garden, her voice tinged with excitement.

“Of course,” Nina nodded, keeping her eyes on the unpaved road beneath her feet.

“You know he had lunch with us a few days ago right?”

“Yes.”

“We all thought he’d finally propose, but he didn’t.”

Nina raised her gaze on her cousin, studying her expression. She still remembered the strange wave of panic that had gone through her when her mother had stormed into the kitchen to give her the news. The poor girl’s desperate, she had told her. “How did you take it?”

“I was worried,” Agnese admitted, moving her basket to her other arm.

“And now?”

“Not anymore. My father talked to him, and he said he just wants to do it the right way. He thought it would be more proper to wait for a month to pass since we met. If everything goes as it’s supposed to go, he’ll propose by the end of the week,” she explained, and the emotion she had tried to hold back came to the surface in all its strength.

“Good,” Nina forced a tight-lipped smile, unable to ignore the vice tightening around her heart.

“Mr. Shelby’s reputation scared me, at first, but he’s a real gentleman. I mean, he’s a bit cold,” she let out a chuckle. “But he has been very kind to me, and never overstepped in any way,” she assured. Then her eyes lit up, and she began talking again. “Did you know he’s a war hero? He won medals.”

And he threw them in the cut, Nina thought to herself. A part of her just wanted to put an end to her cousin’s rants, to tell her that there was nothing she could say about him that she didn’t know already. And that she was so, so wrong about Tommy. That he could be cold, yes, but also so very ardent. That the walls of ice he had built around him weren’t impenetrable, that they could in fact be melted. That he had strong beliefs, and his own sense of justice, and that on such things he’d never compromise. She had learned all that and even more on the nights they had spent together in her kitchen, in front of cups of tea slowly growing cold. But she didn’t have the right to tell her that. Because Tommy didn’t belong to her. Because it was Agnese who would get to see every part of him, and to Nina he would become nothing more than someone she had once deluded herself she could know.

“I’m…” she paused, the insincere words refusing to come out without some insistence on her part. “I’m happy for you.”

Agnese must’ve noticed that something in Nina’s dark eyes didn’t match her words, that a feeling far from happiness was gnawing at her from the inside, because she stopped walking and placed a hand on her arm. “You’ll find someone too,” she said softly. “Be patient.”

Nina shook her head, a bitter smile making its way on her face. “I don’t want anyone, Agnese.”

“Do you really want me to believe that you wish to be alone?” She took on a scolding tone, widening her eyes in disbelief.

“My aspirations are different than yours,” Nina said firmly, holding her gaze. “And I’d rather be alone than caged.”

“Marriage is not necessarily a prison,” she insisted, her lips curving up in reassurance. “I know I haven’t known him for long, but I can tell Mr. Shelby is not a brute. You might find someone like him.”

No, she wouldn’t. Tommy was like no one she had ever met. There were so many layers to him, so many contradictions that she could live a hundred lives and never meet someone like him. But on one thing Agnese was right: deep down, as preposterous as it sounded, he was good.

“He’s the exception.”

“What are these?”

Putting down the vegetables she had bought for her mother, Nina looked at the bouquet of red roses resting on the table. She was pretty sure they weren’t there before she left the house.

“What do they look like to you?” Her mother asked rhetorically, raising her eyebrows. She looked significantly calmer than a few hours ago, and Nina wasn’t sure whether that was because she was almost done with the lunch or because of the flowers. “Stefano brought them for you,” she explained, going to grab the grocery bag.

It took Nina more than a moment to register her mother’s words. She blinked, her mouth going dry as the memories of what had happened the last time he had been at her house came to her mind. She shifted her gaze from the roses to her mother, then to the roses again.

“He was coming back from church, when he saw them at the flower shop,” Maria continued, taking the vegetables out of the bag. “He said they made him think of you, and thought about making a little deviation to bring them here.”

At that point, Nina wasn’t even listening to her anymore. All she could do was stare at the roses in front of her, her heart racing at the realisation that Stefano was actually moving in that direction.. “This can’t be fucking real…” she murmured. “He’s not seriously doing this.”

“…so I invited him for lunch.”

“You did what?” Her head snapped in her mother’s direction, Maria’s statement harshly pulling her back to reality.

“He’s in your father’s study, talking to him. The boy’s serious about you Nina.”

In a sudden fit of rage, Nina grabbed the flowers and strode toward the bin, but before she could throw them away, her mother snatched them from her hand. “I didn’t raise you to be rude,” she scolded her. “It’s a gift, and gifts must be accepted.”

“I don’t want his gifts,” Nina spat out. “I don’t want anything from him. And I don’t want him. He can make his peace with that.”

Maria let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Nina,” she started, putting down the flowers. “He’s a nice guy-”

Nina scoffed, causing her to stop mid-sentence. So nice that he dared touch me in my own house.

“He’s a nice guy,” her mother repeated, louder this time, a way to tell her not to interrupt her again. “He talked to your father, brought you flowers. You’re twenty-two, it’s time for you to find someone. And this is an occasion. He’s willing to marry you despite-”

This time it was Maria who stopped herself. She bit the inside of her cheek, searching for better words, but Nina didn’t give her the chance to. She crossed her arms over her chest, squinting her eyes. “Despite what?” She asked, watching as her mother averted her gaze. “Despite what, mum? Despite who I am? Despite what I think? Despite what people say about me?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“I think that’s exactly what you meant,” she said coldly. A silence full of tension fell between them, and deep inside Nina hoped her mother would say something to make up for what she had just said. But she didn’t. So she put on the mask of indifference that had become so natural to her, and pretended that those words hadn’t gotten to her.

She was used to it, after all. All her life, Nina had watched her mother hope she could just be different. She had never missed the embarrassment on her face when someone pointed out her child’s peculiarities, nor the subtle envy she could see in her eyes when she looked at her nieces. All beautiful, well-mannered, pleasant, suitable for marriage. That’s what she expected to have when a daughter was finally born. Instead, she got her. She didn’t need to say it out loud for Nina to know that she wondered every day why her daughter couldn’t be a bit less like herself and a bit more like them.

It was tiring, to constantly feel the pressure to live up to everybody’s expectations, to know that she would be considered a disappointment no matter what. And although she wasn’t waiting for anybody’s approval, it would’ve felt nice to have at least one person who understood her. She didn’t want the life her parents wished for her, and at the same time she had no way of living the life she wished for herself. She wasn’t even sure what it was that she wished for herself. She only knew what she didn’t want. Yet it felt like every effort she made not to end up like her mother was inexorably guiding her to that fate.

Tommy didn’t understand the reason why Nina strode out of the kitchen with a face like thunder until lunchtime. The whole family was sitting around the table in the garden that separated the two houses. The arrangement was pretty much the same as every time they had lunch together. Vincenzo Ferrante was at the head, his wife on his left side, Pietro on his right. Salvatore was sitting between him and Nina. However, something was different this time: next to Nina was sitting Stefano. His jaw clenched at the memory of what he had walked into the other day, and his hands itched with the urge of doing what Nina had stopped him from doing. Spinietta must’ve sensed his staring, cause he raised his gaze on him with a hint of smugness on his face. He didn’t know why he was there, he didn’t know exactly what Nina’s past with him was, but it was clear there was some kind of pressure going on. She was keeping herself closer to her brother, in an attempt to put as much distance as possible between herself and Stefano, and apparently pretended he wasn’t there. Tommy could only imagine how hard it was for her to sit next to that poor excuse of a man.

Mario Ferrante, who was sitting at the end of the table with wife on his right side and the other two of his daughters on his left, glanced at him and Agnese from time to time.

Agnese. Tommy had lost track of their conversation long ago. It had become more of a monologue on her part. But how was he supposed to listen to a single word she said when something so unfair was happening right in front of him?

The one thing that brought him some relief was that Nina could find some distraction in her conversation with her brother. Salvatore said something to her, and her frown was replaced by a laugh. It enlightened her whole features, and Tommy couldn’t keep himself from lingering on the way her irises, hit by the sunlight, were marked by golden flecks. A pink tinge warmed her cheeks and two dimples were showing at the corners of her lips. For a moment she looked relaxed, off-guard, even. Lost as he was in that rare sight, Tommy didn’t even notice that a faint smile had appeared on his face. But Agnese did. Her words slowly died out, and her brows furrowed as she followed the trajectory of his eyes.

Before she had the chance to say something, Vincenzo Ferrante got up, causing the chatter to fade.

“Before the wine starts speaking for us, I’d like to say a few words,” he announced, his Italian accent threading through his words. His eyes travelled around, stopping briefly on each person at the table. “You see,” he began once everyone’s attention was on him. “Our family and Mr. Shelby’s family had…” he paused, looking for the right word. “…Misunderstandings. But we were able to communicate with an open mind.” He set his gaze on Tommy, who in return agreed with a single nod. “Now we’re sitting at the same table. Soon, we might even have something to celebrate.”

“Who could’ve guessed it, eh?” Mario Ferrante joked, eliciting laughter from those who could understand him. Maria and Rita Ferrante, whose English was too broken to understand much of what their husbands were saying, simply smiled in support.

“To peace,” Vincenzo said, raising his glass. But when he pronounced his next words, his eyes looked right in his daughter’s. “May we all make our choices with an open mind.”

The lunch proceeded smoothly enough, but it was impossible for Tommy not to sense a general feeling of discomfort. Even the eldest of the Ferrante siblings, Pietro - whose placid expression never gave anything away -, seemed to be upset. There was something going on, and he could just hope it didn’t also involve him. He hadn’t forgotten the dangerousness of his position, alone in a foreign country, surrounded by former enemies with no men on his side.

A sharp noise pulled him out of his thoughts, making him raise his gaze in front of him. Nina had dropped her fork on her plate, visibly bothered by something. More like someone. Because Stefano had been adamant in his attempts to engage her in conversation. Chuckling at her reaction, he pinched her chin with fake playfulness, a gesture that might’ve looked affectionate to less attentive eyes. Tommy tried his best to keep his face straight as his grip on the cutlery tightened. As much as he wished to intervene, there was nothing he could do that wouldn’t raise suspicion. He could just be glad that, surrounded by her family, Stefano wouldn’t be able to try anything again.

For her part, Nina was trying hard not to lose her calm, but they weren’t exactly making it easy for her. Her father’s toast had been the last straw. She hasn’t missed the way he had subtly made it clear that his words were meant for her. She was right, at last. She had been right all along. All that talk about leaving the choice to her was nothing more than empty words, than a way to make her feel like she had some kind of control, when in truth she was just another pawn in his schemes. Because at the end of the day, he was still a man. A man who wanted power, and would’ve done anything in order to achieve it. Even sacrifice his own daughter.

She wanted to leave. She needed to leave. How could everyone pretend everything was fine? How could they sit together and eat when everything was so wrong? How could they digest the hypocrisy? She couldn’t stand them, any of them. Now more than ever. She couldn’t stand their voices, she couldn’t stand their laughter, she couldn’t stand the way they talked and talked and talked. She hated the way they suddenly seemed inhuman. They were all hunching over their plates, chewing and slurping, the awful sounds almost painful to her ears. Even Stefano, who always carried himself with composure and dignity, seemed to have transformed into some feral animal, hands and fingers dirty with crumbles and sauce. Those same hands he had put on her not many days before.

“Excuse me,” she blurted out, abruptly standing up. All eyes were on Nina now, but she ignored the murmurings and crossed the garden to go back to her house before anyone could stop her. She couldn’t stay there anymore. She couldn’t tolerate the little games, and the lies. Even her own lies. Her lies to her family, her lies to herself. She couldn’t.

She grabbed the kitchen counter for support, taking deep breaths to put an order to that vortex of overwhelming feelings.

“What’s wrong, huh?” A familiar voice resounded behind her, making her snap her head up. When she turned around, Stefano was there, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. “You’re not having fun?”

“Leave,” Nina commanded, and she didn’t even need to put on a brave facade to spit those words out with all the hatred she felt for him. She had sworn she’d never let herself be scared of him ever again, and she was determined to keep that promise. He had no right to make her feel unsafe in her own home.

“Are you going to embarrass me like that when we’re husband and wife?” Stefano moved away from the door to approach her with slow, measured steps, hands in his pockets. It came as a surprise, how easy it was to end up alone with her. He had just needed to act all concerned and offer to go check up on her - out of apprehensiveness and affection, of course. However, he was aware he had always had a certain influence on people.

Not on Nina, though. She was the one person he had never managed to fool. She had always been able to read right through him. Just like she was reading through him now. He wanted to intimidate her, to prove to her that it was him the one in power, that he was used to take what he wanted, and that he wasn’t above deception.

“Fuck off.”

Stefano tutted. “You really must be taught your place, don’t you?”

“By you?” A laugh escaped her lips, but it held no humour. She was openly mocking him, and that was enough to get under his skin. A veil of darkness seemed to cover his gaze, and he snatched her arm with a swift movement.

“Careful,” he murmured through gritted teeth. Even though her heart was racing in her chest, Nina held his stare, a mixture of anger and mockery in her eyes. She was walking on thin ice, yet she couldn’t help but push his buttons, see how much effort it would take for him to snap. She wanted to be a nuisance to him, to torment him like he had tormented her for all those years, to haunt him with the reminder that it didn’t matter what he did or said, he wouldn’t get what he wanted.

“What’s happening here?” Maria Ferrante entered the kitchen, interrupting that staring match.

Stefano promptly brought his other hand on Nina’s arm, making it look as if he was supporting her. “Nina’s not feeling very well, signora Maria.” His hard expression softened as he put on his usual mask of affability. Nina grimaced, taking a step back, and a wave of relief washed over her. Her skin almost burned where he had touched her, and she felt the sudden need to scrub the imprint of his fingers off.

“Go to your room, then,” Maria said sternly to her daughter, and this time she was not surprised to see her comply without hesitation.

She didn’t believe a single word Stefano had said. She had seen her Nina’s face. She was her child, her blood. And although their relationship seemed to be made of misunderstandings and words left unsaid, she knew her like the back of her hand. She could read through her every expression, every gesture. And she had seen something in her eyes she had never seen until that moment, not even once. Fear. That brave, reckless girl who had never been scared of anything since she had drawn her first breath was afraid of Stefano.

That same guy who always behaved so nicely, who helped her carry her bags, who showed the outmost respect to her husband, who spoke words of affection for their daughter. Now it didn’t seem like an innocent infatuation anymore. Because when he looked at Nina earlier that day, he had the same look in his eyes she had seen in hundreds of men. And when he touched her, he did it as if he was entitled to it. His mask had slipped, and she could finally see him for who he was, behind the pleasant smiles and the charm and the courtesy. Maria could only be thankful to Mr. Shelby for asking her for some more water at just the right moment.

Her gaze went to the knife lying on the table. Men like him, like her husband, like her own sons - mafia men - only understood one language. Stefano’s guard was off, and Maria was quick enough to catch him by surprise. In a matter of seconds she had the knife pointed at his throat, and she was unknowingly pressing the edge of the blade against the small scar that her daughter had given him a few years earlier. He clamped his jaw, keeping himself as far as he could from the blade.

“Tocca di nuovo mia figlia,” she said lowly, gritting her teeth. “E ti sgozzo come un maiale.”

(“You put your hands on my daughter ever again, and I’ll gut you like a pig.”)

NEXT CHAPTER

Heart, Body and Soul taglist

@zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark

@kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@gaslysainz @brummiereader @loverhymeswith @fairypitou @prettywhenicry4

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @woofgocows @girlwith-thepearlearring @goblinjnr @outlanderuniverse

@citylights31 @neonpurplestars89-blog @red-riding-wood @evita-shelby

General tag list:

@iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys

@lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989

@call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe @ce1iat

@red-riding-wood @optimisticsandwichgladiator

Tommy Shelby taglist:

@50svibes

[strwbnnie]

Oh nothing, just thinkin about a cute, chubby little babe whose new fav hobby is baking. Do you like sweets? Sure, but that’s not why you started. 

No, it was the look on your husband’s face whenever you’d go to the bakery to pick up fresh bread. He’d stare at the dessert case like a kid in a candy store, begging you to let him get one as if he wasn’t a grown man making his own salary and now he makes that same face whenever you offer him first pick of your own delicious, freshly baked pastries. 

This time is no different, you hear the click of the front door shutting, he’s walking into your quaint little kitchen with a news paper tucked in his axillary and his briefcase in hand. He’s dropping his case near the threshold and tossing the paper onto the table, footing over to you and placing an earnest kiss on your lips before flipping on the sink’s faucet to wash his hands. 

Your husband is old fashioned, no social life and not many hobbies due to his demanding work schedule. He says you’re too pretty to work a job so he works six days a week, every single week, in order to give you your soft life.

You carry not a worry in the world except whether or not you may have over starched his jeans or added too much salt in your latest confection. Of course these little desserts and things don’t equate to all that he does but it’s literally the least you can do to thank him. He swears he doesn’t deserve it, coming home to your love and a hot meal everyday is more than enough but you tell him otherwise every single time. 

“Made ya somethin.” 

He’s drying his hands with a dish towel, turning around to see what delectable treat you’ve gone out of your way to make for him today. 

Bright eyes lighting up as you present him with a display tray of heart shaped puff pastries, lightly dusted with powdered sugar, split down the middle and filled with a tall dollop of a blush-pink colored cream. He’s pulling the chair out, pulling up the legs of his trousers and plopping down in the seat, his legs spread wide. Today was long, or at least it felt long, but even a second away from you is just too damn long. But, it’s over and now he gets to indulge in a sweet treat and hopefully his sweet wife later on. 

He goes to grab one and his pinky finger catches some of the cream from another, those big hands of his are never really ideal when it comes to grabbing such delicate, tiny things. He admired your creation, from the flaky layers of the puff pastry to the little specks of red littered throughout the cream. 

“Strawberry cream?” 

“Mhm.” 

He’s so attentive, it melts your lil heart. “But they’re not in season.” 

“I got the freeze dried ones from the store and a tiny bit of strawberry flavoring. Tastes just as good, I promise.” It tastes the same to you, but who knows if it’d taste good to him, his favorite fruit is strawberries after all. 

He goes in for his first bite and he’s not surprised when a tiny little bit of the cream oozes out and plops onto his white collared shirt—some of your pastries do tend to get messy sometimes, his face and his laundry have come to find out.

But it’s no big deal, he just swipes it up with that same pinky & sucks it off like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

He let’s out the sweetest groan—one that has his cute little wife squeezing her thighs together, trying to keep your cool as you wait for him to finish.

“Damn that’s tasty.”

“Yeah?” You gush, the way he closes his eyes and tosses his head back has you damn near squealing.

“Mhm, but everything you make is delicious.” 

Gosh, when he gives you that dazzling smile you almost melt. You rarely ever heard your husband swear, at least not outside of the bedroom, and you have to admit it’s so damn sexy.

“Reallyyyy?” You drag. 

“Yeahhhh.” He mocks your tone, free hand gently grasping your jaw to pull you in for another quick kiss. 

Two bites. Two bites is all it takes for him to finish the dainty little pastry before he’s reaching for another. 

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head when you pop his hand and push the tray away.

“You’ll ruin your dinner.” 

He’s not sure what you’re cooking, maybe a roast or stew and it smells hearty and delicious. He’s sure one more little cream puff won’t ruin his appetite. 

“Babyyy.” Here he goes with the damned whining. “Just one more.” 

He pulls you closer by the hem of your pretty pink gingham lace trimmed apron, the scraping of the chair’s legs against the wooden flooring harsh and loud as he pushes back to give you some room. A pat of his thigh has you raising your leg, throwing it over both of his and straddling his lap.

“I just wanted you to try one! You can have more for dessert after dinner.”

“I tried it and I liked it. I want another.”

It’s a little while before you feel it—him moving his hips back and forth, grinding the hard bulge in his slacks against your panty-covered cunt. He thinks he’s sooo slick, giving you those eyes, that look—you know the one.

“Please baby, you don’t mind dessert before dinner when it’s you I’m eating, let’s keep things fair, my love.” 

Your mouth goes ajar for a quick second, opening and closing in speechlessness before a heavy gasp escapes. You don’t have a comeback and your adorable little pout is no match for his fiery gaze and quick tongue, determined to get his second treat. You’re folding almost immediately, sighing as you reach back to grab another cream puff.

“Okay, but only one more.” 

This is soooo Rengoku coded but you can insert any of your favs really 😁 

*this wasn’t even supposed to be this long 😭

[minawritesfanfic]

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x F!Reader

Word count: ~1k

Summary: It seems there’s another careful serial killer roaming the streets of maimi and their police department

Part 0

Previous | Next

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Chicken schnitzel with creamed watercress, a delicious meal even with a few ingredients changes.

I coated the meat in buttermilk with my left hand then dipped it in the breadcrumbs, with my right hand I scooped up more bread crumbs sprinkling them on top and pressed them down into the meat. I flipped it over and repeated the process until it was carefully coated in breadcrumbs, and did the same for three more pieces. I wiped my hands clean and checked on the watercress, tasting a small bit of it making sure it was satisfactory. I smiled happy with the taste even despite me adding my special sauce into the mix, I set my spoon down and turned down the heat returning back to my breadcrumb covered chicken substitute.

In just a little under an hour I finished cooking, I was reveled in the smell of a homecooked meal wafting through the air. I set aside the other servings to eat later and sat down at my kitchen island with a glass of wine. I cut into the schnitzel picking it up with my fork and carefully placed it into my mouth, I let out a satisfied hum as I savored that first bite. The media likes to portray all cannibals are barbarians but I’d like to think I’m far more civilized than that. What barbarian knows how to make a good watercress and human meat schnitzel? A wonderful meal made from the shit of the earth Caleb Sands, full time solar panel installer part time serial killer and fuck does he taste delicious.

I sipped my wine with a smile as I continued to eat, my diet was a strange one consisting mostly of human remains or food drench in their blood. I’ve tried animal blood and no blood at all, but none of them have that unique taste that human blood has. I’m addicted to and couldn’t stop even if I tried, and I certainly have tried. It’s not like I was born this way but thanks the trauma from my childhood, I was doomed to live as a cannibal thanks to Mr and Mrs. Kerrigan.

I shook away the thought as I finished my meal and started to clean up, I left my wine and took my plate to the sink. I gave it a quick rinse and place it into the dishwasher before doing the same with the rest of the dishes in the sink. Once I was done loading the dishwasher I gave the countertop and stove a quick wipe down, with the kitchen clean and the dishwasher cycling I took my wine and headed into the living room. I relaxed onto the couch with a sigh and turned on the tv, I didn’t particularly care for what was on I just needed a distraction and it was working. I was a serial killer and not even for the love of the crime, I hated killing people it was gross, gorey, and the clean up was exhausting. I tried so hard to see it as a means to an end but it was hard, I hated why I became who I am, I hated who I’d become, and I hated that I was addicted with no clear way to escape from it.

I wiped the tears forming in my eyes and downed the rest of my wine, I turned off the tv and left my glass by the sink. I ran a hand through my hair as I made my way to my bedroom, thankfully the wine and food made me tired. Watching tv hadn’t really helped keep me from my thoughts so hopefully just shutting my brain off entirely by going to sleep, I collapsed onto the bed and turned on my white noise machine. I snuggled under the blankets and let my mind focus on the noise and it wasn’t long before I had fallen asleep.

★ ✮ ★

Work was busy that day with calls and requests coming in for the whole IT team, which consisted of Jackie a sweet and spunky girl fresh out of Texas, Sterling a flirty but nerdy guy born here and Miami, and Josefina a jokester from Tampa bursting with life. I loved them all and they made this job ten times more fun and enjoyable, speaking of them Sterling and Josefina came back into our tiny ‘office’. It was just an old storage room the stuffed four desks into, but it was our corner of the world and a second home.

“How was rubbing shoulders with the fraud department? Did they catch onto you yet Sterling?”

“Oh haha, it was fine just another stupid request. You’d think they would try turning it off and on again but the never do, and I’ll never get caught I’m that good.” He teased back at me as he sat at his desk.

“Some just aren’t as bright as others unfortunately.”

“Oh yeah and you are?” Josefina asked with a smirk as she spun her chair to face me hut I just rolled my eyes.

“Yeah I am, way smarter than you at least. Mrs. I thought the moon was made of cheese.” She turned red and threw a pen at me but I just dodges it.

Sterling and I couldn’t help but laugh as she just huffed and rolled her eyes at me, I smiled as I went back to typing up a report on my latest request. Sure the work was mostly menial task but the people made it worth while, and it wasn’t always boring. Sometimes I did have more difficult tasks to do but it was always fun and allowed me do what I loved, work with technology. Overall life was good, work was good, and my cooking was great. What more did one need in life?

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[moodywyrm]

HI I'M NEW IDK HOW TO USE THIS BUT I HAVE SUM TO SAY ABOUT ABBY-

imagine she asks you for a massage after gym and you're all excited n stuff and u sit on her ass bcs she's laying on her stomach while u take care of her back and massage it gently and she can feel the heat from u like as u sit and djejskdjd😩

we're modifying this a little bit because I have farmer! abby on the brain. so instead of the gym, she asks you for a massage after a long day on the farm. just some notes: reader is described as wearing lipstick, owning self care items like body oil, has a vanity, and referred to with traditionally fem words like wife, girl, etc. but, genitalia for the reader is not mentioned. more farm abby for my wife @pinknightsinmymind

Planting seasons starts soon, which means Abby has been plowing the field all day and she's fucking exhausted. Every inch of her body is sore, and she's all but soaked through her wife pleaser, her flannel long forgotten on the porch railing. She's bone tired and, to make things worse, she hasn't seen you in two whole hours.

You've been inside making dinner, cooking up her favorite stew so she had a nice hot meal ready once she was done plowing. It's incredibly sweet, really, and she couldn't ask for a better wife, but she feels like she's gonna wither away if she doesn't see you right now.

By the time she slumps up the farmhouse steps, snatching her dirty flannel and swinging it over her shoulder, she doesn't know how she's still standing. Her thighs are quaking from exhaustion, just barely carrying her through door and into the kitchen. But then she sees you, her lovely wife, finishing up dinner and looking as gorgeous as ever, and it's like the weight of the day is erased, lifted from her shoulders.

You spin around to look at her, having heard her slumping through the house in her big ol' work boots. The grin on your face makes her heart flutter, your lipstick perfect as always and your arms held out for a hug. You're absolutely gorgeous, as beautiful as the day she met you, and Abby's just so glad to be back with you.

"Heya there, darlin'," She drawls as she slumps over to you, melting into your outstretched arms.

You wrap her up in a hug, not caring about how sweaty she is, just wanting, needing, to hold your girl. "Mmm, hi baby, ya done with the field?"

"Mhm, finally done plowing. Gonna do one last check tomorrow and then get to planting, hopefully," She mumbles into your hair, feeling your hands trailing up and down her back. It's good, but not enough. She groans, melting into you and pressing a kiss to your cheek, huffing out a sigh.

"Everything alright there, big girl?"

"Mmm, my back's sore 'n your hands feel real good."

"Aww, maybe, after dinner and after you shower, I could give you a massage? How's that sound?"

Abby hums, squeezing you and kissing your forehead before pulling back and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "Sounds incredible, sugar. What did I do to deserve you?"

"You're Abby Anderson, 's more than enough baby," Your voice is soft, whispered against her lips like a prayer. When you pull away, you giggle at the remnants of lipstick on her lips. With a swipe of your thumb, you wipe it away, giggling at her pout. "Now go sit down, I'll bring you a bowl."

Abby giggles, trailing towards the kitchen table and sitting down, smoothing her hands down her thighs as she sits. She eases into her usual manspread, rough denim pulled taut over her thighs. Your eyes catch on them when you walk over with two bowls of stew, a loaf of freshly baked bread tucked under one arm.

“Mm, thank you darlin’, this looks delicious,” Abby hums, watching as you sit down. She gently takes the bread knife from the center of the table, slicing off some of the loaf and handing it to you before cutting her own piece.

When she leans forward to eat, elbows on the table in a complete lack of dining etiquette (though neither of y’all ever really cared for it), she groans. The tightness in her back is striking with a vengeance, egged on by the promise of relief at the hands of her wife.

"Oh honey," You murmur, frowning at her.

"Mm, 's okay. Just a lil tight," Abby says, giving you a tight smile. She gets through the rest of her meal with minimal movement, having to sit up straight like her dad always said she should. By the time y'all are done, she's dying to get into the shower and wash off all the grime that had settled on her skin.

While she's off showering, you set your plan into motion. Y'all have a habit of leaving out pajamas for each other, whenever you can. Since you're gonna give Abby a massage when she's out, you should pick pajamas that give you easy access, right?

So you leave a pair of soft grey boy shorts on the bathroom counter, and nothing else. All in the name of having full access to her back, of course.

Then you run to grab one of your body oils from your vanity, a rosemary one that would smell delicious with her body wash. You set it out on the bedside table, alongside some water and a hair clip for Abby. And, for good measure, you reapply your lipstick.

You can hear Abby step out of the shower, can hear her scoff and giggle when she sees the 'pajamas' you laid out for her. When she steps out of the bathroom, hair damp and just barely covering her nipples, soft cotton stretched over her ass and hips, she looks delicious.

"Now what's this about? Thought you were offering to give me a massage outta the goodness of your heart, turns out you just wanted me naked, huh?" She chides, walking over to your position on the bed, kneeling and looking all pretty for her.

When she leans into to kiss you, you press one hand to the center of her chest and keep her at bay. "I am gonna give you a massage, now lay down on your tummy, big girl."

"Yes ma'am."

You let her get situated, laying face down on the bed with her arms folded up under her head. You watch the way her back shifts, muscles rippling as she gets comfortable. She's beautiful, a goddess, and you want to spend the rest of your life worshipping her.

Once she's settled in, you straddle the backs of her thighs, eliciting a nervous giggle from her.

"Whatcha doing there, honey?"

She sounds so giddy, you almost feel bad that you're not gonna give her anything right now. "Settle down big girl, just trying to get access to your back."

You swear you can almost hear her pout when she says, "Okay :(."

She hands you the body oil from the bedside table, settling back into position as you uncap the bottle and pour a small amount into your hand. Rubbing it between your palms to warm it up, you then place your hands on Abby's back and start spreading it over her muscles.

You can feel how tense she is, noting which spots are gonna need the most work as you coat her sore muscles in a thin sheen of oil. Everything is so warm and hazy, since you'd turned off the main lights and left only a few dim lamps and some candles on while Abby was showering.

Abby, for her part, is already in heaven. She's always had a thing about feeling your body weight on her, as in she fucking loves it, so the feeling of you sitting on her thighs is already making her head all fuzzy. To add to it, your hands, soft from gentle work – courtesy of Abby, who never lets you do the rough work on the farm that has calloused her own hands – feel so fucking good on her back. Your touch always melts her into a puddle, but when it's combined with the slick slide of oil and a gentle massaging at her sore back? God, she's melting faster than an icecream in the summer sun.

With every pass of your hands over her sore back, she's whimpering and sighing, and you can feel the heat in your lower belly growing warmer and warmer. It wasn't your intention to get this aroused, but when Abby looks so sweet, so submissive, under your touch, how could you not?

You refocus your attentions, working the knots out of her upper and middle back with a firm press of your hands. The groans she lets out every time you hit a tough spot make you shaky, sounding far too close to the noises she makes when you're pressed up against her. It makes you nervous, giddy with excitement at just how much you want her, how much you want to please her. You're so distracted by the thought and image of her, needy under your touch, you barely notice when she starts talking.

"Mmm, that's good baby, I think you got it all," She murmurs, sounding utterly boneless. She's limp under your touch, the drowsiness creeping in.

"I'm not done yet baby, you're also tense," You mumble, slowly dragging your hands down her back, thumbs massaging at her back dimples, "down here."

Abby lets out a soft, "Oh", before whimpering at the feel of you in massaging her hips. Even if she usually doms, the feel of your thumbs in that very specific spot conjures up images of her on her hands and knees, staring at herself in the mirror while you bounce her back onto your cock, the slick noises of her cunt making her flush bright red. It makes her press her face into the mattress, blush creeping higher and higher as your hands slide lower and lower, until your finger tips are trailing at the waist band of her undies.

"Can I take these off?" You ask, leaning down to press a soft kiss between her shoulder blades.

"Mhm, please," Abby begs, her voice sweet and whiny, face still shoved into the mattress. It makes you giggle, even as you hook your fingers into her panties and pull them down, unfairly slow. You're drooling by the time her ass if exposed, but you almost moan when you see the string of slick and the wet patch left on her panties. You drag them all the way off, throwing them in the general direction of the bathroom.

Once they're gone, her gorgeous ass is completely exposed to you, but her pretty cunt is hidden, her thick thighs allowing you only a glimpse of her slick folds. Abby's breathing is heavy, and you can tell she's trying to stay composed even as you drip more oil onto your hands and rub them together.

Abby whimpers when you run your hands up her thighs, cupping under her ass and massaging the fat of it. You slide your thumbs up, spreading her ass apart and making her whine at the feeling of her pussy being spread open. You haven't even really touched her and she's leaking, for fuck sakes, her pussy made a slick lil noise when you spread it apart.

"Aw, baby, you're this needy already?" You chide, massaging her ass and watching her clench around nothing. A little dribble of slit leaks out of it, and you can't stop yourself from letting your thumb wipe it up, popping your thumb into your mouth and moaning at her taste.

"You've been, shit, you've been teasing me this whole time," She whines, wiggling her ass for you. You giggle, catching sight of the lipstick ring left around your thumb and feeling an idea grow in your head.

"Abby, get on all fours if you want me to fix that," You order, leaving one gentle swat on her ass before sliding off her legs, letting her scramble into position.

Everything about her makes your mouth water, from the slick sheen of oil and sweat on her body to the arch of her back, and the way she spreads her thighs just enough to give you a good look at her aching cunt.

"You're such a good girl, Abby, did so good," You murmur, getting behind her and rubbing at her ass, your tone soft and teasing as you slip into a more dominant role. She whines, wiggling even more as you lean forward, pressing a kiss to the swell of her ass.

When you pull back, you nearly moan, your idea having come true. Left on the plush fat of her right asscheek is a perfect lipstick mark, and the rest of her freckled ass and thighs are just begging for more marks. You giggle, pressing more kisses all over her ass and thighs.

Abby's confused, loving the attention but not knowing why you're just kissing her when her pussy is right there, needy for you. She nearly starts crying when you slide off the bed, grabbing something from the vanity and running back. The next time she feels you kiss her ass, it's a little wetter, stickier than before.

"What're you doing back there?" She asks, head a little fuzzy from your kisses.

"Mm, I could show you. Are you okay with me taking a picture of you?" You ask, pressing more kisses down her thighs, framing her pussy in pretty little kisses.

Abby swears she blacks out for a second, the sheer hotness of the question making her dizzy. "Yeah, yeah, of course, go ahead."

You hum, pleased with her answer and the desperation in her voice. Swiping your phone from the edge of the bed and opening up the camera, you point it at Abby. She looks gorgeous, completely needy and covered in lipstick kisses, slick dripping down her thighs and pretty hole aching for you. The hair around her pussy is slicked down, dark with wet, her bush wet and framing her clit. Her clit, large and swollen, is just peeking out of its hood, and she looks absolutely debauched. You take the picture and hand her your phone, waiting for her reaction.

Abby is staring in awe, not entirely convinced that's her. She looks so slutty, and it makes her hot all over. She lets out a little "oh lord" before handing you the phone.

"Mhm, that's all you pretty girl, you look absolutely gorgeous," You murmur, scratching your nails down the side of her thigh. She whines, arching her back even more as she shoves her face into the mattress.

"Uh huh, the prettiest, being so good for me," You whisper, bending down to press a trail of kisses all the way to her cunt. You lick a stripe from her clit to her hole, making Abby whine and scramble for purchase on the plush bedding.

You lap up the slick leaking out of her hole, spreading it over her clit before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

"Fu-fuck sugar," Abby whines, bucking back into you. You grip at her thighs, trying to hold her in place as you dig in, pressing a kiss to her entrance before wiggling your tongue in. You fuck her with your tongue, listening to her whimpers before pulling back and spreading her pussy apart with your thumbs.

"Hmm, got the prettiest pussy ever," You tell her, watching her squirm under your attention. She tries to shift her thighs closer together, but stops at your disapproving hum.

With one hand, you trail two fingers down her cunt, pressing into her clit before dragging back up and teasing her hole. You want her to beg for it, and beg she does.

"Shit, baby, please, please fuck me," She cries, pressing back into you and trying to push your fingers in. You chuckle, loving how needy she is and not wanting to torture her too much.

"Hmm, good girl," You hum, as you press two fingers into her cunt. Abby moans into the mattress, loving the stretch. When you're in to the hilt, Abby clenches around your digits, a shiver running up her spine.

You lean down, angling your hand so you can both fuck her with you fingers and eat her out. You leave little licks at her clit, starting to fuck your fingers in and out of her, curling them just enough to try and press at her g-spot. When you get the right angle, pushing up against that gushy little spot, Abby wails, pressing back against you and clenching.

You hum against her clit, sucking on it lightly while pressing against her g-spot, feeling her leak around your fingers.

"G'so good baby, hmmm– fuck" She whines, her voice muffled into the comforter.

You can feel her thighs twitching, and decide she's getting too close too fast. Pulling off of her clit, you trail your tongue around her pussy, from the edge of her hole, where she's taking your fingers so well, to the spot right under her clit, teasing her with the almost-stimulation. You keep toying with her, avoiding her clit even as you finger her, driving her insane.

"C'mon baby, please, I wanna cum, please - fuck, 'wanna cum for you," She whines, kicking one leg and bucking back into you.

"Aww, my needy girl, you wanna cum?" You tease, leaning up to curve your body over hers and press a kiss behind her ear.

"Yes, yes please, ma'am, please, I need it," She cries, turning her head to look at you, making your heart skip a beat. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes blown out and her lips plumped up from biting at them. She's beautiful, your angel and your love, and you feel the overwhelming. need to please her.

"You're so good for me Abby, 'll make you cum," You murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before sliding back down. You take one glance at her ass and thighs, still covered in smeared lipstick marks. Pressing one more kiss to her ass, you dive back into her cunt, licking and kissing and sucking at her clit, making out with it as you fucking her even harder.

Abby whines, dropping her head onto the bed and arching her back even more, letting you play with her pussy. You can feel her getting closer, the excess slick, the tremble of her thighs, the clenching of her walls around your fingers. She's almost there, she just needs a little something. And god, you deliver.

You spit on her clit and suck on it, massaging her g-spot with no mercy as you stimulate her sensitive little nub, moaning against her when Abby wails, pussy convulsing around your fingers and her whole body shaking. She's a wreck, pushing back against you and babbling into the bed. Her clit throbs under your tongue, a twitchy mess.

You fuck her through it, feeling her drip around your fingers, leaving a ring of creamy cum for you to lick up. She squeals as you punch at her g-spot, extending her orgasm as she clenches around you, keeping your fingers inside her.

Slowly, you ease your fingers to a stop and pull out, pressing a kiss to her clit before pulling away. Abby lets her breathing even out, feeling as you rubbing her hips, waiting to see what she needs. Abby lets out a blissed out sigh and sits up on her legs, reaching back for you to wrap your arms around her.

You do, hugging her from behind and laying your head on her shoulder, pressing kisses to the muscle. "How're you feeling baby?"

"Hmm, perfect," She hums, tilting her head to kiss your temple, "You're so good to me."

"You're so good to me, Abigail, I love taking care of you," You mumble, meeting her in a soft kiss. It's so gentle, and you can feel her trying to push every ounce of love into this kiss. It's heart achingly sweet, like every moment you have with her.

"Mm, gonna let me take care of you now?" She asks, catching you of guard as she turns around and eases you back onto the bed. "Because I think you're also feeling a lil tense. Strip and hand me the oil."

ahhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[mysteria157]

Chapter 19: Final

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~12.4k (the last one I am in SHAMBLES)

CW: fluff, profanity, explicit sexual content, tears (from me, hopefully you too)

Summary: Things finally come together.

Notes: Thank you all so SO much for your support, for your kind words, for your likes and reblogs. It means so much just to hear one person tell me how much they loved my story. This was my first ever fic and I am so proud of it. It’s given me so much confidence and strength. I’m so sad to let this go, but I’m happy that I could close it well. Happy reading and I hope you enjoy!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated <3

Divider: @cafekitsune

Previous Chapter | Ao3 | JJK Masterlist

It Had To Be You Masterlist (Complete)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

“You’re quiet.”

Your voice startled Kento, causing his shoulders to briefly tense up before relaxing as he glanced up from the ball of dough in his hands. Since the early hours of the morning when you both had risen to prepare for the grand opening of his bakery, Kento had been unusually chatty, filled with excitement for the day ahead. However, as the opening hour approached, he began to fall quiet and you could see the subtle signs of anxiousness creep into his demeanor. He flinched again when you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to postpone the opening? We can if you’re not feeling ready.” It was an out that you knew he wouldn’t take, but the suggestion still let him know that you were paying attention. 

Turning to you, Kento leaned down to press a reassuring kiss to your lips, acknowledging his nervousness but finding comfort in your presence. 

“I’m a bit anxious, but I’ll be okay. As long as you’re here.”

And so an hour later, on a warm day in September, the bakery doors swung open to a line of eager customers and Kento like the gentleman he was, offered a soft smile and polite bow to each one. You had to peel him away from the door and shove him into the kitchen so he could stay focused. All of the goods that sat pretty and delicious in the glass display case beneath the register sold out in less than an hour and Kento and his coworkers were more than happy to make two more batches to meet the demand. 

Amidst the flurry of the successful opening, familiar faces arrived, injecting a touch of chaos into the serene atmosphere. Not even two steps into the bakery and Gojo was already demanding sweet bread. Kento was too euphoric with the day’s success to care and he kindly brought Gojo a plate of sweet bread if only to keep him quiet for a few minutes. 

Chiyo and Santo could only contain your daughter for a few seconds when they walked through the door. From the sight of her father, Ulani was squealing happily and yelling ‘Dadda!’ before wobbling across the bakery to her father who squatted down to pull her into his arms.

“Hello, my dove,” he cooed, planting a series of kisses on her cheeks that made her giggle loud into the bread-smelling air. 

Ulani of course wasn’t much help at the register, she was more interested in trying to repeat the commands her father gave her. At 14 months she could only really say a few words and understand the significance, but she loved to repeat as much as she could.

“Now we say ‘thank you, come again’,” Kento spoke softly in her hair, securing her back as she sat on the counter and handed one of the customers a receipt.

“Tank you! Umajain!”

He chuckled down at her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Close enough, dove.”

You kept your distance, knowing Kento was absorbed in the bustling operation of his business—greeting customers, overseeing the kitchen, and managing his employees. 

“Dadda is a natural, isn’t he?” you whispered in your daughter’s ear as she sat in your lap, her hands sticky with sweet bread. She dug her hands into what remained of her treat and stuffed a chubby hand in her mouth.

“Dadda make?” she asked, gesturing up at you with her wet and sticky hand. The blue clip in her hair was close to falling out and it hung by her ear on the tendril of a curl. She was a wild thing and you and Kento had both given up quite early trying to tame her. She would learn the world at her own pace, in her own time. It was just up to you and Kento to make sure she was safe and protected as she did so.

“Yes, Dadda made that. Is it good?” She hummed happily in response, stuffing more bread into her mouth. “Let’s wipe our hands off, baby.” You handed her a napkin, content to let her be as independent as possible even though she wiped her hands and mouth poorly. You snorted, taking over to wipe what she missed. 

Kento’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, something so rare and treasured that the thought of hearing it in public seemed so foreign to you. When you looked up in his direction, you were met with him behind the counter, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen and his eyes already on you.

Before you could even offer a typical eyebrow lift of mirth, Ulani was wiggling from your lap and jumping to the floor—something you would probably have to start talking to her about before she hurt herself. Kento’s attention immediately shot to his daughter, and he scooped her up, carrying her away into the kitchen with only a wink in your direction.

The sun was setting by the time the ‘Closed’ sign was turned over on the glass doors of the bakery, painting the redone floors a rich orange that stretched the shadows of the large fiddle leaf in the corner across the entire floor. Chiyo had somehow conned you and Kento into allowing Ulani stay the night at her house and now, only your friends remained in the empty establishment.

“I would like to propose a toast!” Gojo spoke. Somehow, he managed to procure a small bottle of sake and shot glasses for all of you. “To Kento and the opening of his bakery. Yu would be—is very proud. Of course, 95% of this wouldn’t have even been possible without the future Mrs. Nanami but…Kento you finally got your dream. I’m proud of you and I know the rest of us are too. So, to Kento!” 

Kento didn’t bother to hide the dark blush on his cheeks, and he allowed a small smile to grace his face before lifting his glass in celebration.

“Are you ready to go, love?” Kento’s voice called from behind you an hour later. Your friends left a while ago, and you found yourself admiring Yu’s nerve plant on the windowsill while Kento wrapped things up in the kitchen. As you stopped tracing the leaves, you turned to face him. He was leaning against the door again, muscular arms stretching his white baker’s jacket in a delicious way, his blonde hair falling over his forehead as his brown eyes met yours without the cover of his glasses. 

“Giving that plant love will not make it grow. It’s incredibly dramatic.”

“You’re incredibly dramatic,” you retorted, propping yourself up on his desk. 

His eyes caught the action, narrowing on the way your jeans creased at the hip, curves pulling the sides tight as they rested on his oak desk. 

“Am I?” he questioned playfully, pushing off the door frame to make his way toward you. You kept your composure, ignoring the way your heart picked up in speed as the distance between you both grew shorter with each stride from him. Your legs parted for him easily, allowing him to step between and tower over you. “You’ve hardly shown me attention all day. On the opening day of my bakery.”

You lifted your chin in defiance, holding back a giggle even though he casted a jokingly admonishing gaze down at you. “How shameful of me. What can I do to make you feel better?”

He hummed, pursing his lips in faux contemplation as his hands slid along your jeaned thighs. His fingers dug into the fabric, pressing searing indentations into your body before yanking you closer to him.

“I couldn’t ask you to wake up every morning to make sweet bread for the business, so how about you relay the recipe to me?” Truthfully, you planned to pass the recipe to him later tonight as a surprise, but this could work in your favor too. “You walked around this entire place looking radiant and yet hardly a word my way.” Beneath his chiding, you could sense a light pout against your neck as he pressed his lips to your skin, igniting a fiery heat in your stomach.

“You were busy running a bakery, I didn’t want to bother you.” He bit the thin skin at the crease of your neck in reply, pulling a sharp gasp from behind your lips. “Seducing me won’t—”

“Don’t lie,” he interrupted, pushing against your sternum to make you lay down along his desk. The cold oak dug into your back, but your skin burned right through the chill. 

He was riding on the high of his success, eager in the way he trailed his large hands up the fabric of your jeans and dipped against the small gap of visible skin between your shirt and belt. His calloused fingertips slid up the skin of your torso, pushing your shirt to bunch beneath your bra. Deep brown eyes traversed the landscape of you uninhibited, hunger saturating his irises and pupils blowing out quickly before he dipped down to nip the skin beside your belly button. 

“Be a good girl and tell me the secret ingredient,” he whispered.

The command made you shudder, your eyes fluttering and breath catching in your throat as his wet tongue dipped into your belly button before sliding up the faint stretch marks on your torso. The heat in your belly began to boil, popping and crackling into what would be a raging inferno in only a few short seconds.

“What’s in it for me?” you croaked, uncaring of just how desperate you sounded.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Right here…any way you want it.”

It was tempting, and the thought of him fucking you seven ways to Sunday on his desk did little to hold your determination. “And what if I don’t tell you?”

He chuckled, soft and vibrating against the skin of your belly before he rested his chin on your sternum. 

“I’ll still give you whatever you wish. I’m hoping you’re feeling charitable today.”

Your heart trembled at the sight of him smiling at you, teeth digging into his bottom lip before he pressed a gentle kiss to your clothed sternum. The warmth of it bled through the fabric and onto your skin, seeping through your pores to pour over your rapidly beating heart. His words were always so sweet, so freely giving to you no matter what. It was admirable.

But your love for teasing him far outweighed his words.

“You can guess.” 

He barked a sharp chuckle into your sternum before heaving a dramatic sigh in acceptance of his challenge ahead.

“Molasses.” His first guess was accompanied by full lips kissing down your torso, each touch making your skin flinch with the sensation.

“You asked Yu that and the answer is unchanged.”

A noise of frustration against the skin above the hem of your pants, thick and heady with lust and lack of patience. You refused to give in, even though your desire was hard to ignore as his fingers began to undo the button and zipper of your pants, tugging your jeans off your legs in a hurry.

“Tell me,” he whispered against the seam of your panties, temptation sliding on your skin like molten lava. You tried to ignore the command as best as you could, your head slowly clouding with lust as you felt his tongue dip beneath the seam to tease the skin above your clit. You sunk your fingers into his loose blonde locks, tightening the strands amongst your knuckles as he teasingly pulled your panties to the side, your cunt clenching from the cool air against it. “Tell me, baby.”

The feel of his tongue licking a long stripe up your clit pulled a high whine from your throat, your resolve crumbling in seconds. 

“I—” you gasped at the feel of him slipping your clit into his hot mouth, arching your hips further towards him.

Thirty minutes later, with him panting against the sweaty skin of your neck, his cock softening inside of you after making you cum twice before finding his own end, you whispered the ingredient breathily into the air. 

“Honey in the batter? That’s it?” Even though he was winded, you can taste his disappointment with himself. “Yu always made it unnecessarily difficult.” He hummed in reproach before a chuckle wrapped around the edges of the noise as he laughed into your skin. You carded a hand through his sweaty hair, sliding your fingertips against silky strands as your breathing evened out. 

A few minutes later, he pulled away from your neck to look down at you, his gaze filled with adoration. You reached out, brushing his locks away from his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. The golden locks flop back into place, shrouding parts of his gaze, and your fingers trailed down the soft skin of his cheek, traced along the gentle upward slope of his nose before outlining his bottom lip. Your ring reflected off the light emanating from the lamp on his desk, flashing you a reminder of your tie to him. His lips curved into a gentle smile before turning to place a kiss into your open palm.

“Thank you for being here with me today,” he spoke softly, his words echoing with sincerity and love that you so often felt. “I love you.”

You reflected the sentiment back to him without hesitation and smiled softly before you felt him slant his lips against your own.

***

“Promise me that you’ll behave,” you demanded of Kento from your perch on the living room floor, sitting across from Ulani as she pressed another button on her interactive toy. The annoying contraption chirped, ‘The cow goes moo!’ for what felt like the millionth time in five minutes, yet you maintained a smile to encourage her. Ulani gleefully responded with ‘moo’ each time, and it made the desire to fling the toy out the window a little less prevalent than before. You were using it as a tool to keep her distracted until your mother would arrive.

It was the first time Ulani would meet her, a prospect you had contemplated and ultimately embraced. Recent months had seen an improvement in your relationship you’re your mother through shared meals, frequent texts, help with wedding planning, and occasional phone calls at your discretion. She had never asked to meet Ulani and it was that small action that made you realize she gave you full control of how much you wanted your mother in your life.

So you would give her one more olive branch today.

You just needed your fiancé to comply as well.

Said fiancé rolled his eyes from behind his coffee mug, feigning nonchalance that was practically second nature to him.

“I’ll have you know that I have no problem with your mother now.” 

A lie. 

“And besides, I have phone calls to make with the caterers and the wedding planner to make sure they are on schedule. So I won’t really be talking to her.”

Kento had taken on the brunt of wedding planning because he liked order and wanted everything to be perfect, and you were fine with that. It allowed you to focus on other aspects, such as invitations, the bridal party, and your wedding dress. You hadn’t done much, just as Kento intended. 

Before you could respond to him, the doorbell rang, signaling your mother’s arrival.

“Hello, Kento,” you heard her greet him, her voice soft and free of malice.

“Naveah,” he responded, short and with an air as if she had already ruined his day.

You rolled your eyes. 

Your mother walked into your home—it wasn’t the first time, but it was the first with your daughter also present. Her coils brushed her shoulders, a light blue dress falling like water over her small frame as she smiled at you. You were getting used to the warmth that filled your chest from the sight, an affection that you had always craved growing up now returning—slowly—but without lingering pain.

Kento excused himself, leaning down to kiss your cheek and pretending to ignore your glare as he walked away and left the three of you alone. The interactive toy chirped, ‘The dog goes bark!’ and Ulani’s loud bark in reply pulled a soft smile onto your mother’s face, her eyes hopeful and yearning. 

“Come meet her.”

She moved quickly around the sofa, unable to hide her excitement, and stopped short as her gaze fell upon your daughter. Ulani stopped playing with the toy, the sight of someone unfamiliar to her making her inch closer to you. She loved people and was always open to meeting them, but like her father, she was observant and could sense your slight tension. 

Your mother sunk down to her knees, giving Ulani her space and interacting with her toy instead. You rubbed your daughter’s back, offering her your own reassurance that you would be okay, and she used your touch as guidance to scoot back to your mother, the toy between them both as Ulani began to play along.

“She’s quite perceptive,” she remarked, a gentle smile on her face as she watched Ulani press a button and mimic the noise.

“She gets it from her father…and…I know Kento probably isn’t the nicest right now—”

“Don’t you worry about Kento,” she interjected, delighting in the giggle that fell from Ulani’s lips. “I deserve it. The love and protection he has for you is so strong that it reminds me of your father.” 

It was the first time she had ever spoken of him—the first time you had ever heard about him. All you knew was that he died before you were born, and your mother was so distraught that she cut off all connection with his side of the family.

“What was he like?” you couldn’t help but ask.

She pulled in a deep breath, her eyebrows pinching together as if in pain before she pressed another button on Ulani’s toy. “Incredibly handsome with a thick Texas accent and curly brown hair. He was very much a ‘fight the power’ kind of man and spent most of his time protesting social events. We met in college…he was…always the loudest one in the room but always focused on me. It was overwhelming at times.” Ulani unsteadily climbed to her feet and wobbled across the living room to her toy box, leaving you both with each other. “I was so focused on school and doing what my father wanted and he taught me how to…live. It astounded me with just how much he loved me. He would say the most beautiful things with little effort…almost as easy as breathing. During that time, I pulled away from my father’s ideals and just…fell in love. My father hated him.” 

You listened quietly, your heart aching at the small comparisons between Kento and your father and feeling some connection even if it was faint. When Ulani made her way back, she was holding another toy, babbling to your mother in broken English that she pretended to follow along with. Ulani didn’t ask as she plopped down in your mother’s lap, her back to her as she began to slide the colored blocks around with a focused gaze.

“Cancer took him away from me. Quick and out of the blue and I couldn’t function for a long time…I couldn’t speak to his family or even look at them without being in so much pain. And so I stopped speaking to them. It was really drastic but when you love someone as much as I did your father, any reminder of is too painful to face. I miss him. Every minute of every day, for the past thirty-one years. So don’t apologize for Kento. I don’t blame him one bit. I hope to earn his trust one day.”

She would, in time she would. Kento was not the type to hold grudges and that disdain would fade the more he saw how accepting you were becoming.

“Do you think you’ll ever reach out to his side of the family?”

She looked up at you from Ulani, shooting a soft smile that was reminiscent of your own when you caught a glimpse of yourself in photographs and Instagram stories with Ome. Her eyes crinkled just a little at the edges, a small indentation to showcase her age even though her skin was as smooth as her teenage years. 

“I did last week actually…I wanted to surprise you. They are flying into Sendai this week and I was wondering if you wanted to—”

“Yes,” you interrupted without hearing the rest. If there was any chance to meet more of your family that was not your mother’s side, you would take it in a heartbeat. “Do you think they would come to the wedding?” The wedding was a month away and while you had room for a few RSVPs, you didn’t even know if they would want to come.

Your mother’s chuckle pulled you from your running thoughts, the questions dying into the chaos of your mind as she shot another smile at you, the motherly affection returning with a bombarding flourish. “I’m sure they would love that.”

Her words were filled with hope, promise crispy along the edges as they floated in and out of your ears. The feeling of your chest swelling with happiness and the burn behind your eyes before your vision began to swim made you bite into your bottom lip to keep yourself under control. You could tear up after she left, give yourself a moment or two to just be happy that things were falling into place. Slowly, but still fitting together.

“Gamma?” Ulani peeped at your mother, looking up at her with her father’s sharp gaze, a flicker of understanding all over her face as she took in your interactions with each other. She was way too inquisitive for such a young age and your chest ached with the essence of her youth flying a little too quickly for comfort.

“Yes, I’m your grandma,” your mother answered, smiling warmly down at her before placing a soft kiss to her chubby cheek. Ulani took the affection without complaint and turned back to her blocks.

“She’s beautiful…and so smart. Just like you at her age and I’m—” she paused, her nostrils flaring fractionally and eyes beginning to mist along the edges. “I’m so proud of you.”

The compliment was unexpected, her fondness once again warming you from the inside out. Almost a year ago, the very thought of her trying to offer you a smile or compliment made your stomach roll with disdain. But she worked hard to earn your affection, to earn your trust. And even though it was not smooth sailing just yet within you, the waters were a little less rocky than before.

So, you swallowed the warmth that your mother offered you, let it simmer in your belly for as long as possible, and gave her a small smile of gratitude in return, hopefully as a sign of smoother waters to come.

***

Ulani was the perfect flower girl. The sight of her in a sage green tulle dress, embroidered with flowers along the fabric, made her the most beautiful girl in the large Nakameguro garden where the wedding was being held. Though she was unsteady on her feet, she was determined to fulfill her duty on her own. Using her father as guidance, she dug her chubby hands into the small basket on her arm and haphazardly threw pink and deep red petals along the aisle as she walked closer to Kento. When she made it to her father’s feet at the end of the aisle, she gazed up at him, whispering a happy ‘Hi Dadda,’ up at him before receiving a fat kiss on her cheek in praise. 

“Five bucks says that he will cry.” Rory’s voice from next to you elicited a sharp but hushed giggle from your lips. 

Both of you had been fairly quiet since the music started; Rory was providing moral support for your fraying nerves by taking your late father’s place to walk you down the aisle. His twists were redone and looked brand new, the ends tied off with rubber bands and his hairline freshly cut, they hung down his shoulders and brushed the black fabric of his tux. 

“He won’t cry just yet,” you offered, wrapping your lace-covered arm around his tux-covered one as you felt the moment you would have to make your entrance drawing closer. “Fifty bucks says he will tear up.”

Rory shook softly with laughter, patting the top of your arm linked with his. “Deal.” Familiar eyes took you in, the same eyes you had watched and laughed at and cried with for as long as you could remember. The same ones that took you to your first ceramics class and taught you how to love the world. “You look beautiful.”

You elbowed him in a well-known reply, feeling your cheeks heating quickly as your nerves began to unravel at the ends. 

You had put a lot of work into your dress, which swung down to the ground in rich thin white layers. It was adorned with 3D lace and embroidered faintly with white flowers and sheer fabric that hugged your curves, extending throughout the train that trailed behind you. The sweetheart neckline and off-shoulder sleeves were perfect touches to showcase your creamy brown skin. Your jewelry was simple; a diamond necklace that Kento had gifted you last year, and small diamond studs in your ears. Your loose curls hung down your back in dark tendrils, adorned with small cherry blossoms from the past Sakura season and partially covered with a sheer mantilla veil that fell to the floor along with your train. 

You felt beautiful.

This was like any other day: waking up and going to sleep next to him, spending every moment with him. Nothing had changed. But to showcase your love so publicly…that was what made you nervous. You and Kento treasured your vulnerability with each other and cherished the privacy of it. Even though your friends and family were well-versed in your relationship, it was still a part of you that was sacred. 

So when the warm October air brushed your skin as you walked down the aisle with Rory, your heart raced too fast for you to control. Your blood pulsed through your veins, hot and burning from the inside out. Chiyo and Santo’s smiles helped quell the anxiety just a little, and seeing your father’s side of the family made the next breath you took a little easier to fill into your lungs. Ulani’s presence certainly helped as well; for once, she sat in Gojo’s arms without squirming, hugging his neck tightly, and beaming a toothy smile at you.

“What will you do if I leave you at the altar because I’m nervous?” you asked playfully, rolling to straddle his lap. Kento’s large, warm hands slid up the naked skin of your thighs, squeezing in soft reassurance before pulling your attention to him.

“You won’t. Just keep your eyes on me. It’s just like any other day when the rest of the world hardly matters and it’s just you, me, and Ulani.”

“And what if I still decide to leave? What if I don’t want to get married in front of everyone?”

A small huff of laughter escaped his nose, his bare chest shaking from the effort. “Then I’ll follow you and we’ll get married wherever you want.”

“Me and you?”

“Me and you, my love.”

The memory seemed to fill your lungs with an unexpected strength, and as you exhaled deeply, your gaze moved from your daughter to Kento, who was just a few steps away from her. 

And god was he a sight to behold.

He wore the nicest black tux you had ever seen, with a white undershirt adorned with crisp black buttons and an even nicer black tie. His cufflinks, inherited from his father, flickered from the low sunlight and black pants hugged him perfectly. Even though his eyes were without his typical glasses, his blonde locks were parted and gelled in their signature style, free from his forehead to display every single emotion on his face. So unbelievably handsome and soon, he would be yours completely in every sense. 

You had to suppress every possible joke in your head when Rory finally handed you off and your hands brushed against Kento’s warmth. The sensation instantly calmed you, grounded you to the floor as you felt your nerves finally begin to cool down and settle.  

“Hey you,” you playfully teased, biting your bottom lip as you watched Kento’s beautiful burnt umber eyes well up with tears.

“I…” he tried to speak, but stopped abruptly, swallowing what seemed to be the hardest lump in his throat. Full lips parted, desperately trying to say something, anything, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, blinking rapidly to get himself under control. “Truly beautiful.”

You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, hoping that the touch would be enough to convey that you were there in front of him.

“I’m riding on fifty dollars if you can hold it together, so no crying.”

Dark blonde eyebrows furrowed intensely as if in disbelief, but then a sharp laugh bubbled from his throat, his tight grip on your hands pulling you closer to him.

Jin stood between you both as he officiated and Gojo’s hands shook only mildly when he handed the rings to you and Kento. You both decided not to have vows. You knew that Kento could only be so vulnerable in front of others, and you hated to talk in front of crowds anyway. So it was the perfect choice for you both. 

Yuji spent the entire time in tears, and you weren’t sure if it was because he was happy for you and his sensei or because he had missed a chance with you. Your mother smiled the most you had ever seen from her, and you found that the sight wasn’t unwelcome this time. 

When the rings slid back onto your fingers, the cool metal against your skin felt like an electric current, bringing you back to life, back to the present, back to the moment of Kento’s beautiful eyes on your linked hands before they slid behind your neck to pull you close for a kiss that sealed your union with each other. 

You should have been more insistent on encouraging him to dance more. It was truly a pity, given his obvious talent. He murmured about Gojo’s inability to tear his gaze from Ome as he effortlessly lead you across the polished floor set up in the garden. Despite his skill, he declined to entertain anything more out of character. Instead, he tenderly drew his mother into his embrace, guiding her fluidly across the dance floor, offering her a gentle smile as she conversed with him amongst the music.

Everyone wanted to dance with you, and for almost an hour, you rotated from Rory to your newly acquainted uncles and cousins on your father’s side, to Yuji and the rest of your friends. You were deliriously happy as they spun you around the dance floor, hair loose and cherry blossoms fluttering from the strands with every movement of air around you. 

“What’s the verdict?” you asked Kento later after you both had cut the cake. There was still a smear of the dessert on your cheek from when he playfully smeared it on your face earlier. To you, it tasted delicious; an elderflower-soaked lemon cake with blackberry jam and vanilla buttercream icing. It was your second piece in less than fifteen minutes.

Kento hummed softly, taking another bite and pursing his lips. He was the perfect picture of relaxed. His tie was undone, and two black buttons had been unfastened. His blonde hair was free from its gelled hold and fell in heavy strands over his forehead. There was a rosy tint to his cheeks from the glass of expensive Hibiki whiskey on the table in front of him, and a smile lingered at the corners of his lips that had been there since he said, ‘I do’.

“It seems I’ll have to steal the recipe,” he said with a coy grin, not overly expressing his appreciation for something he had grumbled about for months. “The rest of the food is delicious. I did well.” 

You were in the middle of rolling your eyes when you heard Gojo from across the dance floor.

“I swear, they can speak for my character.” You watched him guide Ome’s mother toward you and Kento’s table. 

Ome’s mother radiated beauty just like her daughter. She stood with a petite stature, and her curves accentuated the elegant fit of her Iro and Buba. The attire’s rich lavender lace cascaded to the floor, highlighting the warm undertones of her deep chocolate skin under the ambient light from the reception’s outdoor lamps dancing in the evening October breeze. Her Gele was a testament to the expert craftsmanship of her Nigerian culture; while it seemed artificial, you knew the painstaking process of hand pressing every layer to make the headpiece commonly worn for Nigerian formal events.

Adorned in a sharp Amani suit and signature circular sunglasses, Gojo exuded an air of affluence. His unique snow-white hair, naturally tinted a soft shade of purple at the roots, framed his striking eyes as they pierced the darkness behind his shades. Eyes always followed him when he walked into a room and his confidence never wavered for as long as you knew him. But you could see the unease in his features when he paused before you and Kento. 

When her eyes met you both, Ome’s mother momentarily overlooked Gojo and greeted each of you with a kiss on the cheek, giving a notably lingered one on Kento’s. Despite only meeting him twice in person, her fondness for him was evident and her husband was too oblivious to notice. Kento would never admit it, but you knew he liked her attention. She fed him and sent him recipes any chance she could get.

“Kento, my darling your friend tells me that his character is good enough for my daughter. I know you will not lie to me.” She knew not to ask you, you were too kind and like her daughter, she needed the truth no matter how awful it would be.

Gojo’s face bloomed a vivid shade of red, the most intense you had ever witnessed, as he nervously watched Kento take a long swig of his Hibiki and gently caressed the fabric upon your thigh before letting out a long sigh. 

“He’s loud,” Gojo sputtered, a tight and foreign sound from unnaturally glossy lips, snow-white eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he opened his mouth ready to defend himself. You couldn’t help the snort into your wine glass. “He’s annoying and petulant like a child.”

“Nanamin!”

“But he’s a good man,” Kento finished, rolling his eyes at Gojo’s complaining voice. “Out of all the women Gojo has been with, Omelia is the only one who has made him grow up and show her how much of a man he can be. As loathed as I am to say it, he’s worth it.”

Ome’s mother beamed down at Kento, pressing yet another kiss to his cheek before turning her scrutiny to Gojo. He jumped, shoulders stiff and back ramrod straight as she circled him slowly like a vulture would to dying prey. You had never seen him so fearful—well to this degree—any other type of fear was usually because Ome was in his presence.

“You’re tall,” Ome’s mother began, speaking as if logging the details for future study. Her accent was beautiful, heavy but delicate in the way she spoke, giving her a poised air and a level of fear, for whoever crossed her path. “A pretty face but you’re nothing but skin and bones, you need to eat more.”

“Yes ma’am!” Gojo conceded, hands at his sides like a soldier recalling orders for battle, his face flaming.

The chuckles emanating from Kento’s body slowly grew louder, much to your own amusement.

Ome’s mother narrowed her eyes, inspecting his expensive dress shoes, the fit of his pants, the hygiene of his hands and nails. “My Omelia is not a lazy woman and she won’t tolerate disrespect. And while she makes her own living, I want her to be taken care of. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered.

She stopped, unimpressed, and sharpened her gaze. You’ve been on the end of that look before and you couldn’t help the shudder that traveled up your spine. “Yes what?”

“Yes ma’am!” You watched the Adam’s apple in Gojo’s skinny neck bob as he tried to swallow. 

Kento laughed harder, taking another swig of his whiskey and truly enjoying the display. 

“Mama, leave him alone,” you eventually chided, though you couldn’t suppress your own laughter. She relented with a roll of her eyes, granting Gojo a final, evaluating glance before clicking her teeth.

“How about you get me a drink then?”

It was more of a command than a suggestion, and thankfully Gojo had been around Ome long enough to decipher the true meaning behind words when spoken from her to catch on. He offered his arm to her, and gave a nervous smile before she conceded and let him pull her away.

Gojo threw a seething glare back at Kento and your husband tilted his head back and guffawed. You felt like you were in the Twilight Zone, to see him so carefree, so blissfully happy and laughing amongst his family and friends.

When you glanced over at Kento, his wide smile and high cheekbones emphasized his beauty, and as he stroked your thigh, his gaze met yours before he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“How much longer?” You could practically taste the impatience in his voice as it wafted down to ghost over your face, and when he nipped your bottom lip, it told you all you needed to know about his current state of self-restraint. 

You had changed from your wedding gown hours ago and you didn’t miss the way his eyes took in every inch of your halter top long lace dress that split up one side for him to slide his hand against your shea butter-scented brown skin. Despite it being October, it was incredibly warm, but the hairs on the back of your neck stood up straight when you watched his gaze darken just a little more than what was decent for the public eye.

“I’m sure not long now,” you offered in reassurance, though your self-control wavered when he traced his lips along your ear. The locks of your curls kissed the skin of your temple, fluttering in the light current from his breath. 

What needed to take place during a reception again? You cut the cake, speeches were said, dances were made, and food was served. It was just merriment at this point until it was time to send off the couple. And you needed it to get here and fast. 

“I like this dress,” he whispered, the timbre of his voice caressing the fabric of your dress before sliding up your legs to the pulsing heat between your legs.

Composing yourself, you took a sip of wine, focusing on the sweet taste sliding down your throat and trying your best to maintain an air of decorum despite the temptation whispering in your ears. No one was paying attention; it was all fleeting glances at the happy couple as they all danced and drank and ate with each other. But you knew if you gave Kento an avenue to get in your panties, he might not be a gentleman.

“I’m sure the reward will be worth it later tonight.” Your words lingered in the air, laden with innuendo, thick with lust and expectation. The tension was palpable and Kento sucked a hiss through clenched teeth before downing the rest of his Hibiki in one fluid motion, his leg beginning to bounce in place.

The details of the farewell celebration were a blur—you recalled sparklers and choruses of ‘good luck’ and ‘goodbye’, but those memories quickly faded as you and Kento settled into the backseat of the large SUV that would take you to your hotel in downtown Tokyo. 

Before you could reach for the seatbelt, he was on you. He pulled you into his lap and both of your legs were straddling his waist before you gasped at the feel of hot hands sliding up the skin of your thighs, digging and insistent as if you would disappear if he blinked. 

“Ken,” you whispered, a feeble attempt at a warning, even as his lips found your neck and your eyes rolled with the weakening of your resolve. “K-ken the driver!”

“Hopefully he has earplugs.” 

Dismissive of concern and to the point, his words sent a shiver down your spine, an involuntary clench of your cunt when his teeth grazed the delicate skin of your collarbone. Each caress of his tongue fought to unleash the moan trapped in your throat, rattling and begging to be let free. 

“He can turn on the radio, open the windows, sing as loud as he wants. I don’t care. I need you, now.”

His tongue traced the seam of your halter top dress, pressing firmly against the soft swell of your breasts. He normally had some level of restraint when it concerned his libido around others, but it must be the high of the wedding, the delicious thought of having a wife that had him hard and throbbing against the thin fabric of your panties. His grip tightened on the meat on your hips, and he rolled you hard and long against him in a way that made a honeyed gasp slide from his lips.

But you had to stop him because the minute he slid inside of you, you would be a wanton and moaning mess and the driver might need to quit out of sheer embarrassment. 

The penthouse suite was only a short stop of reprieve before your flight tomorrow afternoon. Your bags were already sitting against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and the floor was decorated in an array of red flower petals that you and Kento both glared at before meeting each other’s eyes and laughing.

“So ridiculous,” he chuckled, kicking his expensive shoes against a petal and watching it slide across the hardwood floor. He approached you with gentler steps, a little more timid now, and took your hands in his. 

“Champagne?” he offered, voice low and tempting and you nodded in response against the way your belly simmered with awakening desire.

Ome did a good job on the lingerie. The orange hue was a compliment to your brown skin—a color that Kento had previously voiced loving on you—and it accentuated your curves, curves that Kento never tired of admiring and you knew would be worshipped without pause tonight.

You were more comfortable in your skin now, the faint stretch marks and roll or two were cherished tokens of motherhood and love, embodying a journey that was far deeper than aesthetic perfection. 

You would definitely have to thank Ome. Because the way he stopped speaking into the receiver of the phone when you emerged from the bathroom made you hold in a snort. He had seen you in lingerie before, but from the look on his face, you cataloged the designer in your head to buy more of their outfits later. His eyes widened fractionally, grip on the phone slackening as he took you in, unabashed in his admiration as he spoke calmly into the phone. 

“Make that two bottles of champagne actually. Just leave them at the door, no need to knock.”

You giggled as you watched him hang up the phone and slip off his shoes, eyes not once leaving the slow outline of your form before he made his way to you. 

“Is this my reward?” His fingers lightly traced the lace adorning your breasts, his touch igniting a flame in your belly that you were all too familiar with. “It’s exquisite but I’m afraid it won’t last long on you.”

“A shame,” you purred, guiding him to recline on the expansive bed with a playful nudge. He shot you a devilish smirk, and the sight made you lightheaded. His carefree demeanor was palpable, a side of him so unguarded and joyous. You wouldn’t be sleeping at all tonight.

“Try to make it last, it was expensive.”

He hummed noncommittally in response as you climb on top of him, his cock flagging instantly from the feel of you hot against him. Even through the thick fabric of his tailored pants, he throbbed hot and heavy, ready for you in almost an instant. 

A harsh slap to your ass made you jump, eliciting a whimper from your throat, your body instinctively grinding against his clothed cock in a Pavlovian response.

“I’ll buy you more,” he promised, deep brown eyes now paper-thin rings as he snapped a strap of your lingerie against your thigh, marveling at the way you twitched, his lust permeating the room. 

The champagne bottles remained forgotten at the door, warming in the night and untouched for the rest of the night.

***

It was always a far away dream.

Kuantan, Malaysia was just an island that he had always yearned to visit when he was younger. Of all the places, it was there that he saw himself the most serene and at peace. He would retire at the age of thirty-five with more than enough in his bank account to sustain him, his children, and his children’s children, bring a wife—perhaps accompanied by a child or two—to the sandy shores, and immerse himself in good food and an endless array of books he had yet to finish.

He had planned for a nice honeymoon in Okinawa with you, imagining a blissful week of sunbathing, indulging in exquisite cuisine, and having as much sex with you as both your bodies could muster.

But like the enigma you were, you had booked everything in a farce and the plane you both boarded was bound for Kuantan. Even when he tried to pry more information from you, you deftly diverted his attention, presenting him with an itinerary adorned with your infectious enthusiasm, charming away any resistance that he had.

It was always a far away dream.

But it was a reality now with you—his wife—sleeping in his arms, your legs entwined with his upon the silken sheets of a spacious king bed in a bungalow that was your abode for the next few days.

He left the windows open again, inviting the soothing symphony of waves, the distinctive aroma of salt and sand, and the hypnotic sight of the ocean’s smooth horizon. It all welcomed his senses as he pulled you closer to him. White sheer curtains billowed in the beachy breeze, and with each tuft of wind that filtered into the bungalow you both shared, it brought a level of peace that he hadn’t anticipated arriving so soon in his life. 

Your body wash was different this time—lavender, not your usual lilac—but still a compliment to your shea butter-kissed skin. Your cheek rested on his bicep, a hint of drool on his skin that he would refuse to let you in on unless he was feeling particularly teasing. Your bonnet was askew on your head, the hint of curls poking from the side by your ear. There was a fading bruise on your neck, faint and purpling from his teeth a few nights ago. You would probably glare at him for having to put concealer on it as you hated the way it stuck to your skin in the heat. 

He didn’t mind being scolded for it. Not by you, anyway.

Put a ring on Nanami Kento’s finger and whisk him away to Kuantan, Malaysia, and watch as all semblance of decorum evaporates.

“Stop staring at me,” you mumbled, half-awake yet aware of his gaze as you opened the eye not pressed to his bicep to glare impishly up at him. 

The sound of your voice made his heart jump, it always did, but recently he had felt loose and raw and open, a perfect view for you to touch the beating organ in his chest with your delicate hands. 

“You were in a deep sleep seconds ago, how did you know I was staring?” he inquired.

“Intuition—you love me too much to leave me alone even in sleep.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

As you languidly rolled onto your back, he hovered above, studying your features. The subtle impression of sleep creased your cheek, the corner of your lip was wet with drool, and your eyes squinted slightly, adjusting to the morning light. A normal sight of a sleeping woman, but to him it was the most beautiful canvas he had ever seen. Raw and unfiltered, a picture he had seen so many mornings and nights before, but still felt as if it was the very first time. Even seconds after waking up, you were the epitome of beauty.

His wife. 

You pulled off your bonnet, and the braids he had confidently mastered rested on the silk pillowcase beneath your head as you relaxed back into the sheets. Your fingertips lightly grazed his cheekbone, beckoning his attention.

“What would you like to do today?” You asked and watched with a lifted brow as he hummed and leaned to press his lips to the exposed slope of your shoulder. “Or is the agenda just us being in the bed?” 

A nip to the soft skin of your neck made you gasp, and his tongue smoothed over it to soothe the slight sting.

“Breakfast first,” he mused, a lighthearted tilt to his tone as his lips trailed hot down the column of your neck. 

Your t-shirt was pushed up in less than a second, exposing every inch of naked skin that he dutifully pressed his lips to. The saltiness of your skin was faint and when he circled a nipple and brought it to his mouth, there was a hint of strawberries that he had eaten off your body the night before. 

The gasp that left your lips was heavenly, short and clipped, always asking him for more as he licked and bit the pertness of your peaks before sliding his affection down your torso.

“Then…then let’s go eat,” you offered, even though it fell on deaf ears. You knew this. And part of you was teasing him, trying to keep up with the façade more than anything as your eyes watched him kiss a worshipping line down the planes of your stomach.

He cataloged the way your throat bobbed and the sound of a gasp catching in your throat when he finally dipped a dripping tongue over the hood of your clit. Your legs parted for him instantly, beckoning him to settle in between as you bunched your hands into the silk pillow beneath your head. 

“T-there’s a nice restaurant up the beach that you might like.” 

He laughed at your attempt to distract, low and dark in a way that made your cunt quiver in anticipation. He smiled against your already dripping cunt and slid his tongue deep within you to pull a tight moan from your lips that made him chuckle again. 

The meat of your thighs was covered by the softest skin he had ever felt, moisturized religiously and free of scars, and he dug his fingertips deep until it pillowed between his fingers and opened you more for him. 

He pulled away to press a hot kiss to your clit and reveled in the way you jumped, your stomach and chest heaving with increased breaths.

“Different kind of breakfast, my love. I thought you would have caught on.”

He was back on you before you could say anything smart, and he watched gleefully as you sunk into the silky sheets and twisted the fabric in your hands. He had memorized every inch of you, created his very own manual for how to take you apart, and used that guide dutifully with the way he licked your clit in light and solid strokes that made you wetter in the warmth of his mouth, sucking the glistening bud between his lips when he was feeling more glutinous. 

“Kento, please.”

Your call for him was a sweet melody to his ears, and he complied with your desires using two, then three fingers inside of you, pumping fluidly. He was delirious with you, foggy-headed as he reveled in the sound of your escalating cries and pleas, your body arching and yearning for more as his skilled fingers brushed that spongy spot on the roof of your walls. 

It gave him the reaction he desperately loved to see, a sharp hiccup from your lungs and a loud moan into the air before you clamped down on his fingers and gushed over the digits. Captivating, and he dipped down to taste your essence around his fingers that pumped languidly between your legs.

He could hardly calm down from his own excitement because not even a minute later you were asking for more, tugging his boxers down with your feet in practiced impatience. Soon he was naked and hovering over you, tilting full lips against yours that were still wet with your slick.

“Don’t deny your wife,” you whispered into the small space between both your lips and his as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer with a strength that always surprised him when you were horny. The tip of him leaked precum, parting your folds in a mischievous ask that made you whine when he refused to indulge you. 

“How many will you give me?” he questioned, his voice lower and seductive, as he slowly entered you, relishing in the sensation of your warmth enveloping him. The column of your neck was bare for him when you arched your back at the feeling of him inside you, delicious brown skin free of blemish but already sprinkled with a light sheen of sweat. “Hmm?”

“I don’t—” you swallowed hard against a dry throat, your fingers digging hard into the skin of his back as he started a steady pace. “I don’t know. You already made me cum once I can’t—one more.”

“One more?” he punctuated his teasing question with a rolling thrust that made your cunt squeeze him like a vice. He clenched his teeth through it and savored the burning pleasure at the base of his spine with every thrust of himself into your welcoming heat. You were wanton, uninhibited, and lost in the moment with him, digging your manicured nails into his skin and moaning harshly into the air without any care of locals outside the window who might be listening. 

He caught a flash of your ring, the diamond that he made sure was cut meticulously before a cent was handed over, and his stomach quivered as you slid your hand between your bodies to brush against your clit. But he stopped you, catching your wrist and his thrusts came to a stop, the action making you whine in frustration.

“If I only get one orgasm from you, then I’m going to make it last,” he murmured against your lips, a soft smile twitching on the edges at the sight of your pout. A gentle crease between elegant brows and subtle pursing of your lips made his heart give a warming leap in his chest. 

 “You know since you’ve gotten married, you’ve become awfully stingy,” you grumbled up at him.

A carefree chuckle vibrated from his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again, stealing the sweet flavor of strawberries from your lips. 

“I suppose I have,” he admitted playfully. “How can I make it up to you?” With a deliberate roll of his hips, the skin of his abs brushing against your clit, you dug your nails harder into his skin. “Tell me?”

He would do anything for you—set the world ablaze, give up everything, get down on his knees and ask for your hand over and over again if it meant you would smile at him for a second longer. He knew that you would never make him stoop to such levels, would never ask him something that would hurt him. But the hold you had on his mind, on his body, on his heart was so tight and gripping that if you ever let go he was sure he would fall apart. And only you knew how to seamlessly put him back together. 

“Fuck me,” you finally demanded of him, voice thick with desire and trembling with a barely suppressed whimper. And because he could never deny you, he gave to you fully. 

He worshipped every inch of the skin of your neck, drank the sweat on your collarbone, and let his tongue press against your skin to vibrate with each moan that passed from your lips. Every stroke that he gave made your eyes clench tightly from a source of pleasure that started from a simmer and roiled into a boil that seemed to radiate from your skin.

One of your braids had come loose, your curls sprawling across the silk pillowcase as the force of his thrusts get harder and faster. Traces of sleep still etched on your cheek, and your lips parted in a delicate dance with each sound that escaped them. The very mention of his name stirred a fierce primal instinct within him, something he might have felt ashamed of, if it hadn’t fueled a ferocious intensity in his movements, each driving into and fighting against the increased tightness of your cunt around him. 

“Kento,” you managed to voice, delirious with passion, your gaze heavy-lidded.

“Again,” he urged into the air that puffed from your lips. “Say it again.”

“Kento.”

He rewarded you by intensifying his pace, harsh and thorough thrusts that slapped against your clit over and over so you could moan and hiccup in his mouth.

You were wrong. Marriage hadn’t made him stingy when it came to you. 

He had always been this way. Since the moment you dropped your walls for him to come closer, he had taken every morsel of affection, desiring you solely for himself, distinctly irresistible. You were too unique to be shared with anyone else, he wouldn’t allow it. You were his to hold, his to kiss, his to love until the last breath left his lungs many, many years from now. And he hoped that if there was some form of an afterlife for him, he would find his way to you and take love from you some more.

So until that day came, he would be stingy every chance that he could get.

Your legs wrapped tighter around waist and pulled him further inside of you, and the feel of you impossibly hotter around him made the corners of his vision go white. Without a sleeping daughter down the hall, you and Kento had been going at it whenever you could and on whatever surface that was durable. He went to sleep every night spent and satiated. 

But now he was paying for it. Because the way you started to flutter around his cock made his balls draw tight and his stomach clench in a sweltering pleasure that rose to the surface of his ocean of control unexpectantly. There was an ache in his thighs, a burn in his lower belly, a trickle of sweat that he could feel slide down the crevice of his spine and he was dangerously close to losing it all.

“Say it again,” he commanded again, voice tight with restraint.

“Kento. Kento. Kento, please—I can’t.” You were taut, your voice thin with each breath and your fingers were daggers in the skin of his back. He hissed against the pain, took it for his own and harnessed it into a fuel of pleasure that made his fingers dig into the silk on each side of your head.

“Tell me what you want,” his voice saccharine against your lips, tender against the backdrop of fervent need.

“I wanna cum,” you confessed, practically pleading with the look in your eyes. “Please—” your words choked off when he reached between you both to brush his thumb against your throbbing clit. The conviction in your eyes was steely, hardened, and overwhelming as he stroked your bundle of nerves with a precision that pulled a melody of ecstasy from your lips. 

It was a means to a blissful end, and he savored every step that led to that breathtaking finish. Your furrowed eyebrows, halted breaths, quivering stomach and thighs, deepening grip on his back, and the exquisite tightening of your core all fought with the ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’ that escaped your lips before that cord in you snapped with a deep thrust of his cock. 

The scene unfolded like a masterpiece before him, a sight so mesmerizing that it became his source for the hot pleasure at the base of his spine that finally exploded an ecstatic sensation through his body, pooling along the contours of his pelvis as he spilled inside of you. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, arms tight and a groan sliding out of his lips as he rode his high and gingerly laid on top of you.

Your fingers weaved through his hair, both of you catching your breath as you gazed out the open window, admiring the rising sun and the rhythmic dance of the waves. In the distance, the call of an elusive bird echoed, one you had been eager to spot since arriving. Today might be the day you finally laid eyes on it. 

A flutter of sensation washed over you as his lips pressed a soft kiss to the skin of your stomach. Then, propped on an elbow, he rested his chin in his palm, watching you with a newfound attentiveness. You met his gaze, taking in the mahogany depths of his eyes as they settled back from the intensity of moments ago. You took in the hair along his hairline that was dark with sweat. That tired disposition he always held was no longer there, the faint lines beneath his eyes gone. It occurred to you in that moment that it had been an eternity since he looked tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the joy that both you and Ulani had brought into his life had fulfilled a long-sought purpose. You hoped so.

“Does it bother you that we chose not to do vows?” he asked unexpectantly.

Shaking your head, you replied,  “Both of us have always been a little shy when expressing our love around others anyway. And I know that you will only show your vulnerability to so few, so it seemed like a great compromise for both of us. Besides, I don’t need to hear out loud what you will do for me. I know what you will do for me. You do it every day.”

He responded with a noncommittal hum, fingers twirling a lock of your hair. His contemplative silence allowed you to savor his relaxed yet serious demeanor. He was a stoic man, but he was your stoic man who smiled only at you, teased and played freely when you were near, showed his teeth when something was particularly funny, and snored every single night.

“I’m glad you came to the summit that week,” he finally spoke, and even though his eyes were still on the way his fingers twirled your curls, you kept your gaze on his. “I’m glad that it was you who took my angry words and gave them right back to me. I’m glad it was you who challenged me and made me realize that the mundanity of everyday living isn’t something that has to be adhered to…that I could chase a dream even though it terrified me.”

He threw you a lift of a dark blonde brow, enticing in his own way even though you could see traces of anxiety along the features on his face.

“I’m glad that even though we both were so annoyed with each other, we still shared that night together. I’m glad that I was smart enough to fight for you even though I had hurt you so much. I’m glad that you were forgiving enough to let me in. I’m glad that you allowed me to see a side of you that others haven’t. You’ve shown me how wonderful of a woman you are, and I could never fathom being with anyone else.” 

A finger caressed the skin of your bottom lip, outlining the plumpness of your flesh. 

“You’ve given me a beautiful daughter, a strength with a level of grief that I could not have handled alone, a first step with decisions in my life that I can never seem to make without you. You make me so happy. When you tease me, the way you grab your stomach when something is really funny or the fact that you will not use any hot sauce unless it’s Red Hot.” You didn’t expect to chuckle, and the sound caught you by surprise and made him smile softly before he continued. “…The way you love your family and your friends, the dedication you put into your work as a ceramic artist… it’s overwhelming how happy I am to be in your life.” 

The hand in your hair grabbed your fingers of one hand and brought them up to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the skin of your knuckles, tender and slightly chapped. Your throat was tight since he first started speaking and the stinging behind your eyes refused to go away with every blink you made. You hated how good he was at this. It made no sense to be this loving.

“You are everything to me, even when we fight and I’ve been banished to the couch, or on the days where we just can’t seem to get anything right. And I promise to love you until the very end of my days. I’ll find you in this lifetime and the next. I’ll never part from you. You have my heart, my body, my mind, and my soul. All that I am, now and forever, will always be yours.”

You didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that fell from the sides of your eyes and down your cheeks. They would just keep falling anyway. You were used to hearing such beautiful words from him, but it was his informal vow that overwhelmed you—a pledge of love that you realized was more profound than any formal promise in front of his friends and family.

And that made you cry a little harder.

His eyebrows furrowed in concern before he wiped the tears from your cheeks. “My love, what’s wrong? What did I say?”

You hiccupped, not bothering to be ashamed anymore now that you were sobbing uncontrollably. 

“We weren’t going to do vows so I didn’t even—yours sound great! Like something stitched on a pillow and I’m sure you spent weeks drafting it, damn you! I—the only thing I have to offer is an ‘I love you’. I feel stupid. Be a deadbeat for once! Stop being so fucking perfect all the time. I can’t take it.”

You could feel him stiffen above you and it gave you time to control yourself and wipe at your leaking eyes before the bed began to shake. The feeling was odd, until you realized where it was coming from. 

Kento hovered above you, laughing with a deep smile on his face. His teeth were white and straight, and you noticed one of his canines had a small chip on the side. His blonde hair cascaded over his forehead like strands of autumn wheat, and the melody of his laughter tickled your ears, an angelic sound so seldom heard—a cherished rarity, likely witnessed only by his mother when he was young. But here you were, privy to this intimate display, eliciting it from him effortlessly.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage as his lips, still trembling with laughter, grazed your nose.

“My love,” he whispered, a hint of earnest longing in his voice. “an ‘I love you’ is the only thing I will ever want to hear. As long as you allow me to love you, I will be a happy man.”

You could deal with that and although you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his infectious grin, you encircled his neck with your arms. “So…how many times a day do you expect an ‘I love you’?”

His reply came in the form of a kiss, and with it, you sensed a newfound fervor within him with the way he stiffened inside of you. 

“Once in the morning and before bed. On the days you wear your hair down. When I make the brownies you love so much. Wh—”

“That’s an awful lot and I have things to do,” you interrupted, feigning exasperation. “You don’t think that’s a little too much?”

Laughter broke free from him once more, rippling against your lips as his hands tenderly glided down your body, wrapping your legs around his waist again and drawing you closer. Faint embers of pleasure licked back to life with each press of his lips against yours and before he could ask for entrance into your mouth, he pulled away to look down at you with a knowing expression.

“You shouldn’t say things that do not make sense.”

You were caught off guard by the familiarity of his words, which sent your heart racing, pounding against your sternum as you took him in. 

The morning sun casted its golden rays upon the bed, illuminating the skin of Kento’s shoulders and torso. The serene rhythm of the waves, crashing against the rocks bordering your bungalow on the sandy beaches of Kuantan, filled the air. The burnt umber of Kento’s eyes were heavy as they studied you, observant and absorbing, calculating without meaning to. 

Vaguely you thought of Ulani and how she shared the same gaze as her father. Observing of the world around her with a bright smile like yours and curls that bounced on her shoulders when she laughed.

The gentle reminder of the very soul that brought you and Kento together made your eyes mist with tears once more before you finally opened your mouth to speak.

“Am I allowed my first one of the day?” You asked, your voice trembling with emotion, unable to mask the sentiment that swelled within you. “I love you.”

It was true every time it left your lips, and just as strong as the time before. And this time it made you pull in a deep breath so you could ground yourself without bursting into tears. The feel of his skin against yours was almost too much, you were overstimulated by the faint smell of his travel-size eucalyptus shampoo in his hair, the hint of woodsy cologne on the side of his neck, and the sight of him smiling softly down at you. You couldn’t take it.

But you need more. You would always need more until there was nothing left.

“Once more, with feeling this time,” he teased.

You gaped up at him, completely surprised by his teasing demeanor before you giggled without control and smacked his chest. “Stop teasing! I meant that.”

“I’m not convinced,” his voice danced with a sing-songy edge and you were fumbling to stay in control of the situation with just how happy and playful he was.

 “I love you,” you tried again.

“Too flat.”

“I love you,” again even though you were giggling into his cheek and biting the skin of his smile.

“Too casual, do be serious, my love.” He smacked the skin of your ass in a manner that drew a blend of shock and laughter from your lips. “Mrs. Nanami, you’ll definitely have to practice more.” The sound of your new last name was a feeling that you had only heard a few times so far, but you couldn’t see yourself getting used to it anytime soon. The smile formed of its own volition, bending the edges of your mouth.  “Whenever you want to say it, I will always listen. But in the meantime, just let me love you. If you’ll allow it.”

Even at your most vulnerable, when you had bared your soul to him, he still humbly offered you the universe, seeking affirmation to make sure it was what you wanted.

“I’ll allow it,” you whispered. 

When he closed the distance between you both to mold his lips to yours for what felt like the millionth time that morning, you pulled him to you so that he could never let go. Maybe when his hips stopped rolling against yours and maybe after another orgasm you both could finally peel yourselves out of bed and leave the bungalow. Kento had a book to catch up on and you wanted to collect some seashells for Ulani.

But for now, it was just you both and the symphony of the waves, the salty air perfuming your sanctuary as he kissed every inch of your skin, soaking your pores with adoration and love that at times was too much for you to breathe through. 

As his lips trailed the curve of your collarbone, sunlight danced on the gleaming surface of your ring tangled in his hair—a tangible symbol of your shared journey, the challenges you both faced and the resounding fact that he still chose you. And when he coaxed your attention back to him with a bite on your bottom lip and another pearly white smile, you realized that it was always going to be you.

It had to be you.

He’d be a fool to settle for anything less.

[ayeforscotland]

I've made pita really susccessfully with a recipe from the blog Love & Lemons, their recipe is super easy to follow even if you've never dabbled in bread-making, can be doubled easily if you're feeding a lot of people, works both on oven and stove top, and turns out tender and delicious. I'll copy it down below, but If you go to the blog they have really helpful pictures detailing the process. Hope this helps!

Ingredients

3/4 cup warm water

1 package (2 1/4 teaspoons), active dry yeast

1 teaspoon plus 1 tablespoon sugar

3 3/4 cups bread flour (469 grams), plus more for dusting

1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for the bowl

3/4 cup whole-milk Greek yogurt, (we use Stonyfield)

Instructions

In a medium bowl, combine the water, yeast, and 1 teaspoon of sugar. Let the mixture sit until it’s foamy on top, about 5 minutes.

In a large mixing bowl or stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, combine the flour, salt, and remaining tablespoon sugar. Add the yeast mixture, oil, and yogurt, and mix to combine. Knead the dough, either in the stand mixer on medium speed or by hand on a clean work surface, adding more flour if needed, until it’s soft and slightly sticky, 7 to 10 minutes. Transfer the dough to an oiled bowl, cover with a towel or plastic wrap, and let rise until it’s doubled in size, about 2 hours.

Preheat the oven to 500°F and line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Turn the dough out onto a clean work surface and divide it into 12 equal balls. Cover and let rise an additional 20 minutes.

Roll the balls out into circles that are 1/4 to 1/2-inch thick. Place them onto the baking sheets an inch apart, then bake, one sheet at a time, until they’re puffy and lightly browned on top. Begin checking at 5 minutes. We bake them for about 8 minutes, rotating the pan after the 5 minute mark if one side of the sheet is puffing up more than the other. Transfer the pitas to a wire rack to cool.

Notes

Note: These freeze really well. Molly recommends pulling them out of the oven just before they’re brown if you plan to store and reheat them. To thaw, pop them in the toaster - they’ll brown up a bit as they toast.

Thanks for taking the time to write all that out, will hopefully have a chance to try it at some point!

[shadowqueenjude]

I wrote a little Rhysta.

@ennawrite @kateprincessofbluewhales

Rhysand woke up with a stinging pain around his neck. He lifted his hand towards the source of the pain, then found something that felt distinctly like a knife digging deeper.

His eyes flew open, and for a wild moment, he thought it was Feyre standing before him. But no. The face that surveyed him had stronger features. Eyes just a little more grey, lips a little more full, brows quite a bit more angular, her gold hair a tumble of waves down either shoulder. A cunning face-calculating. And one that held a knife to his throat.

“Wake up,” she hissed. Rhysand blinked blearily, trying to focus on her. Despite being human, he found her to be prettier than the cursebreaker. He could only imagine how devastating she would be as a faerie.

“What?” Rhysand croaked, not daring to speak too loud else that dagger pierce his skin. How in Prythian had this human girl got a hold of an ash knife? What was with this family?

“I want to know what exactly you’re playing at,” Nesta answered, her simmering glare branding him even in the dark. Rhysand’s heart rate kicked up; was it more or less embarrassing that it wasn’t from fear?

“Nothing. I’m just here to protect Prythian and the human lands from Hybern’s corruption,” Rhysand said mechanically.

Nesta snorted delicately. “Spare me the bullshit. Even if Feyre bought into that molded loaf of bread, I am not so gullible.” She bent closer to him, her tantalizingly soft hair brushing against his cheek. “Or did you use your faerie magic to hoodwink her? For the Feyre I know would not change her loyalties so fast, and last I knew, she was in love with Tamlin.”

Rhysand tried to swallow a couple of times before she gave up. “Tamlin treated her poorly. So she left.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I was mean to her for years and she never wavered in her loyalties. So tell me what you’ve done to her, High Lord.”

Rhysand stared into her silver eyes, the loathing palpable in them at the nearer distance. How should he answer this? The truth? He imagined that wouldn’t go down very well with her. With lies? She didn’t seem the least bit fooled by them.

“Nothing. It was Tamlin who changed her.”

Rhysand didn’t have time to react before Nesta drove the knife into his shoulder. Too much in pain to even scream, all he could manage was a pitiful whimper. God, he had forgotten how much ash stings. He hadn’t encountered such weapons since the war centuries ago.

“You really think you can fool me, Amarantha’s whore?” Nesta demanded.

Rhysand stilled at the nickname. “How did you-?”

“Feyre told me everything that transpired between her arriving in Prythian and when she came back. You were what prompted Tamlin to send her away. A loyal servant of that bitch who tormented Prythian for decades.”

“You don’t understand. It was all an act-“

Nesta twisted the knife in his shoulder, and Rhysand let out another pained moan. Blood was all over his shirt, his skin sticky. “Killing twelve kids isn’t an act, you coward. I already told you I won’t be easily fooled.” Nesta bared her teeth, looking every inch the faerie Feyre could never be despite her super strength and pointed ears. In spite of the blinding pain, Rhysand breathed out a laugh. “Oh, pity you aren’t the Cursebreaker. You’re a lot more fun than the huntress.”

Nesta wrenched the knife out of his shoulder, causing even more pain as she returned the knife to his throat. “And I’m about to be a lot more fun if you don’t tell me what you did to Feyre in the next thirty seconds.”

Gods, she was magnificent. Well, Rhysand could offer a partial truth that would hopefully appease this powerful woman.

“I forced Feyre into a bargain in exchange for healing her under the mountain.”

Oh, the scent of Nesta’s fury was delicious. Rhysand gloried in the smell as he sensed Nesta trembling with rage. “I fucking knew it. You faeries and your bargains. I’m assuming it’s this mark right here?” She dug a sharp nail into his arm, and Rhysand yelped, jerking away, which only caused more blood to ooze from his shoulder wound. “How did you know?”

Nesta shrugged. “I guessed, since Feyre has an identical one on her own arm.”

Cunning, furious, and observant. A crying shame this queen would only live a mortal life. “Get her out of the bargain,” Nesta whispered.

Rhysand chuckled. “Or I could just break into your mind and be done with it.”

“You can try,” Nesta seethed. “But not even a High Lord’s glamour can work on me. Tamlin tried and failed already.”

Rhysand blinked. Nesta…possessed the true Sight? Some mortals were gifted with the ability to resist nearly all kinds of Faerie magic in a way that even most powerful fae have difficulty with. Jurian, of course, was one of them, which was how he’d led the humans to victory all those years ago. Immune to daemati and glamours, this woman could be exceptionally useful.

Rhysand reached for her mind anyway, finding that she was just as immune as she had claimed. The eldest Archeron didn’t mess around, clearly. She possessed walls more fortified than the Cauldron itself. Mother above.

“I warned you,” Nesta snapped. “Break the bargain.”

“And what will I get in exchange?” Rhysand crooned. “Surely you understand I cannot release her without getting something in return.”

“I could just kill you and be done with it,” Nesta mused. Rhysand smirked at her. “True, but think: I am a High Lord, and a major asset in the war against Hybern. Without me, your odds lower significantly.”

“You can be replaced,” Nesta drawled dismissively. “Not me.” Nesta spat on his face. “You faeries are even more arrogant than we were taught to believe.” She smoothed down her nightgown with her free hand. “Take me instead.”

Rhysand blinked. “Really?” That was exactly what he had been hoping for. Nesta would prove to be far more useful than the illiterate one. “On the condition that you will never physically or sexually harm me, nor will you use your magic against me in any way, nor will you allow any of your cronies to do it in your stead.”

Rhysand could not say yes fast enough. “Yes, I promise. It’s a deal.”

Nesta and Rhysand stared at his arm, watching as the tattoo disappeared. They both waited for a new one to appear, and when it didn’t, Nesta began her venom again. “You fucking liar, I will slit your thro-“

She stopped, and Rhysand knew why. He watched as whorls of paint wrapped around Nesta’s forehead like a crown. An identical one must be present on his own.

They surveyed each other for a moment, this new bond that had just formed between them tugging them closer together. At last, Nesta let the knife drop.

“Welcome,” Rhysand murmured, “to the Night Court, Nesta Archeron.”

[death---dealer]

👀 not to sound weird or anything but I could've sworn you had posted earlier today, selfies in specific (noticed a notification about it). Now as I do my daily checks on my favorite accounts to see how they've been or what they're doing, I see nothing on about what the notification told me about yours.

Either way, I hope you've been well and been having happy moments and experiences. Stay absolutely amazing and I hope it only gets better for you, hopefully you hit that sweet spot in pregnancy soon where it's mainly the weight of the belly and weird cravings that are bothersome. Take it easy and light! (If you want to of course!)

Random question if you want to answer, "What has been your weirdest craving you've had?" If you have had any,

Love you and stay safe!

I deleted the post because I looked ugly 🥲 lmao. Let’s have a small life update below:

Here are two pics where I don’t look like I’m dying and my hair is actually on point ( thank pregnancy for giving me luminous volume lolol. )

Thank you so much for your kind words! I miss you guys all so much, it really makes me feel sad to know I’m not back and ready to write again. 😭 I have been playing a lot of piano though ( can post vids if you guys are interested at all ), and I really missed it as it is one of my deepest passions. It’s been a step at a time, a week at a time, but I’m hopeful to get something small written and posted soon for all of you!

I feel like I have no bump yet. 😂 I’m waiting but I’ve also heard women don’t pop with their first until later so I’ve been taking progression pics weekly lol. I can’t tell what’s bloat and what’s not anymore as the first month I was just bloated beyond belief no matter what I ate.

Luckily, I am able to incorporate more carbs and sugars back into my diet as I’ve been managing my diabetes like a pro! ( not to brag ). I’ve been baking a lot of breads for my husband and I and they are delicious. 😊 think I’m gonna go to cookies next week and then cakes.

I’ve had two cravings, if that’s what you want to call them ( other than really wanting to eat a candle last week because it smelled SO GOOD ). Aversions have been bigger on my list, taste wise and oddly texture wise.

One craving has been these crispy fried green beans that Birdeye makes. I just air fry them and go to town. Have been surviving off them tbh.

Second is chips ahoy but ONLY the crunchy ones. I will cry if given chewy. Unfortunately, I still can’t gorge myself on sweets so i have to limit myself to one cookie a DAY. And it’s not made me happy. 😭😂

I also want avocado with some chocolate sauce on it but my husband keeps talking me out of trying. 🥲

Wilbur and Zoe are fantastic as usual, Wilbur is still very clingy and I suspect Zoe knows something is going on with me but that could just be my imagination, haha.

[fivrilio]

Popularity. | Chapter 3 / Iced Coffee Please!

aesabella, do not copy nor translate my work.

Input: I am changing the styles a bit here!! Aventurine is here already!?? whattatat

not proofread. Work beyond the cut.

The clock striked nine in the early morning as a few customers already settled down. Most of them have youth but little to the elderly.

"One espresso with bacon sandwich coming right up!" Xinshi said, letting the people find their place to sit down. Y/N pulled open the oven to check if the bread is okay. Which it was.

"Smells soo good! Do you think the customers will like it?" Mimi says, sniffing the air behind the counter as she poured the beans into the grinder. "They always do Mimi. Besides, aren't you supposed to be cooking the bacon?" Y/N asked, getting her oven gloves and pulled the hot tray out.

"Oh shoot, right." Mimi says, letting the grinder do it's thing. "Grind but not too much." Mimi patted the machine as if it was a person.

The entrance bell rang as a blonde man stepped in. He took off his shades and took a looked around. Seemingly judging the aura of this place.

"Hello welcome to Mopoco Cafe! what would you like?" Xinshi said in a singsong. Stopping the grinder and going towards the counter.

Mimi went ahead and prepared the bacon sandwich while Y/N did the espresso. Changing positions in a professional manner.

"Is there any that you would recommend?" The blonde asked, walking forward while not even sparing a glance at the menu on top. "Well I would recommend our newest type of–" "Excellent! I'll buy it." Xinshi didn't even finish her sentence off but reluctantly agreed. "Cash or card?" She asked, letting the screen in front do the computation. She looked at the man with a more curious taste. Noticing the tattoo on the side of his neck.

"Card." The male said, extending out the almost jet black card. Xinshi was surprised but took it anyways. She expected a decline from the tablet, getting ready to say it's expired or probably stolen until it worked.

"Oh!- uhm- please find a seat. We will serve it to you." Xinshi said as she handed back the card to the allegedly rich man.

The male took back his card and went towards a windows seat.

Xinshi couldn't hold her thoughts and immediately rushed to Y/N who was just finished serving. "Y/N. you. me. in the back. now!" Xinshi said, not giving her colleague a chance to respond before dragging her in the janitor room.

"What is it? did you break something again?" Y/N said jokingly, knowing Xinshi's almost maniacally giggle was not that reason. "We have a rich person in our cafee!!" Xinshi said excitedly. "Who knows? we might get famous and then so so sooo many people will-" "Hold hold! pause! Who? is he famous?" Y/N asked, also getting excited from her story.

"I don't know but he had a black card! black!" Xinshi lowered to a whisper. "Ooo~ I'll tell Mimi to make his food extra delicious!"

"You do that! I'll serve him his food so I can figure out who he is!" Y/N offered, doing a high five with her friend.

"Operation make us popular is on the way!" They both started. Making sure everything will go the right way.

–End of chapter 3.

aesabella, do not copy nor translate my work.

Recommended playing coffee by beabadobee (hopefully I spelt her name right)

[ennoshitas-princess]

The Beautiful Rose

Tobio Kageyama x chubby fem! reader Warnings: Oikawa being forceful to be with you, some swearing, centaur Kageyama, violent scene Synopsis: you are the girl everyone wants to be, and you catch the eye of the king of the court Word Count: 1,612 Hopefully you like it!! This has no spoilers really. Fantasy au (inspo beauty and the beast). Don't read if you don't like violence or triggered with gun shots.

You strolled along the dirt path of the village to go to the market in the little town to get things for your mother and brother.

A shade of a pretty pastel cerulean hovered above everyone's head. The emerald blanket soaked with the morning dew. The light magenta petals of the cherry trees fell like snow in the bleak winter months. The rays warming up the ground below, caused cats and dogs to shut their eyelids tight and take a longer nap.

Basket in hand, you continued to admire your surroundings of the vast beauty of nature.

“Bonjour, monsieur.” You wave to the owner of the stand, filling your nostrils with the sweet aroma of baked goods.

“Bonjour, belle demoiselle.” He replied back.

“What do you have to offer today?” You looked at all the items, making you drool.

You could not help yourself. Just a regular habit you had that continued to occur since you were small. The thought of eating one of these delicious delights, had you wanting to buy the whole stand.

“We have bagels, cookies, baguettes, loafs of bread, and cake.” He pointed them out.

“I will take these and the baguettes.” Your hand hovered over the cookies.

“Ah, your sweet tooth demoiselle, non?”

“Oui, monsieur!”

“À plus tard!” You wave to the baker.

“Salut!”

You walk off to bump into none other than the throb of the town, Touru Oikawa.

With a sigh, you shift to your left to continue with your errands, but stopped by him moving to his right to block. You move the other direction, and he does the same thing.

“Hey umm… Oikawa-”

“Please y/n, you know we are meant to be. Call me by my first name.” He pulled you close to his lean body.

“Look Oikawa, I cannot figure out any other way to express this. I do not like you romantically at all.” You bluntly shove him away.

His blood boiled at the remark, not knowing how much you mean to him. If he got with you, everyone in the village would be jealous about your relationship. Making him look greater and grander, even more than Alexander building one of the biggest empires in history in a short amount of time.

“Look y/n, you know how much-”

Before Oikawa could finish his sentence, you left him rambling to himself. In embarrassment, he stormed off, yelling, “well y/n, we all know you hang out with a monster.”

Oikawa, being himself, just let you be.

○◐❀❀❀❀❀❀◑○

Well, Oikawa wasn't wrong about what he said earlier that day. Everyone viewed him as one, but you saw his flaws as beautiful pieces of artwork in a mural in an art museum.

You go over to the forest to visit your friend, Tobio Kageyama. The hut just beneath all the dead trees, just decaying and bald. Flowers on the sidelines wilted from the lack of sunshine. The straw roof had a massive hole. So whenever it rained, poor Kageyama’s house got soaked.

You knock at the almost deteriorated wooden door. Just with your subtle touch, the door fell on the creaking floor with a thud, spooking the horned centaur.

Dashing towards the door, he saw your plump figure at the entrance.

“Oh, it's just you y/n.” He sighed.

“Yes, it's just me, Tobio. Look, I went to the market and got some things for you to eat. I got cookies, bread, some fresh produce, and guess what I brought?” You give him the basket.

“What did you bring for me?” He reached for it, his hand brushing against your soft tiny one.

Pulling the cold item out, he smiled.

“Y/n, you brought milk!” He shouted with joy.

“Of course I did. When you are happy, I am happy.”

The centaur picked you up and spun you around twice, hugging your soft curves. You were a cute plush for him of course. If someone bad happened to you, he would find a way to save or protect you.

You strolled along the river bed calmly, as the birds sang their song peacefully. The flow of the river brought some type of relief from Oikawa’s six hundredth proposal.

As you walk, you spot a rock to rest on. When you sat down, you heard a lot of rustling in the bushes. Frightened, you got up and started to run away.

“Wait, don't run… I didn't mean to scare you. Of course someone as pretty and kind hearted as you would rush back home.” A male voice sounded disappointed.

You inch towards the male slowly, awaiting to be attacked. When you look at the man closer, you see him hiding behind the shrubs.

“Umm… how dumb of me. I should introduce myself. My name is Kageyama, Kageyama Tobio. What is yours?” He still hid.

“Nice to meet you, mine is l/n y/n.” You tell him as you go where he hid.

“That is a pretty name for a pretty lady like you. I mean, well you are just pretty because you are a human- shit!” He snapped.

“Wait, come out of the bushes. I am curious about what you meant about me being a human. Are you one?” You raise a brow.

Clopping towards where you stood, you soon begin to realize he was not a human. He came out being a centaur. The thought of you running away came across poor Kageyama's mind, but surprised that you stayed in place, examining him closely with shining e/c eyes.

“You seem very fascinating! How did you-”Before you could finish that question, he replied with all honesty.

“I was put under a spell because of how I used to treat others in my village when I was king. I ran away and now, no one is ruling my kingdom.” He rubbed the back of his head.

You stare into his ocean eyes for a long time. Just as you were in a trance, he too was in one. Charmed by your squishy body, not knowing what to say or do, he randomly said, “wanna be friends?!?”

You break eye contact, blushing, “yeah!”

You two walked inside of his cottage to snack on the little treats.

○◐❀❀❀❀❀❀◑○

As you finished your snacks, a rustle in the bushes could be heard by Kageyama. He galloped towards the shrubs.

“Bam, bam, bam!”

You heard the gunshots from inside. Rushing out of your seat, you saw Kageyama on the dirt ground, breathing heavily. You turn your head up slowly from the centaur, only to meet up with brown eyes.

“Oikawa! Why would you shoot him?” You ran towards him and wept.

“I only did it for you, y/n. I bet he had you captured and under some mind game of his, only to keep you from me.” He reached for your arm, only for you to shake it off aggressively.

“I don't like you! As a matter of fact, I hate you!” You scowl at him.“I did it all for-”

“I don't care! I want you to leave me alone. I don't want you near me in any way. I am in love with him and you think I will love you after shooting him?” Your voice boomed throughout the forest.

Oikawa's mouth formed a small circle, opened from the news you gave to him. He couldn't believe that you loved a monster like Kageyama, but not love someone as handsome as he is. Scoffing, he turned his tracks to the road to the village, stomping his way back.

“Y-you love m-m-me?” Kageyama's soft voice spoke.

You look down at him from where you knelt down, just terrified of what could happen to him in the next minute.

“Kageyama, no matter what happens, I will never forget you, alright?” Your soft hand caressed his cheek.

“Pl-please don't tell m-me I am g-going to d-die?” He stumbled with his words.

“No, no. I am not saying that. If you happen to never return to your human form, I will still love you.” A tear rolled of your cheek like dew in the morning.

Kageyama suddenly closed his eyes and his breathing stopped. Waterfalls fell from your eyes as you saw your dear friend go limp in your arms, not holding himself up anymore. You wanted to go off in the village and get revenge with all the bitterness in your mouth, but something in your heart told you not to.

You closed your eyelids and felt some warmth in your hands. Opening them slowly, you saw him glittering proudly like a star in the night sky. You could have sworn that you were dreaming, but you pinch yourself only to realize you were wide awake.

He levitated in the air like a bird flying towards the glowing sun that warmed the ground. His torso turned back. His feet bare instead of hooves. His tail disappeared. Only the figure of Kageyama laid on the ground, fluttering his sapphire eyes open.“L-l/n-san?”

“Kageyama, you are alive and in your human form!” You hugged him tightly.

He glanced at himself up and down to see that you were right. He got up and spun you around like always.

“Yes, I am back to myself. L/n-san I simply adore you too!” He smashed his lips into yours.

Flushing in all the hues that existed, you did not hesitate one single but to kiss him back.

○◐❀❀❀❀❀❀◑○

As soon as your brother and mother moved into the palace, you and Kageyama got married. Weeks later, Oikawa got sentenced for trying to kill the king. Let's just say Oikawa could never look as handsome as he wanted anymore.

A/n: hey guys!! Thank you for reading another of my posts ☺️ hope you are having a good day!!

Hopefully you enjoyed!!

Thank you for coming!!

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

All rights reserved copyright ©

ennoshitas-princess

Please DO NOT repost on any other platform!!

Reblogs are acceptable

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(divider below blue text belongs to @besitodefresas)

[misc-obeyme]

Hi, I hope I’m submitting this correctly…!

Can I please request Simeon for flufftober, with the word hygge? Feminine or gender neutral pronouns are fine :)

Hello there!

I looooved this prompt. I really enjoyed creating the atmosphere of hygge, which is a really great concept that I totally love. Add beautiful Simeon into that and this was really fun to write. Hopefully it turned out okay!

Thanks for submitting a prompt!

FLUFFTOBER 2023

GN!MC x Simeon

Warnings: none it's all fluff

It was a cold and windy autumn day in the Devildom. It had been chilly for some time now as fall began to give way to winter, bringing with it lower temperatures and even more darkness. It was the perfect kind of day to stay inside somewhere warm and pleasant with someone special.

And that was exactly where you were. You were in the kitchen of Purgatory Hall, where you had been baking bread with Simeon. The angel himself added to the atmosphere of coziness, his smile emitting a light all its own. The two of you had the place to yourselves - Luke was with Barbatos at the Demon Lord's Castle, Solomon was at the library at RAD, and nobody knew where Raphael was, but he wasn't at home.

You had been planning this evening with Simeon for a little while, as both of you felt the winter creeping in. You had discussed it at RAD, talking about how nice it would be to spend some time together inside, doing things to bring yourselves some peace in the encroaching darkness.

You had brought the recipes for human world dessert breads and now the kitchen was filled with the scent of a baking pumpkin loaf. You already had a couple of loaves of banana bread cooling on the counter. There was plenty of it for you to bring some back to the House of Lamentation later, too.

When everything was finished baking, you and Simeon made up a tray. It was full of bread slices, two mugs of apple cider, and some cookies Luke had made earlier shaped like autumn leaves. You carried the tray into the living room, where Simeon had started a fire in the fireplace. There were already soft blankets and pillows piled in front of the fire.

Through the windows you could see the sky was grey; a light rain had begun to fall. The living room was filled with warmth and the soft orange glow of the fire. There were a few candles, too, adding a little additional light to the area.

As the two of you settled down in front of the fire, Simeon placed the tray in front of you. There was a stack of books nearby, in case you decided to relax and read in each other's company.

For now, you sampled some of the freshly baked bread.

You took a bite of the pumpkin, finding it exquisitely soft. The flavors of cinnamon and nutmeg filled your mouth and you hummed in appreciation.

"Did it turn out okay?" Simeon asked. "This was the first time I made pumpkin bread."

"It's delicious," you said. You broke some off the piece in your hand and held it out to him. "Try some."

Simeon met your eyes for a moment, then ate the bread from your fingers, his lips brushing momentarily against your skin.

You smiled. "It's good, right?"

Simeon smiled back at you and nodded.

You picked up a mug of cider, sipping it carefully. It was just the right temperature now, not too hot and not yet cold. You held the mug in your hands, letting the warmth of it seep into you.

"I'm glad it turned out so soft," Simeon said.

You let out a content sigh. "This is so nice," you said, your eyes closed as you absorbed that feeling of coziness. "I'm so happy to be here with you like this."

Simeon shifted a little closer to you, his leg now pressed up against yours. "I've never done anything like this before. In the Celestial Realm, the sun is always shining. It doesn't usually get this cold."

You opened your eyes to meet his blue ones. "When it gets cold and dark in the human world, we have to find ways to keep our spirits up. Some of us like to embrace the way winter comes and slows everything down." You put your mug back down on the tray and leaned your body into his, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

Simeon grabbed a blanket and draped it over the both of you. You grasped it with one hand and he held the other side, cocooning you in a softness of fabric. Simeon also wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close and letting his own head rest on top of yours.

For a moment, all you did was watch the fire crackle, the bright orange dancing and flickering.

"Simeon," you said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Being with you like this makes me so happy," you said. "Is this what heaven feels like?"

Simeon chuckled. He pulled away, using the hand holding the blanket to tilt your face so he could look at you. "This is far better than heaven, my love."

You felt your heartbeat increase, your eyes fluttering closed as he kissed you, the soft press of his lips against yours filling your soul with the same comfort that surrounded you.

flufftober | kinktober | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

taglist: @anxious-chick @t0tallycoolname @libidinous-weeb

[captainderyn]

[Fictober24] Day 8: "Are We Happy?"

Prompt: "Are we happy?"

Fandom: LOTRO

Pairings: Wulfwryn/Raenor

Spoilers: None

Warnings: None

Summary: Two years after the War of the Ring, as the Third Age fades into the Fourth, Wulfwryn and Raenor enjoy a private moment during the Midsummer festival as the reality of the war's conclusion finally sets in.

--

Midsummer spilled across Minas Tirith in a sea of brilliantly colored flowers and silken banners flying in the wind. The White City buzzed with activity, from artisans preparing booths of their wares, to florists arranging bouquets and garlands of every type and color. From every storefront and tavern the delicious smells of baking and roasting food filled the air. 

This was the first year the forges weren’t bellowing to make armor and weapons, the first year that the bakers and delis had abundance to set out trays of fresh breads and muffins. 

Two years ago, the War of the Ring, as it was called, ended with the destruction of the One Ring. For the past year, Gondor and many others fought tooth and nail to rebuild from the horrors it had experienced. This new year marked a step into a new Age, one hopefully calmer and slower than the last. 

Wulfwryn and Raenor walked hand in hand through the markets of Minas Tirith, each holding a steaming honey pastry in their free hand. Though the city was still in the process of rebuilding and the gaping wounds were still evident in the white stone of the buildings, many of the scars had been slowly built over. 

“It still feels strange to walk about without armor and a sword on my hip.” Wulfwryn said as they paused at a bench at the far end of the market tier, near a secluded garden that had been planted among the rubble of what used to stand there. 

Raenor hummed in agreement from behind a mouthful of pastry. “This is the longest we’ve been in one place.” 

Their travels had brought them all over Middle Earth, and even once the War officially ended, they’d spent much of the last year seeing each other only in spurts between Raenor’s travels to Rivendell to aid the elves departing for the Grey Havens and Wulfwryn’s frequent skirmishes with bands of orcs still coming from Mordor. 

Raenor had returned to Gondor to winter here, and revealed that he was there to stay. While it was an adjustment to living in one place, in not being in constant danger or flight to the next mission, they were recovering slowly. 

Even the frequency of Wulfwryn’s skirmishes had started to decline, marginally, but still a decline, and her focus had turned more to training the newest set of city guards. 

They ate their pastries in a peaceful silence, basking in the sunlight and smells of the blooming flowers. The noise around them was of celebration and the normalcy of daily life, none of the urgency they’d grown so used to. During their travels, the only time Wulfwryn could recall a feeling like this was in the Shire. 

Wulfwryn ran her thumb along the simple, twined silver band around Raenor’s ring finger, twisting it back and forth idly. 

“Is this what contentment feels like?” she wondered aloud. Raenor raised an eyebrow at her in a silent question and she added, “Are we happy? Have we finally done it?” 

When was enough going to be enough? Had they earned this? They had both fulfilled their ends of this long journey, Wulfwryn had seen her goal of finding her rightful king to fruition. 

Raenor softly smiled, pulling Wulfwryn’s up to press a kiss to the kindred ring on her finger. They’d exchanged their vows together privately several months previous, and had been committed to each other in kind far longer, but drawing attention to the ring still sent a pleased thrill through her. A physical reminder of all the ways things had changed since their journey began. 

“I think we’ve done it, meldanya.” Raenor said. “We’ve very well earned it.” 

[ovaruling]

@non-suspiciousname @junipercastor i’m not a dietician or doctor disclaimer disclaimer if you have preexisting conditions this may not be for you disclaimer disclaimer i cannot account for every human experience disclaimer disclaimer BUT the easiest way to do this is to first learn what “high fiber foods” means.

and before i begin, here’s how much fiber we more or less need via a helpful Harvard health article.

so, to recap: for women—the ones who matter to me—that’s 25g for adult women who are 50 and under. women 50 and over, that’s 21g.

and i included the extra paragraph about Metamucil etc bc that is important to note. a lot of people do think they’re getting quality daily fiber in these powders.

here’s a helpful article abt the differences between soluble and insoluble fiber. both are important in their own ways!

and just so we’re clear on the benefits of upping your fiber intake:

so!

i recommend a quick google to see the fiber content per serving of a variety of foods that i don’t have time condense here. but, like, beans are a really inexpensive way to do this (add some rice to it and you have a complete muscle-lovin’ protein btw! all the essential amino acids are covered when you combine rice and beans 🫶). beans and legumes are incredibly rich in fiber, and they’re budget-friendly, shelf-stable, and easy to make and easy to incorporate into infinite delicious possible dishes.

but your fiber can be gotten from so many different sources! (my data here is approximate from individual checking. pls allow 1-2g of fiber for margin of error in case i mistype!)

for fruits: 1 cup of blackberries OR raspberries has 8g of fiber!!!!! 1 medium apple has around 4-5g of fiber. an average banana or a serving of strawberries have 3g of fiber. an average avocado has 10g of fiber. and so forth

for grains: steel-cut oats have 5g of fiber per 1/4 cup uncooked (oats are generally rich in fiber anyway, but steel cut in particular). a slice of whole grain bread should have around 3g fiber. brown rice contains 3.5g fiber for every cooked cup. one cup of cooked quinoa (which is also a complete protein!) contains 5g of fiber. bran is almost 15g per one cup serving.

if you’ve got access to chia seeds, a 1oz serving provides 10g fiber. here’s a yummy super easy recipe for peanut butter chia pudding!!!

nuts and seeds provide a lot of fiber too. 1oz of walnuts contains nearly 2g fiber! 1oz of almonds contains 3.5g fiber. peanuts contain 2.5g fiber for 1oz. sunflower seeds are 12g per 1 cup serving (though that’s a lot of them to eat—1/4 a cup would be closer to 3g)

and my fave prunes are 12g per one cup serving. again, that’s a lot of them to eat. 1/4 of that would be 3g.

beans/legumes are king for fiber. 1 cup of cooked black beans contains 15g of fiber. 1 cup of navy beans contains around 19g of fiber. 1 cup of kidney beans contains 11g of fiber.

split peas are i think around 8g per cup when cooked? cooked broccoli is around 5g. corn is around 4g.

i could go on but i’m literally hooked up to an IV for medication rn so i’m one-handed lol i apologize for how cramped this is

but here’s a great list from the Mayo Clinic of high fiber foods and another list of 40 foods from a women’s health mag and also another from healthline, which also has a handy chart for fiber requirements for more specific age groups based on sex

and yes, there are also high-fiber cereals, but beware of the much-touted and rightly-feared ingredient of psyllium husk. it’s more or less used as a laxative and can be outright dangerous for your digestive system and is very painful if not consumed in militant moderation. ask me how i know lol. please please be careful of psyllium husk. like, for real. just stay away from it altogether imo.

sorry this is a lot of discombobulated info, but again i’m one handed at the moment. but hopefully that helps a bit! fiber is linked to longevity and good colon health and that’s what i want for women forever

EDIT: go slow with this! if you’re not used to the recommended daily intake, you will need to gradually work up to this so as not to upset your gastrointestinal system. you may otherwise find yourself in discomfort. GO SLOW. add fiber-rich foods in small portions over time to allow your body to adjust. it is well worth the patience—but don’t overload your system by eating a ton of prunes and thinking you’re doing yourself any good that way. introduce gently and in moderation until you feel comfortable with how it makes your digestion feel!

[soft-bellied-tannies]

Chubtober is here!

Hey friends, it's been a while! Life is hard and jobs suck, but it's Chubtober and I'm going to do my very best to keep up with it all month. Hopefully, it revives our little community a bit because I miss seeing the activity. Feel free to send prompts whether it follows the Chubtober prompts out there or not! I tend to do my own things this month as long as I'm writing. I hope you enjoy! :)

Read here or on AO3!

This one is from the Farmer's Market prompt on fatguarddog's 2024 Chubtober prompt list.

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It all started when Jin became a talented sourdough home baker. What began as a simple hobby developed into a lucrative small business. He had a standing booth at the weekly farmer’s market next to another small business owner. Jimin was also a baker, known for his aesthetic desserts and breakfast pastries. 

They had neighboring stands every Saturday morning without missing and became very popular stops for young locals and families. One of those regular customers quickly became Jin and Jimin’s favorite - Yoongi. The pair would consider him one of their biggest supporters, always purchasing multiple items at both stands. 

A loaf of bread, a pack of bagels, cinnamon rolls, “flavor of the week” cakes, cookie samplers, new pastry flavors. Yoongi’s haul was always impressive. Jin and Jimin were both incredibly grateful and also assumed that Yoongi must live with family or have a pack. They considered he may even bring them into his office or host a Sunday morning brunch after the Saturday farmer’s market.

But in reality, Yoongi was single, lived alone, never willingly hosted anything, and mostly worked from home. His hauls were solely for him because Yoongi thought the bakers deserved it. A handsome, funny man who could bake delicious bread and a cute, charming omega who could create beautiful desserts were a dual-sided attack on Yoongi’s willpower. 

In his first week of meeting them, he bought a bit of everything just to support the duo thinking he could freeze the extras or give some to his elderly neighbors. What Yoongi hadn’t expected was their stuff being so delicious that it was now all he craved and always needed in the house. On top of that, even though he wouldn’t admit it, Yoongi certainly had a crush on both omegas. 

After a few months, Yoongi was surprised to see two additional people with them. Jimin had an alpha at his booth named Namjoon who always had plants and flower arrangements while Jin brought Taehyung, a beta who grew up on a farm that produced fresh dairy products and fruits. 

Yoongi had more than enough money to throw around and started developing quite the appetite so he started buying from all four of them. His already big hauls of baked goods turned into him bringing home huge hauls from the two booths that were of course still right next to each other. He tried to ignore the feelings of disappointment at both omegas seeming to have partners, but their baked goods certainly filled the void of his emotions. 

Jin and Jimin loved talking with Yoongi, asking his thoughts on recent new items, and taking any suggestions he had. They never ventured into more personal topics, but Jin and Jimin both started to notice that Yoongi only carried his own omega scent and that he only talked about himself or his neighbors enjoying their food. 

Their small talk always filled the space while Jin and Jimin would pack his things nicely in cute bags with little notes, but after Yoongi left, the omegas would speak between themselves about how sweet Yoongi was. 

However, one thing they never discussed was the clear fact that Yoongi was getting a bit softer. He certainly had fuller cheeks and a little belly that seemed to start becoming more noticeable with his rotation of farmer’s market outfits. If anything, they thought Yoongi looked much healthier now than when they first met him.

After a few months, Jin and Jimin begin to question if it’s just softness. When more of the gain was enough to be noticeable and it was settling more on Yoongi’s belly, they had a passing moment of thinking Yoongi could be pregnant. Maybe all of this has been a pregnancy craving and that is what made him such a dedicated customer.

But as omegas, they knew the other signs and nothing else was seeming like pregnancy. He had this round belly that started to show more at certain times. They debated asking, but it felt so invasive and rude to assume. Then another two or three weeks passed of Jin and Jimin talking about it after he left their booths and Yoongi’s next stop was a local brewery’s booth where he took a couple of samples. It confirmed for Jin and Jimin that he was simply gaining weight and to them, it almost felt satisfying to know they were providing for him in a way.

While the other two were finding themselves so endeared with him, Yoongi was admittedly a bit dejected to find out that both omegas seemed to have committed partners, but that certainly would not stop him from supporting them. It also may have to do with the fact that he can’t imagine going without their delicious food. They were sweet to him, always gave him a little extra for free, and genuinely seemed to care about how he was doing each week.

Somehow, Yoongi missed all the signs that it may be more than both omegas having their own partners. Being raised in a family that was “traditional” meant that he saw mates as monogamous couples. He didn’t put together that the four of them were clearly a pack.

He simply reasoned in his head that they were just really good friends. When Jimin hopped over to Jin’s booth to ask for something and kissed him on the cheek in thanks, it was a friendly gesture. When Taehyung hugged Namjoon while fondly watching the omegas make a joint sale, Yoongi thought it was nice that alphas were so affectionate in their friendships.

When two other “random” guys showed up at their booths and Jin introduced them to him, Yoongi again somehow missed the way Jin comforted a shy alpha named Jungkook or how the beta named Hoseok immediately moved to help Jimin restock one of his display shelves. 

It was clear Yoongi was starting to place some distance between them after a while. He didn’t want to embarrass himself with the weird flirting that sometimes developed on his end so now he just stopped to buy his usual order and stayed long enough for them to pack it up. Granted, that was still quite a bit of time since Yoongi started with just a tote bag thinking he would try the market once to see if there was anything he wanted and has since upgraded to a cart solely for his bakery hauls. 

The pack started to catch on that Yoongi was slightly oblivious and even more lonely considering how he’d missed all their hints at more than a customer relationship. When he started to pull away from engaging with them, they were disappointed but decided not to push him and just remain hopeful that they could get through to him at some point. 

However, taking it slow went out the window when Yoongi missed two weekends in a row. He hadn’t missed since the first time Jin and Jimin met him and they were genuinely worried about him. They even considered trying to find him online or reaching out through their digital payment system, but they decided to be patient. 

After those two weeks, Yoongi showed up looking tired and pale. He had clearly lost a little weight and lacked his usual pleasant demeanor. Something about Jin and Jimin being fellow omegas made Yoongi comfortable enough to explain that he caught the flu that somehow developed into an unexpected heat. 

The other two omegas were worried, almost horrified, at the thought that no one was there to take care of him. They had yet to confirm if Yoongi lived with anyone or had a pack, but the lack of other scents and always coming to the market alone made it likely that he was alone. 

Both immediately offered to come by later with some soup and more substantial food so Yoongi could actually rest. Yoongi wanted to say no, but the fact that they were so kind and seemed so safe allowed him to say yes. And as much as he wanted to deny it, Yoongi did feel his omega immediately preen at the idea of being taken care of by the other two.

When they dropped off food, Jin and Jimin were able to confirm that only one scent was present at his place and it was fairly standard furnishing and decor for a single person. They decided right there to make a more concerted effort to get closer to him even if Yoongi only wanted to be friends. He still hadn’t seemed to pick up any of the hints from the pack, but they were not quitters.

The following month left Yoongi feeling torn as the sweet bakers from the farmer’s market were slowly becoming his friends who he could rely on to bring him delicious food and genuine conversation, but the struggle to keep his attraction to them at bay was growing in tandem. And this emotional turmoil seemed to distract Yoongi from the fact that his growing attachment to these new people in his life was not the only thing growing. 

Every time Yoongi told himself to again put distance between himself and them, maybe even skip the farmer’s market one weekend, was overshadowed by their kindness and desire to connect with him. The biggest gesture came as a surprise to him. 

Jin and Jimin show up unannounced one day with two weeks' worth of meals in hand as their heats were approaching. They warned him that they wouldn’t be at the next market and made him meals on top of extra baked goods plus some flowers from Namjoon and a whole bundle of stuff from Tae’s family farm. They left multiple bags on his counter before hugging him and heading home, leaving him to unpack the surprises.

Yoongi found that they wrote little notes for everything about the best ways to reheat or prepare to make it last longer, with an extra little letter from them saying they would miss him which left him feeling butterflies, a blush high on his cheeks from a simple note. He was beyond crushing on them at this point. Yoongi was in love. 

That thought terrified him as they were taken omegas. Yoongi couldn’t possibly impose on any relationships. He wasn’t even sure how he could face them again at this point. The embarrassment of becoming lonely enough to rely on vendors at the farmer’s market turned friends for comfort pushed him toward one answer. He needed to try dating again. 

His omega mother had been trying to set him up for years and he’s finally going to let her do it. He can’t crush on these mated omegas forever. Yoongi made sure to emphasize that his mom should pick a beta who was calm and accepting. He wasn’t asking for much. 

However, Yoongi should have sent his mom a new picture to use since she clearly sent her friend’s son one of his graduation photos. The beta arrived outside the restaurant to meet Yoongi and the awkward look up and down made the omega feel exposed and judged. He knew the picture held a much slimmer, more confident Yoongi and the date readily reminded him of that. 

Riding home in the taxi left Yoongi feeling drained and anxious, maybe even humiliated. The beta had raised a brow at him ordering pasta instead of a salad and all the conversations led back to if Yoongi had any physical hobbies. He felt judged and forced to think about his weight gain which was a topic he kept shoved in the corner of his mind more and more lately. 

His solution now? Continuing his normal routine of visiting the farmer’s market and forcing his omega to realize that Jin, Jimin, and the others with them were going to remain friends - that’s all. And maybe he would let himself fantasize about living in a comfortable cottage with Jin and Jimin, eating their delicious food and feeling content. What was the harm in that? 

Yoongi decided to rip the bandage off the following Saturday, telling Jin and Jimin about his disaster of a date, but the reaction he received was completely unexpected. The omegas were clearly putting on a fake smile for him, seeming bothered by the fact he went on a date even before Yoongi shared the outcome. It seemed to boost their mood that it went terribly and they expressed their sympathy, saying some people were just assholes and he deserved better. 

Jin added two extra cupcakes to his box of pastries to “lift his spirits” and Jimin drew little hearts and smiley faces on all the labels. Neither of those things was particularly out of the ordinary, but Yoongi felt it was a little more charged than usual. He couldn’t seem to let go of how disappointed they both seemed when he said he went on a date and then relieved when he explained that it was bad. 

Then Jin and Jimin both start dropping by with food more and more, asking him to test new recipes for the market or simply offering to bring by dinner since they “made too much”. Their meal drop-off chats grew longer and longer until Jin and Jimin started offering to cook dinner at his place, hanging out and sharing the meal with him. It always came with an excuse like the planned meal would be better fresh or they were over near his place anyway since they needed to pick up the ingredients. 

Yoongi had started to ask if Namjoon and Taehyung were okay with them spending so much extra time with him, thinking they should be at their respective homes for dinner instead. It still hadn’t occurred to him that they were all in a pack together and sometimes he even felt like Jin and Jimin were doing this almost as a charity to him than friendship. 

However, the other two constantly reassured him that they wanted to be there, that their mates were perfectly happy to let them be there, but that they would leave him be if they were overstaying their welcome. The only excuse Yoongi could even think of was that he shouldn’t be eating so much hearty food since his pants needed to be sized up, but his omega shut that down before any denying words came out. 

Almost six months and 50 pounds later, Yoongi finally realized they were a pack. Jin and Jimin were over once again, cooking in his kitchen and feeding him random bits as they went. Everything was going as normal until Jimin slipped up and cut his hand. It was a minor cut, but it was bleeding quite a bit and as his omega mate, Jin naturally was very worried. 

Jin asked Yoongi for bandages as he ran Jimin’s hand under the faucet. Yoongi hurried off to his bathroom to find his first aid kit while he heard comforting whispers from Jin. As he returned from the bathroom, Yoongi was surprised to see Jimin calming Jin with a kiss, telling him that it was just a small cut. 

Yoongi felt stuck, confused at that level of intimacy between close friends. He had seen them affectionate before, but this felt well beyond acceptable friendship especially when they both had partners. As he sees Jin then lean in and scent Jimin much more deeply than a friend would ever consider, Yoongi couldn’t resist speaking up about how they were even closer than he realized. 

The other two omegas were clearly confused yet seemed to understand there was somehow a miscommunication going on. Jin simply said, “I mean, I feel like most packs are this close, but if we are making you uncomfortable, we can definitely leave. Just say the word.” 

Yoongi’s racing mind came to a screeching halt, berating his childhood mind for limiting him to traditional thinking and holding him back from knowing so much more about these wonderful people. His omega was screaming at him that there was a chance for them now. 

Jin and Jimin saw the moment it clicked for him and felt hope building up for their pack too. They decided to pause, asking Yoongi to let them wrap up Jimin’s hand before taking him to their pack home as they wanted to have an open conversation with everyone. Yoongi was shocked once again to find out that there wasn’t just a tiny chance for him, he was wanted by their pack. 

The lingering insecurity of his weight gain and clear lack of knowledge of pack life started to brew up anxiety, but his omega shut it down real quick as he watched Jin and Jimin pack up the dinner they prepared for him to take back home with them. 

Yoongi played through all their interactions since he met them at the farmer’s market and had the staggering realization that they obviously won’t care about the weight gain. Jin and Jimin had been feeding him for months, giving him extras, and making him huge, delicious meals. It wasn’t charity and it wasn’t pity. 

Jin and Jimin had been courting him all along and they were very good at it. Yoongi had a feeling that if courting was this successful, mating would be even better.