#dipped in chocolate upon ye

[kasugas]

Gonna temper chocolate for the first time today I cannot wait to see how this goes

[cupidddd-d]

heart eyes

aww, they're in love with you !

peter

"h-hey," peter's voice cracks as he tries to speak, clearing his throat as a blush creeps up his cheeks. "i-i mean, hey."

his hands fiddle with something underneath his robes, his freckles slowly disappearing as his flush grows darker.

"hi peter, what's up?" you offer him a polite smile as you try not to laugh at how adorable he is.

"s-so i noticed that um...y-you're really good at, um, ch-charms. c-could you maybe...tutor me? i-i mean, i-it's fine if y-you don't!" he stutters.

he clears his throat again as he stares down at the ground. preparing himself to be slapped. for what? he doesn't really know. maybe for even daring to talk to you, let alone asking you for anything. why would he deserve to hold even an ounce of your attention?

"sure, that's fine. i'm free anytime, so let me know when you want to meet in the library," you shrug simply, your eyes widening in shock as he shoves 3 boxes of chocolate frogs in your arms.

"okay, thanks, bye!" he rushes off before you can respond, practically running away from you.

"um...bye, i guess?"

james

"merlin-!" your neck almost collapses as james places his elbow on your skull, casually using you as an armrest and leaning his full weight on you.

"has anyone ever told you how short you are?" he ponders, letting out a quiet oomph when you shove him off.

"get off me, you...ogre!"

"sweetheart, i'm hurt. anyhow, have you heard of what happened to malfoy? i set his mattress on fire," he looks at you with a childlike grin, eager for your approval. "you said he was insulting you behind your back, didn't you?"

"oh, that's not...that's not really a prank. that's just, um...arson." you scratch the back of your neck awkwardly, your lips twisted into a weak grimace.

his smile dips slightly. "well, i didn't exactly consult the boys about it. was more of a personal project. for you. don't you like it?"

"um...it's the thought that counts, right?"

as dubious as your answer is, it causes james' spirits to lift once more, and he tackles you in a hug (which subsequently cuts off your air supply--who knew he'd have such a strong grip?).

"i knew you'd love it!"

sirius

"ahh, good evening, love. sitting at the fireplace all by your lonesome?" sirius says loudly as he plops down on the couch next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

"not anymore," you gingerly pick up his hand as if it's radioactive, tossing it aside and leaving it dangling behind the couch--but most importantly, away from you. "what are you doing, black?"

"you're so cold to me," he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "you didn't notice anything new about me?"

you shake your head cluelessly.

"nothing? really, love? shoes? haircut? rings? clothes? you don't notice anything?"

you shake your head again.

"i'm heartbroken! devastated! anguished! inconsolable, even! i did all this to fit your tastes, you know!" he complains. "can't i have a little kiss to heal my shattered soul?"

he puckers his lips, leaning in with a hopeful expression.

"yeah, maybe in your dreams, black." you snort as you get up from the couch, moving as far away from him as possible.

he bites his lip as he watches you leave, idly rubbing his jaw.

"oh trust me, i'm dreaming...hell, i'll do a lot more than dreaming..."

remus

"i couldn't stay for break, so i wanted to give you an early yule present, if that's okay?" remus rummages around in his bag and hands you a strange rectangle.

upon closer inspection, it seems to be a (poorly) wrapped gift, but it's the thought behind it that warms your heart and causes an involuntary smile to spread across your face.

yes, too much wrapping paper was used, and there's tape in unnecessary places, but remus made a gift for you. who cares that it looked like it had been constructed by a blind toddler?

"thank you, remus," you say sweetly, your voice dripping into his ears like warm honey. "can i open it?"

"o-of course, and if you don't like it, i also have a sweater in my dorm for you. i um, remember how you'd always compliment my sweaters, so i thought i might get us a matching pair." he offers you a shy smile that makes your heart melt.

"you're so sweet, rem," you say softly. you delicately tear the wrapping paper, not wanting to ruin his hard work.

"it's my favorite book. i thought you might like it, and i annotated it. i highlighted the lines that made me think of you, and i also wrote little comments in the margins," he explains quietly, picking at his cuticles. "but now that i'm saying it out loud, it seems stupid..."

"it's not stupid, rem! i love it! it's really sweet and thoughtful! thank you," you say earnestly. "i'm really excited to read it over break. i mean it,"

"you're welcome, dove,"

[the-offside-rule]

Jenson Button (McLaren Era) - Formal

Requested: yes

Prompt: reader using Jensons name instead of his pet name

Warnings: none tbh

Jenson's fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he navigated the familiar roads home from the McLaren Technology Centre. The hum of the engine was drowned out by the cheerful voice of his girlfriend, Y/n, on the other end of the line. "Heya, love." She said, her tone a touch too sweet for the usual end-of-day call. "Could you do me a favor?" Jenson smiled, glancing at the clock. "Of course, darling. What's up?" He asked, beginning to drive down the long road down the MTC. "Well, I was thinking... can you swing by McDonald's and grab me some chips, maybe a burger and a chocolate shake? I'm craving it." She requested, her voice holding a peculiar edge.

"Yeah okay, darling. Burger, chips and a chocolate shake, got it." He replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. Y/n rarely asked for such specific fast food orders. "Oh, and Jenson-" She continued, emphasizing his full name instead of the usual pet names she used. "Make sure it's fresh, okay?" A small frown creased Jenson's forehead. "Not if you keep calling me that." Jenson replied. "What do you mean? I called you Jenson." Y/n said, kind of confused. "Why the sudden formality? You never call me Jenson unless something's up." Y/n giggled amusingly. "Nothing's up, love, I promise. I just thought it would be nice for a change."

"Well don't, please and thank you. I quite like you calling me my pet name." Jenson's skepticism lingered as he pulled into the McDonald's drive-thru. "Jenson, your parents gave you that name." He rolled the window down. "Yes, my parents. You, darling, are my girlfriend. I like when you call me love and if you don't I'm afraid I'll have to block you." He ordered the requested items, making a mental note to ensure they were as hot as possible by the time he got home. As he drove away with the bag of fast food, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Y/n's request.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jenson's heart raced as he hurriedly navigated through the evening traffic, eager to reach home and see what he'd done done annoy his girlfriend this time. The anticipation of seeing her after a long day fueled his desire to press on the accelerator just a bit more. Blue and red lights flashed behind him, causing Jenson to let out an exasperated sigh. Pulling over and groaning, he rolled down his window to meet the stern gaze of a police officer. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going?" The officer asked upon reaching the car. Jenson offered a sheepish smile. "I might have been going a tad over the limit, officer. Apologies, I'm just trying to get home."

The officer raised an eyebrow. "Home, huh? And where might that be?" He asked. "Right down the road." Jenson replied, gesturing vaguely ahead. "I've been away for a while, you see. Just eager to get back." The officer eyed Jenson skeptically. "You expect me to believe that? You're in quite a hurry. Who do you think you are? Lewis Hamilton?" Jenson couldn't help but chuckle at the comparison. "No, but I've beaten him a good few times." He replied, smirking.

The officer's expression remained stoic. "I don't appreciate jokes, sir. License and registration, please." Suppressing a sigh, Jenson reached for his documents and handed them over. The officer scrutinized them before returning to his patrol car to run a check. As Jenson waited, he couldn't help but replay the encounter in his mind. He understood the officer's duty, but the delay was becoming increasingly frustrating.

Finally, the officer returned, ticket in hand. "I'm issuing you a speeding ticket, Mr. Button. Please drive more responsibly in the future." Jenson gave a fake smile and took the ticket. "I appreciate the reminder, officer. I'll keep that in mind." As the officer walked off, Jenson mumbled to himself, the words "complete arsehole" being repeated multiple times.

Once home, he found Y/n sitting on the couch, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You're back! Thanks, Jenson." He handed her the bag, studying her carefully. "Alright. What's going on? Why the sudden craving and the formal use of my name?" Y/n smirked, unable to keep the secret any longer. "Okay, okay. I just wanted to see how you'd react. I like getting reactions out of you." She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

Jenson raised an eyebrow. "Really? You made me drive to McDonald's and speed home because I thought you were pissed off with me. I got a speeding ticket!" Jenson said, lifting the ticket. "And you have a Happy girlfriend who now has McDonald's." Jenson chuckled, shaking his head. "You're something else, Y/n. Next time, just ask for McDonald's without the elaborate plan."

"It's not as effective though, is it?" She teased.

[deliciousbasementtrash]

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Artist Nick Robles **Thank you for the correction @miraculous-panic **

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. Batman has offered you a job. You are now a nurse for the entire Batfamily. You bump into Jason. How will your first meeting go?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x Female!reader

Warning: Adult language, knife injury

Word Count: 1.7k

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Part Five: Hello Sailor

I opened my eyes and had a face full of an exposed chest. I hadn’t run into a wall. I ran into a man. A man with wet jet-black hair with a white streak. His full torso was exposed revealing a white Y-shaped scar and a very defined body that was glistening with water. He had various bruises and cuts along his body making an instinctual part of me want to reach out and heal him. Although, I refrained from that urge. He only wore a white towel that was wrapped low against his V-cut hips. My face heated and words failed me. 

“I’m… I’m y/f/n. The healer Bruce hired,” I stammered. God how embarrassing. I could face a level one trauma without a blink of an eye but put a man fresh out of the shower in front of me, and apparently my mind turns to mush. 

“I figured,” he reached out a large hand; I took it. He nodded, “Jason Todd. If you wanted an introduction you could have asked, you didn’t need to tackle me.” 

“Pfft that was barely a nudge. A slight bump if you will.”

He pointed at one of his many bruises, “Look what you did to me! If that is your ‘slight nudge’ I’d hate to see a real tackle from you, y/n.” 

“Oh please, that bruise is at least three days old! You can’t pin that on me!” I tilted my head back and laughed. 

“New girl I can pin whatever I want on you. You tackled me, and bruised me before I got so much as a ‘hi, nice to meet you.’” 

“Hi Jason Todd, nice to meet you. Are you going to let me heal you or do you want to keep your injuries to seem mysterious and interesting?” I asked in a sweetly sarcastic manner. 

“First you bruised my body and now my ego, wow y/n,” Jason drew out the syllables of my name as if he was savoring them. 

“If you don’t take me up on my offer in three seconds I’m going to bed,” I said flatly. My tone might have indicated that I was serious but I knew that the threat was empty. 

Jason threw up his hands in surrender, “Yes ole mighty healer! Please have mercy upon me!” 

I rolled my eyes and started walking toward my room. Jason followed me.

“This is your room?” Jason asked, surprise lacing his tone. 

“Yes, why?” I asked, curious.

“It’s nothing.” 

I ignored his weird comment and sat on the edge of my bed. I motioned for Jason to sit next to me. I could have sworn I saw his eyes widen from across the room. He made his way over slowly as if hesitant.

The bed dipped as he sat down. He was a very large man. Practically a giant. With broad shoulders and thick thighs… okay nope. Not going down that route, you need to focus you pervert. I thought to myself. 

“So how do you do this? Do you wave your magic wand and make my owies go away?” Jason looked at me intently. The question was partly a joke, but I could tell he wanted a serious run down of how it works. Just as I was about to elaborate a fluff ball came hurtling out of nowhere.

Hashbrown practically parkoured herself onto Jason’s lap. Jason’s laugh was deep and smooth like dark chocolate and honey. He reached his hand out and let Hashbrown sniff before he began to pet her lightly. Soon the room was filled with her purrs.

“Who is this?” Jason asked, smiling.

“That attention whore would be Miss Hashbrown herself,” I huffed. 

Jason reached out a hand and grabbed Hashbrown’s front paw. I was shocked she let him. “Hello, Miss Hashbrown.” 

Okay wow. The inappropriate thoughts are going wild. There was something about a man being gentle and good with animals. 

I swallowed hard and focused myself, “In order to heal you I have to rest my hands against you. It works best with skin-on-skin contact but in emergencies, I can make it work through cloth. Or if you are more comfortable doing it through clothing we may do that as well.” I put on my professional Nurse voice which left little room for playfulness. 

I heard Jason clear his throat and then he nodded, “It’s fine. I’m okay with skin-on-skin.” I saw a faint blush in his cheeks as he said it. 

I rubbed my hands together trying to warm them for his comfort. I raised them slowly, “You might feel a slight tingling sensation like pins and needles. It should only last for a moment though. Are you ready?”

Jason nodded and I rested my hands against him. I closed my eyes and concentrated. There were bruises and cuts which I healed with little difficulty. But as I searched there was more, so much more.

“Wow you’re like an iceberg,” I mumbled.

“What?” Jason asked laughter in his tone.

“So much more beneath the surface.”

I felt him tense under my hands, “I guess you could say that.”

I couldn’t talk anymore. All of my energy was going into healing him. Rib fractures. Sprains. Bruised organs. A pinched nerve. Low iron. Low-grade fever. I healed and healed. My exhaustion grew. My eyelids felt like they were being weighed down by sandbags. I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t lift my head. Distantly I felt myself leaning forward. But I lost consciousness before my forehead slapped against Jason’s shoulder.

***********************************************************

Jason’s hands quickly reached out to catch the girl as she fell towards him. It seemed like she passed out. Jason anxiously checked her pulse which was strong. She probably just needs some rest. He thought. Because whatever she did to him, Jason felt great. She went beyond the mild injuries and healed more than Jason could hope for. Instantly he was grateful. 

He gently eased her back onto her bed. He pulled up her blankets. He plugged her phone into the charger. And he shut off the light. He made his way out the door and into the neighboring room. His room. He and the healer were so close they shared a wall. A foreign feeling popped up for Jason. He liked that she was so close to him. He felt strangely protective of the stranger. It might just be because she healed him. Or maybe it was something else, something undefinable.

Jason banished other thoughts about her as he got dressed. Soon he made his way down the stairs and into the dining room. Where his entire family was yelling and arguing. Ah home sweet home. 

***********************************************************

A few days had gone by. I haven’t seen Jason since. I found much to my annoyance that I caught myself looking for him when I heard footsteps. Or thinking about him in my spare time. How embarrassing. You have one tension-filled healing sesh and all of a sudden you can’t think logically. 

I paced around the Batcave in my scrubs. I alternated between reading my book, doodling in my notebook, and texting Sam. 

[Girl if you don’t tell me more about Mr. Baddie Skunk I’m gonna have a freakout.] Sam texted me. 

[I literally told you everything. That was it.]

[He has to be hot for you to say something. Does he have social media? I wanna see this cutie patotie.]

[No, just no, you stalker.]

[I’m not a stalker. I’m looking out for my friend. I may also be curious but that is beside the point.]

I heard and felt the rumble of the Batmobile. [Ttyl. Duty calls.]

I stood in my healer’s station. I double-checked my supplies once, twice, three times before the Batmobile came screeching up. Bruce got out quickly, his cape snapping as he moved. He ripped open the rear door and leaned in. When he came out he held a whimpering Tim in his hands. 

I ran up to him with the gurney, “What happened?”

Suddenly Dick was beside me, ripping off his blue mask. “Poison Ivy released a noxious gas created from Manchineel. Tim took the brunt of it.” 

I raked my brain trying to remember the properties of Manchineel. In the hospital most of the time we just tell the patient to call poison control. It didn’t matter. Tim’s airway was the top priority. I rested my stethoscope against his chest as we wheeled him closer to the station. 

A high-pitched turbulent sound filled my ears. Fuck. Stridor. His airway was closing. 

“Bruce go into the red cart top drawer and grab an epi-pen now!” I yelled as I started cutting away his Red Robin suit. I hissed through my teeth when I saw red hives and blisters all along his skin. “Grayson grab saline and rinse his skin! Wear gloves when you do it!”

Bruce deftly handed me the pen and I stuck it quickly into the meat of Tim’s thigh. In a matter of moments, I saw Tim’s breathing even. I listened once again he was still wheezing but it was better than the stridor. Without wasting another minute I rested my hands against Tim’s chest. I ignored the remnants of gas that burned my hands. It took hours but I healed Tim completely. He still was in a deep sleep by the time I was done. His body needed rest. I patched up Bruce and Dick since they also got exposed. 

I felt sweat dripping down my back when I was done with everyone. 

“Here,” Dick said, handing me water, “drink this you look a little gray.”

I nodded and gripped the water. I winced, forgetting that I burned my hands. It wasn’t as bad as Tim’s by any means but the burns were second-degree and hurt like a bitch. 

Dick saw my wince and looked at my hands, “Oh shit! We should wash those off!”

“No shit Grayson.” A flat voice said from the distance. I recognized it instantly. Jason walked up to us, with supplies in his hands. He motioned for Dick to get up. He did and Jason took his spot. 

“Let me see.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

Taglist: @soundsfunbutno @killxz @morpheus-girl @redhood414 @bungunz @conicoroahre @greenyofthegreens @taytaylala12

Thank you guys so much for the kind words I hope you all enjoy it. If there is anything you would like to see with Jason in particular comment below.

[ravenempress101]

He wants it all /Choi San words: 1.3k

⛔️Rating: M 18+⛔️

☣️ Warnings ☣️ :description of a males size, forceful grabbing,body fluids, humping, rough talk, daddy kink, very filthy stuff, smut without a plot

⛔️READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!⛔️

Authors note: omg y’all my first ateez imagine yes I am back it’s been a while like years back I will definitely write for ateez if you love this imagine definitely read my other stuff I love you and always love y’all thank you and enjoy my inbox is always open

Choi San’s fingers gently grazed the soft skin of your neck as they slowly trace upward towards your ear. His chocolate orbs laced on your boba ones r/n saw the glimpses of venomous plus anger and a hint of betrayal he hated that you did this to him.

As his hand binds you down y/n tries and lift up. San slams you back down on to his bed his weight crushes every curve. y/n seeps out a moan of pain. San tilted his head to the side a sinister smirk plastered on his dimples

“I want all of it” venomous spat into the shell of your ear, “even the part of your soul that leaves your body.” brown eyes drawn your fragile features y/n head turns side to side tears welled as she felt him grew underneath him.

San enclosed his calloused fingers squeezing just hard enough that Y/n couldn’t breathe in. vision is blurred

“Please,” Y/n gasp out. “Please.”

His hand tightens more, all air supply escaping y/ns petite frame. My hands scrabble at his arm, trying to pry it away.I’m helpless and I know it, I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I can feel the panic rising.

And then, suddenly, he releases me. Air rushes into my lungs and I gulp it greedily, sucking it in, desperate for oxygen. Coughs erupts its way upon my lips

“This moment will always be my favorite…. “you and me”

San dangle is finger on the tip of my nose lightly flicking it while he’s lose in my attributes.

“I have you all to myself.”

His calloused palms slither over your skin, warm from the evening sun, and find that place where the muscle curves out into a ridge, his finger trails over your bare nipple Your breath hitches , arching against san like He pulled a string that connects you to every part of your body. Your chest is smooth. The browned haired man trace a circle around one of y/n’s aroused nipple.

Her body fidgets underneath San. The musclier man gazed at your other nipple his eye contact strong not leaving your gaze his mouth fell agape over your other nipple as his long tongue meets your erected nipple and he licks long strokes and your nipple wiggles inside his warm heartshappes. Y/n groaned came out like a symphonic siren. San love having you stressed with his mouth. Y/n’s body heated up and her love box dripped between her legs. Sans friction causing her to feel him grew another inch.

San traced lower toward your skirt. Y/n’ chocolaty love handles appearing from sans hands as he lifts your skirt. Your drenched wetness exposed infront of him. A growl escaped from his big muscular built. His finger found the side of your pantie and placed it to the side. He forcefully tugged on your pantie and the undergarments fell in one smooth motion.

Y/n gazed at the man that wanted all of her as she gripped the covers.

“I’ll do anything please leave…” y/n was muffled by his rough lips plastered and there tongues met and his muscle fought for dominance his cold finger ran across your fold and then a gasp was eating by him He dipped his slender finger inside her deep. San wiggles inside her as his tongue shoved down her throat. Y/n tasted his peppermint tongue.

San pulled back from your tired lips and his chest flourishing with a deep laugh at how pathetic he made you look.

“Sweetheart you are doing everything to me, just look at how your body reacts it knows that it’s mine”

Y/n whines from his statement as San keeps you spread on the bed with his strong bicep his head guided down with his brown locks intertwined on his forehead by droplets of sweat decorating him

His face inches away from your heat. Y/n feels his icy breathe sweep her clit. Y/n felt his animalistic mouth connect with her fold and she jolted up trying to run from his lips but his hold latch on to where she stoped his hand grabbed her ankle and placed it on his shoulder as his tongue fell deeper in her. Drawing figure 8’s in your forbidden nectar. Y/n could feel the euphoria sending for her. Performing a strangled high pitch scream.

“San it’s so much, mhmmm ahhh why does it have to be me”

San heartshappes was slurping at an alarming pace that she clenched on her bottom lip. He lingered his tongue in your drenched hole accelerating up and down. Your chest rising and falling from his speed. Your mouth screamed his name from the arousal you were trying to die down.

He felt inside you twitch. The tanned man knew your body all to well knowing your high was about to crash on you, withdrawing his tongue out of you and placed a airy kiss on your folds, wrapping his rough hands around your legs forcing you closer as he towered over you.

“Mhmmm this body is about to be marked and the soul I want”

San positioned his hand on his shaft massaging himself up and down. Y/n tried to move from his bicep but he captured her body in his and his hands spreaded her legs and he positioned himself at her wet entrance and plunged inside her.

Y/n felt how enourmous he was inside her. Him filling her up she tried adjusting to his size, her orbs shut closes as he moved out and slammed back in her. Her body short circuit making her arms fly to his arms as she tried pushing him but her mouth fell open in a o shape as he accelerated again inside her. He picked up his pace and his eyes fell on her aphoristic features. Her cheeks rising hot and dark at the animalistic speed she felt in her.

“Oh I’m about to cum nuhhhhhh San please slow down please”

Her soul was leaving her body after every stroke and push San plunge in her spongey insides.

“That’s it my baby girl give it all to me”

San placed her hands above her head and fell on the side of her neck. His kisses biting your neck as blue and red beauty marks appeared on your soft spots that he sucked and teased.

Y/n moaned his name as his strokes siren her high. Y/n felt her body’s fluid spray out on his length and The robs of her arousal leaked out on him as he felt her scream from her oragasm. His smile appeared on his face as he felt your warmth pulsate on him as your cream painted his length.

Then his torso flexed and his length twitched inside of you and out came his robes of creamy cum while booming a curse. y/n felt her hole fill with his warm sperm.

San seeing you filled with him inside yourself made him satisfied his sperm spewing out of you

“Sannn ughhh lord freak I can feel it all”

Y/n groaned as her body jolted more as globs leaked out. Y/n could feel all the burning and pain he caused her. The time they met and all she felt every feeling crush her.

[st-kitten]

707 pt.4 christmas special

← previous chapter next chapter →

WARNINGS: soft toji... (we all deserve it), choking, hickeys

NEXT PART COMING SOON: SMUTTIEST SMUTTY SMUT SMUTTIER THAN SMUT HAS EVER SMUTTED (hopefully)

you stood in your kitchen, making hot chocolate for yourself and megumi upon his insistence. it was early evening and megumi had woken toji up from his five hour long nap to ask him to play. and like a moody man, he dropped him off at your house, going back to bed.

so, after an hour of sketching with him and letting him play on one of your guitars, you placed him on the kitchen counter. megumi latched onto you like a slug until you agreed to make him hot chocolate. he looked at you with so much love. you had been a welcome surprise for him. he adored how you let him be himself unconditionally. you encouraged his hobbies, helped him find new ones, and you never forced him to behave. you had become his safe space too.

you let megumi decorate some cookies you'd baked with icing cream. he was truly an artist. you watched him hold the icing bag with his tiny hands and fill in the star shaped cookies.

the shelf against your door creaked and moved as toji barged inside your house (which you didn't mind of course).

"put it back in place. there's no point in that barricade if you end up pushing through it, you know..." you said from your kitchen.

toji kicked the shelf with his knee to push it back against the door. he stood, leaning against the kitchen island, eyes shifting between you and the cookies megumi showed him.

he held back a laugh watching your outfit for the day. the way you paired miscellaneous items of clothing and still came out with an outfit had his eyes glued to you. you wore fishnet tights, a brown plaid skirt, beige turtleneck and a huge cardigan that engulfed you. you felt his eyes staring at you. not staring at you, but, well, checking you out. his mind always wandered. never to bad places, but his thoughts were usually, well, dirty...

you poured an extra mug of hot chocolate for him too. you dipped your finger in megumi's mug to check how hot it was.

"i want..."

"it's boiling hot, gumi."

"gimme" he did his grabby hands, and you smirked. you held your finger out to him and he licked the steaming hot chocolate off it, flinching at its temperature. toji licked his own lips, envying his son for a solid minute. he could just keep looking at you. your lips, your hair, your eyes, your figure… god, you were beautiful. you were so, so perfect. his heart was beating hard in his chest.

"will you be a good boy and wait for it to cool down a little?"

"yes he will," said toji as he scooter over to stand behind you, hiding you from megumi's view. he had you trapped between him and the kitchen counter. as you sprayed whipped cream on the mugs, toji slid his hand under your skirt and grabbed your ass, giving it a nice squeeze. you jumped a little, startled, and dropped a spoon, his hand grasping at it and grabbing it before it hit the floor. he moved his hands to your legs, to your thighs…

"so clumsy..." his voice reverberated. you felt his hot breath on the back of your neck as his hands started to move up your legs, his lips almost touching your ear.

"you have some nerve..." you said, a shudder running down your spine.

"don't blame me."

"here," you said, handing him a mug.

you managed to escape his towering frame looming over you, and slid a mug of hot chocolate to megumi. he crushed some cookies and sprinkled them over the cream. the three of you circled the kitchen island, sipping hot chocolate and wiping cream moustaches.

"so, what's your plan today? it's christmas eve..."

"he wants to see the giant tree in the a city square. guess i gotta take him there."

"oh yeah! they go all out on the lights. this year i think they're letting people hang their own ornaments on it. it's a huge tree," you said. "come with us," he said. toji never cared much for celebrations, but it meant something to his kid and if there was one lesson he'd learned from the life he'd grown up in, was that every child deserves an innocent and fun childhood. so if it meant taking megumi out to see the sights, buying him candies or toys, or even inviting his favourite person with them, he'd do it.

"i have a delivery coming in tonight, i'll need to supervise it," you replied.

"we'll make it back in time."

"they need to set it up and all, toji..."

"y/n come with us!" megumi chirped, his eyes shining like stars.

you groaned at how cute he could get. "you're gonna be such a heartthrob, gumiiii. fine, i'll come." you ruffled his and kissed his forehead and megumi giggled with glee.

"he's got you wrapped around his finger."

"tell me about it..."

the three of you roamed around the city, looking at the sights. christmas came alive with a twinkle of lights and festive decorations. tall buildings sparkled with fairy lights, casting a warm glow across the streets. storefronts dressed up their windows with scenes of santa, snow, and elves, creating a holiday buzz. wreaths hung on each door, bells and holly tied to them.

eggnog stands popped up on corners and the air carried the scent of spices as people savoured cups of eggnog, dusted with nutmeg. megumi had the appetite of two grown men and drank a whole pint of eggnog, hogged candies, cookies, and caramel popcorn.

"he's gonna wreck havoc tonight..." said toji, picking his kid up before he spotted anything remotely edible.

"and stay knocked out the whole day tomorrow."

"i'd pay to see that," he sighed.

megumi, bundled up in a cozy jacket, marvelled at the storefronts and the twinkling lights. he loved the colours and the glow of the city.

you soon stood in front of the giant christmas tree. it was massive, draped in ribbons, tinsel, lights, and a myriad of ornaments that people brought. some were storebought, some hand-made, some hung small lockets, picture-frames, and some even hung love letters.

toji held megumi on his shoulder and let him hang a little sketch he'd made of a christmas tree.

"it looks so pretty over there, gumi!" you said, admiring it.

"are ya gonna put something on too?"

"yep," you said as you pulled out something from your purse. you stood on your toes and hung an ornament you'd created out of one of your old golden guitar picks.

"huh. nice."

"i have too many picks. thought i'd spare one... do you have anything to hang?"

"uh... sure," said toji, pulling out a vicks inhaler from his pocket.

"bruh..." you burst into laughter, swatting the fuck out of toji's arm as he messily hung the keyring on a branch, next to your pick. you took a picture of megumi with the tree and his sketch. you snuck in a few pictures of toji looking absolutely disinterested in everything. the three of you roamed around some more until you walked by the lake, frozen and decorated with lights. people were skating on the ice. megumi pulled your hand and led you to the lake.

"you wanna skate, gumi?" you asked and he nodded. so you paid for a pair of skates for you and him. before you could ask toji, he backed away and waved his hand at you.

"loser," you quipped and took megumi to the rink. the winter evening cast a gentle glow on the ice. megumi eagerly hopped from foot to foot in his skates, in anticipation.

it took a few tries to get him used to the light footing. it felt like a scissor gliding through thin paper. megumi slipped a few times, but you caught him in time, helping him regain his balance. after momentary tumbles, you hold his hand and skate across the frozen lake. your skates etched swirling patterns on the ground as you glided over the ice.

toji, leaning on the bannister that surrounded the lake, watched you from a distance. his gaze followed your every pirouette, leap, and glide. he could see you encouraging megumi from time to time. seeing you twirling around, throwing your head back laughing, and skating with his kid did nine kinds of things to toji, and they all made his heart swell, and that was his silent applause to you. you skated your way back to where toji stood, and helped megumi off the slipper ice. both your cheeks and noses were pink, and your laughs gushed out with a puff of mist.

"thought you'd fall..."

"you'd have loved to see that..."

megumi got tired of walking, so he sat atop his father shoulders. your taut walk home passed by in minutes, conversations seamlessly shifting between the trivial and the festive. megumi fell asleep on toji's shoulders, so you offered to hold him.

the three of you stood in the elevator; megumi asleep in your arms, his head resting on your shoulder, while your red handbag rested against toji's.

"sugar game was on point today. he's fast asleep."

"thank god... i can't have this brat run around all night."

"do you have to call him a brat?"

"he is..."

you rolled your eyes and stepped out as the elevator dinged and opened. the two of you were met with two delivery men standing in front of your house, alternately looking through the hole in your door.

"oh, right on time." you wade past them and open the door.

toji followed you, not liking the way the delivery men were looking at you, their eyes trailing your legs.

you asked them to come inside and go on with their work. they brought in a large parcel inside and placed it in a corner of the living room. they began unwrapping and taking their tools out, occasionally checking you out. you had megumi in your arms, so you couldn't see that.

toji, however, saw that and more. he knew what those nods and raised eyebrows meant. he wasn't one to be jealous of prawny men like them. but something about the way they looked at you made him feel... possessive about you.

"put megumi in the bed," he said, gently holding your arm, and guiding you inside.

"you okay with him sleeping here?"

"yes."

toji almost hurried you inside your room. you put megumi on the bed and tucked him in your blanket. you switched the lights off, turning around to leave.

toji caught you by your arm and pushed you against your bedroom door. before you could even respond, his lips crashed onto yours. he kissed you fiercely. he heard you whimper and gasp, but he did not stop. he grabbed your waist and pushed you against the door, pushing himself against you, harder. he pulled away for a second, allowing you to breathe. he didn't need any lights to see your swollen lips and dim expression. he tilted his head and kissed your neck, feeling your arms grab his shoulder defensively. toji brought one hand to your throat and wrapped his fist around it. he began sucking at your neck. his hands, and his mouth could feel your gulps and panting heartbeats. the urge to consume you had taken over him as he started biting your soft neck. the whimpers and moans that left your mouth were music to his ears. your hot and heavy breathing and the way your throat felt in his vice-like claw sent him to a boiling point. his teeth dug into your flesh softly. his hold over your throat tightened and your breathless moans only encouraged him to bite harder. he wanted to take you then and there... but he had a statement to make.

he pulled away, much to his reluctance.

"what was that for..." you asked, panting, feeling blood rise in your neck. not that you were complaining.

toji pulled you aside and opened the door to your room. he led the two of you outside. he went straight to your kitchen and downed a glass of water.

you were still coming down from the high he'd put you through. you sauntered into the living room to check on your parcel. pleased to see it put together, you leaned against the wall, watching the delivery men clean up their tools.

they turned around to look at you and the mischievous grins they had earlier faltered away into thin lines of disappointment.

"it's done, ma'am."

"thank you." you were about to reach for your purse on the kitchen island when toji stood beside you, snaking his hand around your waist.

"that looks great, sweetheart," he said, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

you almost rocketed through the roof. what the fuck is wrong with him...

the two men awkwardly waited in your living room, hoping you'd give them a holiday season tip or offer them refreshments.

the door to your bedroom opened and megumi stepped out, awoken by your conversations. rubbing his eye, he trudged to his father. toji knelt down in front of him, ruffling his hair.

megumi looked up at you... he asked, "what happened y/n?", pointing to your neck.

you had no idea what he was talking about. all you heard was toji whispering something to megumi.

"you see those men, megs? they hurt y/n... they've been bad boys..." he looked at you and threw a wink.

like a rabid puppy, megumi dashed at the two delivery men, flapping his arms at their legs. stunned and perplexed, they began backing away. megumi bit one guy's calf and he yelped in pain, running away, crashing into his partner. the two scurried out of your house, colliding into the walls.

"gumi! what... why would you do that?" you swatted toji's arm and he draped it across your shoulder.

he brought his lips close to your ear and whispered in a sultry voice, "well, my girl ain't available... someone's gotta teach those boys how to behave..."

megumi came back to you and asked if you were okay.

"yes, you... anklebiter..." you chuckled and assured him you were just... damn... fine.

"what were they here for anyway?"

you held toji's hand and brought him to your living room.

"i swear you act like you're blind sometimes..." you said, pointing to a large mantlepiece piano resting against the living room window.

"i was looking at you..." he shrugged.

megumi, like a curious cat, inspected the piano. he'd only seen grand pianos on tv and in malls. he'd never seen one like that.

"can you play?" he asked.

"sure! why not!" you agreed happily and sat down at the piano. opening the lid that covered it, you turned it on, and checked all the pedals once.

you began playing some chords softly, setting the tune, hoping to transition it to some song. well, it was christmas eve and you felt mildly grateful for the year. you also felt pleasant knowing that toji liked you for real. that he didn't turn out to be a one night-stand or a lesson learned.

slowly, you thought of a song to play. the ivory keys obeyed your fingers as you played chords familiar to most people your age. by habit, you began singing the song you were playing.

you smiled at megumi, who was glued to the side of the piano, looking at you with heart eyes.

as you reached the poignant peak, toji stepped forward, a barely noticeable smirk playing on his lips and bent down. without uttering a word, he began to sing, his voice carrying the lyrics with an unexpected depth and resonance. your eyes widened in astonishment, fingers still pressing the keys.

you had been accustomed to the solace of your music for so long that you were caught unawares by toji harbouring a hidden talent, let alone the fact that he knew the lyrics to the song. his voice croaked at a high note, but as the first few lines escaped his lips, your initial shock gave way to a mixture of disbelief and delight.

"you're my, my, my, my..."

"lover..."

your eyes met like strangers on an opportune day. you gave him a soft, affectionate smile and he gave you his cocky grin.

megumi's claps snapped your from your trance. you ruffled his hair. he asked you if he could play too and you helped him sit on the stool, adjusting it to increase the height. so while megumi played random keys, you stood beside toji, watching him.

"who the fuck introduced you to taylor swift?"

toji clutched his forehead, hiding his face with his hand. he knew this was coming. he could hear your contain your squeal.

"hold it in."

"i can't..."

"please..."

"but-"

"don't make a big deal out of it."

"can i please make a big deal out of it?"

he made the mistake of looking at you. oh, how could he refuse when you were staring at him with innocent doe eyes?

he sighed.

"you like her. so..."

"you listened to taylor swift for me?"

toji just groaned in response, hiding his face again. he felt you throw your arms around his neck. he wasted no time in hugging your waist, burying his head in the crook of your neck... the one with a bold hickey he'd marked you with not minutes ago.

"i got you a gift," he whispered in your ear.

"oh?"

toji took something out of his pocket as you pulled away, his arm still around your waist. it was shabbily wrapped in a golden gift paper.

you chuckled and took it, slowly unwrapping it.

"awww, toji, you big old softie..."

you hugged him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek; your arms around his neck, hands holding a brand new doorknob.

(im dying at the way toji says “lover…”)

taglist @amaiyasha @szillx @ruixrei @maddypaddyladdy

[oreosmama]

What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)---Part 3

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It’s how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you’re not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn’t take kindly to you avoiding him, and he’s never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he’s not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he’s seen the proof that you’ve fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: mwahaha, and they said it couldn't be done. those who doubted me shall gaze upon my very first (and perhaps last) complete series! Victoryyyyy! I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 8374

Part 1 Part 2

   You’re pretty sure you didn’t hear him right. 

You’ve got morning-after brain, and his chest is so hot and adamant behind you, and his breath is right next to your ear. Plus, your stomach is growling with a pit only chocolate-chip pancakes and white peach oolong can fill. 

And he’s doing that tracing thingy again. G. A. Then what?

R. Maybe.

And that leads you to think you might’ve just maybe heard him correctly, because why the hell is he drawing his last name on your hip so brutishly that it twinges? 

“Um.” You stiffen. “What.” 

Not really a question. The way you say it, it comes out more like you don’t want to know the answer even if you really did ask. 

Kyle groans that long, gruff way, husked past his vocal cords and throbbing a path through your entire body. “Look, I get it.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Just let me… ah, fuck, I know it sounds ridiculous, love, but hear me out.” He moves away, giving you space to think while he leans against the counter and grips the edge, tight. 

“Wait,” you hold up a hand before he can start talking again, because you need a minute. Several minutes, actually. A whole assload of minutes to comprehend the suggestion he’s just thrown at you. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you serious?”

This is probably just what Kyle’s morning-after brain is like. It makes stupid, sudden suggestions that he just blurts out on a whim with no regard for how it’ll land. In all fairness, you doubt it’s ever done him wrong before. Even in a regular headspace it’d be hard to tell him no. 

Never mind that he’s shirtless, and that his broad shoulders eat up the space of three cupboards, and that his gaze is doing that thing again—that unfair thing where he towers over you but can still make you feel like he’s kneeling, dips his head so those pleading irises look up at you. 

“Dead serious, love.”

There’s an air about him that’s resolute, despite it all. He’s tender but stern, decided and confident in his conclusion. He’s shedding his clothes and skin, leaving himself belly-up for you to bite. 

“Kyle…”

“Too soon?” He doesn’t even look hurt. Just expectant. 

You shrug helplessly. “Yes? Very too soon, don’t you think?” You spin around, fiddle with the pancake mix but don’t open it. The mug you’ve microwaved for your tea is probably cool at this point, and you try to turn that into your biggest problem of this morning. 

Not the special forces sergeant who lives life at three-hundred miles an hour, exuding such a new energy in here that you can’t remember the basics. It’s the morning after, and as beautifully new as Kyle is, like the stretch of new blue jeans, he’s not threadbare enough in here yet. Too tight, sucking the air out of your own home and leaving you all prickly and sweaty and nervous. 

And he wants you to move in with him? Right now? This soon?

It’s easy, when you turn your back to him and lob your hand towards the microwave handle, to pretend that your biggest problem can be amended in minutes. 

Because now, despite that itchiness of Kyle’s gaze on your face, your biggest problem is that you haven’t even begun to steep your tea. That’s a huge deal. You’re supposed to do it seconds after the microwave beeps, pull the mug out and let the steam soak into the tea bag that you swing for a bit, always have to watch the foggy-air disruptions back and forth. Then you steep it, let the water grow murky for ten minutes as you cook the rest of the meal. Add sugar, an ice cube because you’re scared it’ll burn your tongue like the first time, and stir while you pour syrup on your plate. 

You’re horribly set in your ways, so much so that you hate—actually hate—the newness Kyle’s thrust upon you. It took him twenty-four hours to upset everything. 

Well, not everything. Just you. While you feel fresh out of the box, everything around you has been preserved in mundanity. 

If you took two rights and a left from this building, you’d find a sandwich shop owned by a short man with an orange cat. If you went two floors up, you’d find a pack of graduate students; one more floor, and you’d see Mrs. Beverly and her purse dog. If you went into your living room, finagled with your window a bit, the shutters would close in a perfect angle so that the sun falls on your couch but doesn’t glare on your TV. 

You know it takes you twenty-seven minutes to get to work in the morning right after you brush your teeth. It takes you fourteen minutes to walk home after you clock off. Thirty more minutes to order food and settle in, Netflix the pinnacle of your night before you nod off in a tank top with exactly three holes and short shorts you’d bought under the duress of a busted AC.

You have milk and eggs both two days away from expiration in your fridge, along with old Chinese takeout. You have books with crackled spines and ruffled pages on your bookshelf, and a muddy stain on your entryway carpet from two days after you’d bought it. A bedroom unruly and unbidden, clothes strewn everywhere.

You could envision it all, see it all because you knew it all. Have known it all for the months that this place has been your home and you’d begun working at the hotel bar. You could have the rest of your life mapped out by tomorrow if you really wanted to. It’d be safe. Predictable. Boring, in that average way you’ve always known. None of it would be moving by so fast that you wouldn’t get a break to think of the consequences. 

None of it would make you feel like you’re reaching new heights by jumping off cliffs, taking big, stupid risks that wind up working all the damn time—and solely because Kyle makes them work. Because he runs seven steps ahead of you and lays out the golden carpet for you to step on, telling you it’s okay to keep pushing forward.

The phone calls, the talks, his touch and voice. All of it closing in on you, molding you into something fresh and unseen. 

But that’s just it. It’s still just you who’s changed. 

Not Kyle, who’s certainly been like this his whole life. Who’s used to making snap decisions that have an impact, gotten so damn used to doing that that he carries it with him now. 

And it’s not Mariano or his cat Garfield, or the ham and swiss you get on Fridays. It’s not Jared and Samantha, both of whom play Mario Kart after writing another page in their theses. It’s not Mrs. Beverly and Chloe, or Jeanne, or your family or friends you haven’t texted in a while. 

Only you. 

You’re stripped to your marrow, neurons and fibers spilling all over the place because—oh hell—you’ve grown too big for all this. Kyle’s had you melting and flowing fast and sharp since he first showed up in your life, and you’re moving too fast to feel out that old stagnancy. 

But there’s an ugliness that lives inside of you too, that hates how uncomfortable every little step forward is, even if you can’t stop taking them. 

It’s exposing. You feel naked, but not in the new, comfortable way Kyle’s helped you discover by virtue of his longing. More naked like school nightmares and too-small bath towels. Naked like someone’s going to douse you in lemon juice and salt any second to watch you writhe. 

“Kyle.” Your hand’s still propped on the handle. The microwave beeps again, impatient. “Last night was—God, it was amazing.” You open the door, pull out the mug despite how lukewarm it’s grown. “Best I’ve ever had, by a long shot. But…”

“But what, love? You’re scared?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and you’ve no doubt he’d watched your mind run and run circles around itself, and had had enough time to form an argument of his own. “It’s too much? A lot to ask? I think that too, love, but we’re running out of time.” He rises to his full height, and you try not to shy away at how much space he takes up when he’s grim and serious. 

He’s massive, bigger when he’s panting over you, sleek hips pressing down, suppressing your twists and jolts. He’s gotten better at trapping you, too. It’s intimidating. Thrilling, in better circumstances.

You can’t think straight anymore. He smells like pine all over again, and looks it too. 

“Come back with me to England. We’ve got bars—bars I can bother you at. We’ve got universities for second chances. I’ve got a flat with plenty of room, plenty of money to—”

“Kyle, please.” The whine rips from your throat, and you drag two hands over your face. 

In the corner of your vision, you don’t miss the way he stiffens and swallows a bit. But then he says your name through choked sigh, and rasps, “I know it sounds fuckin’ crazy—I feel like a bloody fool saying it out loud. But I don’t want to lose this, and I can’t keep comin’ back here to start us from scratch every few months.”

You don’t know what to say to that, can’t stop bobbing your mouth open and closed, trying to find those useless words that might explain what’s holding you back.

Something like, It’s only been three months.

Yes, but Kyle knows that too. And he still wants you. 

You don’t even really know him.

Sure. But what was there to learn that he wouldn’t offer you on a silver platter?

It’s going to fall apart. It always does for you. Months will pass, and he’ll realize he made a mistake. He’ll kick you to the curb, and you’ll be back to square one. 

A coaxing palm cradles your cheek, and a warm thumb prods over your lower lip, both of which make you flinch out of your thoughts. Kyle tips your head up, up, up until you’re looking at him, brown irises gentle and luring.

“I can see it, you know. That cruel little brain of yours is whirring so loud it’s makin’ me nauseous.”

Your eyes fall closed, and you reach up, grapple at Kyle’s wrist, massage the tender spot at its center. “I’m sorry.”

He inhales, ragged and slow. Exhales, blowing past your flyaways. “For what, bunny?”

You continue to caress the baby-soft skin of his wrist, marveling a bit at how different it feels from his rough fingertips, from his scarred thighs, his bruised back. “I need… time. A little bit to think. Consider things.”

The last thing you wanted to do was tell him to leave. You felt like an idiot for even implying that space from him was the something you needed right now. You know the silence will swallow you whole when he’s gone. 

“You want me to go?” he breathes out, and his face crumbles. Likely, he didn’t want to leave. He could barely be goaded out of your bed, and now this? 

Kyle looks like he wished he hadn’t asked, hadn’t said anything. Those mournful brown eyes slip to the counter, where your mug and pancake box sit, then back to you, to your eyes and nose and lips. 

Your lips. He prods at the bottom one, like he can’t help it. The caress slows to a stop when he pinches his eyes closed and tips forward, dropping his forehead to yours. “But I don’t wanna leave, love,” he mumbles. “Scared if I do, you won’t let me back.”

You don’t think you could ever keep him out. Not out of your house, and not out of your head. But your brain feels unspooled and uncollected, and all that’s left are too-sweet cotton-candy wisps that can’t quite latch onto anything. 

“I…”

Don’t want you to leave either.

I want you to stay. I want to move in with you. I want every night to be like last night, and every morning to begin like ours did.

I want it all to be ours.

Your hands rise up and brush against the dips and swells of his chest. Goosebumps blossom under your touch. 

“Kyle, you know this isn’t goodbye. It can’t be. I need you to tell me you understand that.”

He sighs again.

“I know, love. I know that.” His thumb wanders over the arch of your cheek. “I’m used to all this, with you. All the pullin’ away and coming back.” He chuckles bitterly, a bit breathy. “It’s just so fuckin’ hard this time ’round.”

Your chest feels like it’s split open, gaping and pouring out. But your mind, or what’s left of it, knows you need this. You need the separation from him, deserve time to think through all he’s offering, all you could barely repay him for in return. 

The debt between the two of you is yawning. But if you gave in and told him yes, all you’d be left with is uncertainty. 

Not even a man as perfect as Kyle can make up your mind for you. 

“One more kiss before you go?”

He takes you up on it before you can say any more. 

His lips are a harsh press against yours, bruising enough to leave them puffy for hours. He kisses to consume, to swallow you up and spit you out wanting more. 

Gentlemanly as Kyle can be, there’s not a glimpse of it to be seen now. He’s not playing fair, at the moment. 

He hooks a finger under your chin and holds you steady, keeps you close and running out of air as he slips past your defenses, the hot, wet press of his tongue on top of yours. It’s instantly dominating before you have a chance to fight.

And then he’s toying with you, kneading you back into the fray with long prods and swipes, his stubble from the morning a heady friction on your skin. He’s playing and caressing and devilishly stroking needy whimpers from you, fingers dancing along your skin, drawing circles on your skin and whines from your throat. That dangerous tongue of his performs another sweep about your mouth, then slips back. Kyle begins worrying at your bottom lip, teeth digging in so harsh and quick —

—and he tears away from you so abruptly that you gasp, can’t even see straight. Suddenly you’re cold and alone, panting and losing your balance without Kyle’s sturdy form keeping you upright. 

You only realize what had happened when you hear a rustling from your bedroom. Kyle reappears seconds later, avoiding your gaze as he zips his jacket up over his bare chest, legs and hips clad in last night’s jeans. 

Subconsciously, you pick at the neckline of the black cotton tee you’re wearing—his shirt, one you guess he doesn’t want back before he leaves. “You don’t want your—”

“Don’t take it off—not yet, yeah?” He meets your eyes for the first time in two minutes, and there’s little brown left to them, all dilated pupils and a consternated furrow. Even his lips, wonderfully swelled, are tugged into a small frown. “Keep it on f’me. I’ll come back for it when you’re ready.”

But you don’t know when that’ll be. How could you possibly make an unbiased decision when the damn thing still smells like him and you can’t forget that ravenous look in his eyes when he’d first found you in it?

Kyle’s hovers near the door, hand tight around the knob like he can’t quite figure out how to open it again. He glances back at you over his shoulder, lets himself take you in, take the entire scene in. He even looks back at your bedroom, where the sheets are rumpled and need to be washed. Then he settles on you one last time, jaw set, muscle feathering a bit.

“Call me. Text me. Anything, darling. But don’t you dare forget about me.”

The door closes with a slam.  

~~~~~~

The first day, Gaz is sure it’s fine. You need time to think, and that’s okay. He can handle that. He’s handled it multiple times.

And, yeah, when he’d gotten back to his hotel room, he had to sit for a moment, staring at the wall. Had to replay that whole night all over again. 

Then again. 

He did the same thing with that morning, reimagining licking the sweat off your thighs, sliding up and burying his face into your stomach, pawing at your body wherever you’d get the loudest. Replayed the feeling of your supple palms and soft fingertips—every inch of you was so damn soft, fleshy and yielding in his hands—wandering over his cheeks, his lips, his scalp. 

Fucking beautiful. Every goddamn second of it. 

Gaz, that first day, tries not to linger too long on how it’d ended. 

So stupid of him to bring that up. Suggest for you to move in with him when obviously you both functioned at two vastly different paces. 

Isn’t it ridiculous that he can’t even bring himself to think it’s crazy? He can’t find it in him to say no, that’s bullshit, because who are you and why the hell did he ever think moving with a woman he’d only known for three months was okay—desirable, even?

So bloody desirable it almost crossed that line and became imperative. 

He spends that night checking his phone, wondering if you’ll call him again, borderline tears and needy like yesterday.

That was his favorite aspect of yours so far—when you needed him, you needed him badly. You needed him while you choked back gasps and almost-sobs. You needed him while you breathed a little sigh of relief at the sight of him and jumped into his arms. You needed him with that first kiss, shy and tentative, but trying your best to imitate reckless abandon—until he taught you properly. 

He’d spent that whole night watching you be shocked at yourself for how badly could want him, all confused and flushed when you’d noticed your fingers digging into the buttons of his trousers. A little stunned “o” formed on your lips when you’d dug your nails in, body trembling with exhaustion, and still begged him for more. Kyle, please. More.

Gaz only convinces himself to take a shower for the night when the thoughts become too much. He almost trips over his own feet in a mad scramble when he sees his phone flash, only to find a notification for an update. 

He goes to sleep in a sour mood. 

The second day goes about the same. He wakes up late in the afternoon (because, due to your midnight upset, he was still on his Middle-East sleep schedule), spends way too much time remembering and staring at his phone, waiting for a buzz or a ring. Eats his dinner and drinks in a deathly silence. 

Because silence is unnerving to him now. You’ve changed that much in him. Every second spent in lonely quiet feels like a waste of his time. 

But you don’t call. And you don’t text. 

You don’t do any of it for the next three days. 

Gaz wallows even worse. He gets antsy, goes to the hotel gym and sprints on the treadmill, because he knows if he runs outside he’ll find himself at your place. He goes to stores, buys himself another black t-shirt, same size and brand as the one that you’d worn, that’d cinched in at your waist and flared out to capture your hips and thighs. 

He wanders into the bookstore next door and finds a few of the ones he’d spotted on your bedroom bookshelf whenever you’d tapped out on him. He flits through a few pages, eyes catching on the naughty words, and reads through for… wistful entertainment, at least. 

Research purposes, at most. 

And Gaz chuckles to himself, winking at the girls that try to wander into the section inconspicuously. The same ones who surely have as good a poker face as you, and who immediately vacate the area at the sight of an invader. 

It would be more fun if it was you he was teasing. Same pink ears and face, same eyes avoiding contact at all cost, fingers fidgeting at the hems of your sleeves.

A longing ache floods his chest so directly and intensely that he has to take a second, breathe and set down the book so he can center himself again. That same flood of cognizance about his situation hits him when he’s on missions, when the victims’ sobs finally get to him or he looks too long in the eyes of a dead man. 

Like he’s yanked to the surface after hours underneath the tide, and the sun shines so brightly his eyes burn. But he’s seeing and feeling everything he’d shoved deep down, knows exactly what led him to this moment. 

Gaz doesn’t go out much after that. 

Not the next day, or the day after that. Not even the next two days after those. 

It’s around this point that he wishes you would just put him out of his fucking misery. He’s so tired of thinking of you before he goes to bed, dreaming of you, then waking up to phantom touches all over his body. He’s driving himself up the walls trying not to call you, break into your house and just steal you back to England anyway. 

Patience. Son of a bitch—patience. God, you strung it out so thin with him that it could snap like a rubber band and hurt you both. 

It’s midnight of the tenth day of no contact with you that Gaz’s finally got his sleep schedule under control, and he’s twisted up in the sheets, body caked with sweat. 

Well, actually, he’s in Prague.

He’s rapidly approaching a target in a dusty, dark alleyway. Just before they turn the corner and get into public view—can’t let that happen, have to maintain cover—Gaz wrestles them away from the glow of the streetlamps and back behind a dumpster, kicking away their gun while he wrenches a biceps around their neck—

But it’s your voice ringing through the air. Your pleas and sobs pierce his conscious too late. Your neck snaps so loud he flinches, and all the while his mind is screaming no, no this can’t be right. She’s not the target. She’s never the target. 

Gaz scrambles away, tearing off the sheets and rolling out of bed. 

Jesus Christ.

He has to see you. 

After that, just needs to make sure. Needs to check that you’re still in tact, your sweet neck not cracked and limp, eyes not dim and silenced. 

He rises to his feet and can’t find his Goddamn socks anywhere. A yellow glow from the window lets Gaz catch himself in the mirror at the perfect moment, and he can see the thick sheen of sweat that covers his body head to toe. 

You deserve better than that. Better than a sweaty, desperate man with no patience pushing his way into your house and demanding an answer, a single word, fucking anything from you. 

Even a nod or a shake of your head would settle his poor heart. The damn thing aches in his chest all the time now. 

Gaz slips into the bathroom for a quick, cold shower, stubs his toes against the not-wide-enough walls of the tub several times, and ambles out a bit slower and far more jittery than he’d gone in. 

He’s shifting a pair of pants up his not-yet-dry legs when he spots it. 

A dim flash from the hotel nightstand, where his phone is plugged in. 

Gaz freezes.

Surely it’s not…

Well, it might be…

But he’d been gone for not even five bloody minutes; that’s not even fair!

Suddenly, he’s kicking off the pants and hurdling over the bed, buck-naked and scrambling for his phone.

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO.

But yes. It’s a voicemail from you. Three minutes and forty-seven seconds, and he wasn’t there for any of it. 

He presses it with wide eyes and a heaving chest, and something stabs him, hard, cruel, and swift right in the center of his gut when he hears your voice. 

“Wow, I’m getting deja vu.” You laugh, but it’s empty and short. “I’m really hoping you didn’t sneak off to a mission without telling me. That would, uh…” Your tone grows dreary, even as you huff another laugh. “That would really suck. But I’m sure I deserve it.”

You thought he’d leave you?

You can’t see him, and he knows that, but he still shakes his head, brow furrowed because no, no, no, he would never do that to you. Damn that evil brain of yours. 

“I just… um, I just had a dream, though. Wanted to tell you about it. It wasn’t even bad so, like, I don’t even know why it woke me up.” Some shuffling, and a sniffle. “Well, I mean I do, but… okay, fine, I’ll just tell you. 

“It was pretty lame. Nothing big, but I was hanging out in an apartment—a flat, you might say—which is a stupid name for an apartment, but you Brits don’t even know what chips are, so whatever. I’ll let it go. 

“Anyway, I was sitting on the couch kinda bored, and then you came in. Came back, really. It’s like that background knowledge thing you get in a dream, where you only know exactly what’s going on the moment it happens? But you were back from a mission, and I had dinner and a hot bath ready, and you…”

Another sniffle. Gaz hovers over the phone, waiting for those seconds to dwindle down, needing to know how you felt when the message ended so he could call you and be…well, be whatever the fuck you needed him to be in that moment. 

“I don’t know. We were about to kiss, and then I woke up and you weren’t even there and I just…hated that. The idea of that. Of you not being there when you could’ve been. And knowing that the only reason you weren’t was because I was being so stupidly stubborn.”

You sigh, then, and get too quiet for him to hear without crouching closer. “Kyle, if you still want me even at all after this, I…” You suck in a long breath, and he hears that little hitch at the back of your throat. “I need it to be slow. Slower than what it’s been. Especially if… if it’s gonna be the same apartment. I’ve never had anything like this before. Never felt it. And I’m scared of, well, all of it, honestly.

“But I’m more scared of never taking that chance with you. And you’ve been commuting to my home, my country all this time, so… you know, maybe it’s time I reciprocate. Reciprocate a lot of things.”

Then someone knocks on his door.

~~~~~~

Kyle never directly told you which hotel room he was in. But when he’d kicked his pants off and you’d watched them soar over your bedroom floor that night you’d called him over, you’d laughed into his kiss at the sight of his wallet, his key card, and some loose change rattling across the floor. 

The next morning, you’d picked it all up while he was in the bathroom, where he was hopefully not glaring at the impulsive hickey you’d given him. You’d snagged his t-shirt for yourself, some womanly, possessive part of you wanting to squeeze yourself into his clothes, whether it would fit or not. You’d felt like a damn fool crammed into it—until Kyle saw you for the first time, and the look he gave you made your stomach clench. 

You’d organized the rest of his things onto your dresser, only eyeing the room card, and the number sharpied on the back, passively. 

Room 428. 

You knocked on the door now, pulse thump-thump-thumping against your eardrums. 

An “Oh fuck” was muffled and low through the door. 

It didn’t sound like you’d woken Kyle up, and you admit that you’d been seriously considering the fact that he might’ve left for a mission while you were in AWOL mode. A bit of luck, really, that it was actually him, still here after ten days of radio silence. 

But you’d know that gruff, British grumbling anywhere, and your body began to tremor. Small, at first, in your fingertips and toes. Then your knees felt a little loose as time went on and all you could hear from Kyle’s end was quick footsteps and the snap of fabric. By the time the door whipped open, your every breath came out stumbling, like waves over jagged rocks.

And Kyle…

Oh. 

Oh, Goddamnit. 

Ten days was too long for both of you. 

Because Kyle, for all his effortless handsomeness, was a wreck. Untidy stubble’s laid claim to his jaw and throat, and his lips look bitten raw. Deep-seated crescents curve under each eye, lined and dark and angry. He’s draping himself against the door with the black curls on top of his head in complete disarray, and watching you with a low-lidded gaze. 

Gaunt, worn, weakened. Like the life has been drained out of him. 

But it’s still Kyle. There’s a phantom of his old self in his form now, a tautness to his shoulders and neck, slight bend in his knees, vigilance in his whiskey eyes. You’ll have to reel his spirit to the surface.

Looking at him now, though, it hurts to think you’re the one who’d done it to him. So damn hard to believe that he takes absences of you like shots to the heart. It’s lovely, to be so wanted by Kyle Garrick. 

Harrowing, too. 

There’s a learning curve to holding his tender heart in your hands and trying not to squeeze it too hard, too often, but you get the feeling you’ve been treating it like a stress ball. You forget that he keeps himself at this rough idle for you. That he always carries soft, warm feelings all the time, and lets them fester behind the velvet steel of his abdomen.

“Did you get my voicemail?”

He nods a little. 

“So you heard that I…?”

Another nod. 

The air is thick and straining with his silence. All he is right now is two eyes watching you and ten long fingers flexed against the door, features bordering on unreadable. 

But there’s yearning. There’s always that fierce yearning with Kyle.

You lean a little closer, don’t quite know whether to be disturbed or flattered at how his nostrils flare when he suddenly sniffs. 

Then he hums, low and deep.

“Peaches,” you mumble, recalling months ago, a staunch memory of his words about your perfume. 

“Tha’s right, bunny,” he mutters. His fingers peel off the door before he lurches toward you, a lovely swoop in your gut when he hauls his arms around your waist, tilting his face to yours. He takes another sniff, this one nestled against the top of your scalp. “It’ll smell like peaches.”

When Kyle takes a step backward, his arms remain iron-stiff around your back, dragging you with him. Step for step for step until you’re in his hotel room, kicking his door shut with the heel of your shoe. 

His hand rises and sweeps back the hair stuck to your neck, already slanting his lips over your pulse point, teething at the skin. “My flat,” he whispers. Then he scoops up your jaw, tilts your head to the other side and reattaches his mouth to the next indent in your throat. “My bedroom.” Another readjustment of your head, aligning himself just below your chin, your head tipped all the way back, blurry, blissed-out eyes locked on the ceiling. “My sheets.”

“Kyle.”

His fingertips dig in hard enough to leave purple dots against your lower back. “All of it’ll smell like peaches. Like you.”

You pry him off with a tugging grip at his damp hair, only slightly intrigued by the water droplets that you now notice litter his skin. 

A bit too busy trying to think back to why you’re here, outside of getting his hot mouth all over you again, to try and care about something so minor. 

There’s an indignant huff against your bobbing throat before he draws back. Kyle looks damn near put out by the fact that you hadn’t let him keep sucking distractions into your skin, and his teeth bare slightly when he grumbles, “What is it, love?”

Lest you forget Kyle first and foremost loves to grope at the plush of your thighs, he does so now, mindlessly, detrimentally to your train of thought. “There’s—there’s so much to figure out, Kyle.” Your words are more like a sputter, wild spilling past your teeth. “There’s getting my stuff there, and passports, and visas. Things that take more time than how long we’ve known each other.”

The golden gleam of his smirk almost takes you out of commission. One second he’s bitter about his mouth and the lack of your skin against it, the next he’s pulled back far enough to meet your eyes dead on, confident like he knows you inside out. 

“Bunny, when you first started to walk, did you go ’round asking everyone what running felt like instead of trying it?”

You… don’t know what that means. Like at all. 

And you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t be able to figure it out even if you weren’t exhausted from four-hour sleep and the wandering of calloused fingers. 

“Kyle—what?”

The deep timber of his chuckle floods your ears like spools of silk. It’d almost be mean if it wasn’t the same playful laugh he used to give you from across the counter, one hand on a drink, the other reaching for yours, and if he hadn’t done it with little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

“I just mean…” he pauses and strokes at your thighs a little slower, “that all of this has felt so bloody natural. Like I’m made to be doing this. Like I’m learnin’ how to walk all over again. And you…” One hand departs, rises and encompasses your cheek, thumb swiping over its swell. Kyle’s features soften. “Love, you make me want to run so badly.”

Your hands fist against his chest, but you know he can still feel the quivering that’s begun. That slowly showers over your body, tip of your skull down to the bottoms of your feet, electrifying and frightening.

You say his name again, startled at how much you want him. 

He’s not wrong. Not even close. Being with him is like warm sweaters, or old socks, or scuffed shoes. Things that always just fit.

But it’s new, these butterflies frenzied in your stomach, this chain reaction of shivers and sparks of pleasure and licks of sweet heat. 

New, and timeless. Confusing, and so damn easy. 

“I’ve got connections, love. And so much time for you. All the time in the goddamn world.” His hips press into yours, and once more, he begins to sway.

And, once more, you follow suit.

“And there’s bars aplenty in England, love,” Kyle whispers the words against your forehead. “If that kickin’ little mind o’ yours feels like it has to repay me—pain in my arse, but I’d let you do it. Even though I wouldn’t mind it if you could just sit in my apartment and look real pretty. That’s always on the table for you.”

“Definitely off the table, Kyle.”

“All right, all right, fine.” He peppers kisses over your face. “So long as you’re there each time I walk through that door, yeah?”

~~~~~~

Gaz can smell it from the hallway. 

The heavy scent of chocolate and those pretty candles you love to light, along with a lingering hint of peach. The door to his flat towers, ominous and contingent, like if he doesn’t open it now, any second it’ll slip away and he’ll be back on the field, gunsmoke thick in his eyes and throat. 

Coming home is always a little hard.

 He’s unwinding vertebra by vertebra, trying to fracture himself into small enough pieces to fit through the door. And there’s the crotchety stiffness of his limbs, too long for these halls, too sturdy for a scene soft as this. 

Gaz shoots for quiet and hits dead silence when he twists the knob. Slips through the doorway and takes in this little fault he’s discovered in reality, phenomenon he’s kept under wraps for the past year or so. 

Because entering the pocket dimension of his flat is nothing short of ascendant. Every damn time. 

The air in here is velvety smooth and warm. Not unbearably, for July—it almost feels like the warmth of a sweaty palm still interlaced with his, making his body all syrupy slow. The lights have been dimmed and everything in view from the doorway is more shadow than actual features. London, like the determined sadist it is, is gray and drizzly outside each of his wide-open windows, helping none with his search.

That is something he’d had to bargain for—open windows. Gaz doesn’t mind the subpar reward any creeper might receive peeking into his home, but you weren’t as convinced. The task to win you over had become almost insurmountable when he’d grown too greedy in the living room and you, with eyes only barely comprehensive over his shoulder, locked gazes with an elderly woman across the way and screeched.

But he’d won, and it seemed you honored your promise now. 

Speaking of you, he doesn’t even spot you the first look-around. Even as his nerves meld into the sleek familiarity, panic splices through his gut when he glances once, twice, then thrice around. You’re not running toward him like he desperately wishes you would. You’re not hovering over the kitchen stove, or digging through the fridge. You’re not even curled up in the window seat, sipping on a steaming mug. 

Gaz knows he was quiet, but he didn’t know he was too quiet. 

It becomes increasingly obvious that you’d had plans to greet him. 

Because not only is his favorite meal still sitting over the burner, and the kitchen’s covered in dirty dishes, but you’re lounging on the couch, plush thighs crossed one over the other with a book in hand, clad in fantastically sparse lingerie of frilly black lace that leaves meager gaps for his memories to fill in.

With a stuttering breath, he fills the gaps in tight. 

Your lazy fingers scrape at the corner of a page, then you flip it with a bored sigh, shifting a little by hooking your heel over the top of a sofa cushion, splitting your legs wide so he can see—

His pack drops to the floor with a thunderclap of noise. 

Your body jerks all at once, a quick shriek splitting the viscid atmosphere in half. 

Your wide, prey eyes latch onto his while you grapple at your chest, book having been launched halfway across the carpet. “Kyle, you son of a—could you have been any quieter? What the hell?!”

He barks out a laugh. The potency of your voice saying his name is already swimming through his mind, and he reaches back and closes the door while you rise to your feet. “Sorry, love. Next time I’ll just crawl through the window, yeah?”

“Fuckin’ may as well have,” you grumble, adjusting the stringy straps of your bra. Your skin is all blank and pale right now from months of his absence, white space where amaranthine marks should be. 

Four months. The longest the two of you have been apart, and every step you come closer that heady scent of your perfume prickles its way up his spine. 

“My sweet little bunny, precious love of my life—what have you been up to, hmm?”

Your hands slot on your hips, and you pout up at him. The build-up of energy crackles all over his skin the longer you stand so far away from him, but you’ve still settled for a lecture instead of a kiss. “Well, I had this whole plan where I’d feed you and bathe you, and then we’d fuck like rabbits, but I guess that’s out of the question now.”

Gaz snickers, the abject disappointment raw on your face. “How is that out of the question?”

“Timing’s off and you ruined the whole sexy vibe I was aiming for.” You fold your arms, and Gaz shamelessly drags his gaze down from your face. “You really suck, you know that?”

His lips part in that effortless grin you so easily drag out of him. “So sorry, love. If you come over here, I’ll be sure to apologize quite thoroughly.” Gaz lifts his arms, holds them out and gestures his fingers enticingly. “I’ll have your forgiveness in a matter of seconds.”

Your expression’s all stubborn and prickly, but you sway forward a little anyway. “I…” You grunt and stomp toward him, let him wind his entire body around you, and relax a little when his palms massage and dig into your shoulder blades. “I really did have everything planned,” you mumble into his chest, fingertips all twisted up in the back of his shirt. 

Gaz is starting to get an idea about what’s going on. 

Only about half the candles are lit throughout the flat, the majority of which are near the bedroom. The bathroom light is still on, door opened a crack, but there’s unpacked bath bombs strewn about like you gave up halfway through. Even the kitchen is more messy than usual after the nights that you cook. Only half the pots and pans look actually used, the rest an anxious jumble of utensils and ingredients he knows you didn’t need to make chocolate-chip pancakes alone. 

It looks like you were distracted. So very terribly disturbed by something that you could only commit half a mind to all your ideas. 

With him, you’re rarely left to your own devices for this long, and it shows. 

Gaz can see it, feel it, and practically smell it all over you. Despite his embrace and what should be relief about his return, the muscle and tissue all over your body are pulled taut, bowstring-tight and ready to pitch forward at any second. 

He hums, feels the tension in your spine only grow as he draws little circles against your skin. “I know, love. I see it. Candles, and the dinner, and the bath.” He kisses your forehead, grins wider when all you do is huff and puff. “Did so well. I know it’s hard.”

It only serves to wind you up more. “I’m supposed to be the one massaging and calming you. Feeding you and taking care of you after your mission. This is…” you hiss a curse, nails scraping at his waist now. 

“S’okay. I’ve been through this hundreds of times.” His fingers dance a little lower, teasing that arch in your back that you curve a little harder against him. “I know exactly what you need, bunny. Sort you out so you can get back to your plan, yeah? Just need you to let me take care of it.”

“I don’t…” you shake your head. “I don’t know why I just—I mean, all of the sudden it’s you, and I can’t—”

You fall silent so fast when he shushes you, presses a too-short kiss to your lips. Already, he can feel the verve traveling through your very bones. He lets his words brush along your lips when he repeats his promise. 

“Know jus’ what you need. Let me handle it.”

~~~~~~

You’re straddling his thighs with a fork in hand, watching in a satisfied stupor as the plate balanced on his chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. 

Sticky, flushed, and sated all over, you saw off another sliver of pancake and hold it up to Kyle’s lips. He accepts it greedily, lets his head knock back against the headboard with a euphoric, close-lipped smile. 

He hadn’t been… wrong. 

Which is to say, you’d somehow managed to get yourself so worked up in his absence that the second he returned, all you’d wanted to do was jump his bones, sans any of the prelude you’d planned.

A warning would have been nice, now that you think about it. Anytime around four months earlier when he’d first begun preparing you for his absence without you even knowing it, would have been superb. 

Instead, he’d let it fester in you, like he’d planted himself a gift, fruit ripe for the plucking at a later date. 

You want to be mad. 

Can’t quite bring yourself to, though. 

A bit too… preoccupied. 

There’s still sweat dripping at Kyle’s temples when he cleans off the plate, hands still squeezing in distracting patterns around the meat of your thighs. 

“Fucking delicious, love.” He laves his tongue at the corner of his lips. “My two favorite meals.”

“You’re horrible.” You scramble off him unsteadily, trying to keep both you and the dishes in your hands balanced. “I should get a bar of soap for that mouth of yours.”

Kyle laughs first, then groans, swiping his hands down his face. “If you’d said that shit in the barracks, love…” he calls after you, tutting in the distance while you deposit the plate in the sink. You almost trip on your skimpy lingerie set from a couple hours ago while stumbling your way back to the bedroom. 

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” You raise a brow at him even as you tug on his arm, drag him out of the bed and down the hall. 

After it all, Kyle had insisted you keep up the plan. Didn’t want that guilty conscience of yours to fester and, even worse, those pancakes to grow cold. He’d poked at your cheek, voice slurring a little from exhaustion as he whispered, “Gotta stay awake, love, or your li’l rabbit heart’ll feel all sad tomorrow.”

So you’d rolled off the mattress and made the trek back through the apartment, and, admittedly, you started to feel guilty about the mess you’d left during your hazy planning earlier. 

You recalled trying to think of ways you could impress Kyle but not being able to think clearly after slipping on the lacy panties; too caught in imagining how he’d tear them off to really notice how half-baked the rest of your plan was. 

And how all you could think about was him serving you, which really wasn’t fair. It’d been over a year since you’d started living together, and when he went off on missions, it was an unspoken promise on your end that you’d welcome him back in calm and comfortable ways. 

His first few missions had been just that—romantic kisses and big, sweeping arcs of hugs; slow dances around the living room and the kitchen, sweet, bubbly champagne with dinner. 

All you’d managed this time around was half-assed pancakes, lacy panties, and a cold bath that you hadn’t been patient enough to finish prepping. 

You remember that you hadn’t even been exhausted today. The opposite, really. You’d been buzzing from head to toe the moment you got his call, mind too frantic to ever really stick to your old habits. 

Kyle kneels down beside you outside of the tub, three bath bombs encompassed in just one of his absurdly large hands. The other is curling your hair around a single index finger. He’s patiently busying himself by touching you, playing with some part of your body or other like he’s always done. 

One morning he’d had an absurd obsession with your left heel, and he’d nipped at the tendon out of sheer curiosity. 

You’d almost kicked him square in the face. 

But he gets new little obsessions with you all the time. Each day, he’s poking and investigating at a different part of your body, and he always—always—has to feel it against his teeth. 

And you let him. Even now, as he hinges his jaw around your shoulder. 

A true adventurer, unafraid to explore with all that he is. Wants to discover every little thing in a million different ways. 

You lean forward and wrench the faucet off, then pat at Kyle’s cheek. “Bath bombs, please.”

When he thunks them in the water, the air in the room floods with lavender and chamomile. The tub’s still fizzing purple when he clambers in and hauls you in after him, slowing your descent into his lap just enough that only a bit of water dumps over the edge. 

A long, drawn out sigh ruffles the loose hairs atop your scalp. Kyle’s hands sweep all the way up to the underside of your breasts, then way back down to the middle of your thighs, back and forth, back and forth. For the most part, you try not to move, try to let the aches melt away with the heat.

You drop your head back into the crook of Kyle’s neck and shoulder, tipping your face a bit to look at him. 

Everything’s fuzzy. Pleasant. Legs and arms weighed down by gratification, gut slick with sated heat. And your heart thumps wild and proud, bum-rushed red and gold. Natural and gleaming. Normal and perfect. 

“Can we stay like this forever?” Kyle asks again, a lifetime later. You’re only one year wiser when you nod yes, of course, how else would we be?

He burrows you deeper against him, trying to meld your skin into his because it’ll never be close enough. Touching and bruising and biting only mollifies it, this wonderful new appetite only Kyle can feed. 

It’s crumbs of food, or the tiniest sips of water. 

Or spare oxygen.

Kyle hunches over you, hard body slipping against yours. Soughs, like you hit just the spot. 

“Can’t believe you kept gettin’ away from me before all this. Tested my patience so bloody much to get here, bunny.”

You smile, tilting your head and pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. “It’s your best virtue, Kyle.”

[copias-girl]

Lenten Sacrifice

Antichrist Popia x Catholic Reader

A/N: So Ash Wednesday was on Feb. 22 to mark the start of Lent, and instead of solemnly repenting, I was thinking of this. Since I’m on my way to hell, does anyone wanna tag along? <3

•♥︎𖤐₆⁶₆𖤐♥︎•

You’d just gotten back from Ash Wednesday mass, strolling through the grand halls of the ministry until you reached your beloved’s papal suite.

Upon opening the large door, you were met with the graceful sight of Copia, sitting on the sofa, waiting for you with a predatory glint in those dichromatic eyes. He wore his black ruffled blouse; the fitted leather vest that he wore on top was embroidered ornately in gold.

“Papa.” You greeted the man, a shyness suddenly coming over you.

Copia remained silent, instead just rising to his feet and adjusting his gloves while he pierced you with his sharp gaze.

You swallowed nervously, intimidated by the man you called your lover. You found yourself taking a small step backwards as your Papa slowly stalked towards you, only halting his steps once he was right in front of you.

He looked you over, huffing out an amused little scoff at the ashes on your forehead.

“No kiss for Papa?” Copia prompted you, and you immediately closed the gap between you, reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders as you eagerly kissed him.

Copia’s arms were snaking around your waist as he forcefully deepened the kiss, letting out an obscene moan that you hungrily swallowed.

He loved the way your kisses would sting at his lips and tongue after you’d taken holy communion. His cock hardened at the way your fingertips would burn his skin after you’d dipped them in holy water.

It was gravely unconventional, a good little Catholic girl like you dating the Antichrist. Copia’s congregation found it strange, and if your mother ever found out, surely she’d be planning your funeral. But love doesn’t discriminate; and you truly did love each other.

Suddenly, your Papa pulled away, panting as a glistening saliva string still connected you. Lust swirled heavily in Copia’s eyes as he studied you while he caught his breath. These singeing, after-mass kisses never failed to rile him up, the bit of pain mixing with the pleasure to create something even more maddening. Your Papa was such a dirty old man, relishing in the taboo aspect of your relationship; getting a thrill out of the fact that he was corrupting such an innocent little thing like you. Reveling in the fact that he, the Antichrist, had taken your precious virginity and continued to ravish you every day that you visited him at his unholy ministry. Copia delighted in the thought that your family and your church would be absolutely appalled to find out that you were dating a man who was a whole lifetime older than you; and the Antichrist nonetheless. He was everything you had been warned about, and yet you took a big bite out of the forbidden fruit, the decadent juices dripping down your chin.

“Tell Papa, Dolcezza, what did you give up?” Copia asked.

“Wh-what?” You squeaked, a hot blush painting your cheeks as you gazed up at him.

“What did you give up, hm? Cioccolato?” He smirked condescendingly.

“Y-yes…” You cast your gaze down in chagrin, feeling silly.

“Ahh, you give up cioccolato for your god like a good little girl, yet you come here and suck the Antichrist’s cock every day.” Copia chuckled, causing your cheeks to burn in shame.

“I-!” You tried to protest, but your voice died in your throat as you realized you had no rebuttal.

“I wonder what your god would think about that, eh?” Copia growled, eyes glinting with dangerous mischief.

Before you could muster up a reply, the man turned on his heel, plucking something off the table, tearing the wrapper, and holding it up to you.

Your eyes widened as you stared at it. Damn it, pink chocolate. Your favourite.

Your uncertain eyes nervously flicked up to your Papa’s.

“Go ahead, little one. Take a bite.” Copia’s voice was eerily calm, almost verging on passive aggressive. When you made no move to obey him, the man clenched his jaw.

“Dolcezza, do you love Papa?” He asked, feigning hurt.

“Of course I do, Papa!” You cried, desperately reaching for him, upset that he’d think any differently.

“Then take a bite, Topolina mia.” He insisted. “Be a good girl and break your Lenten sacrifice for me, si?” A smirk was playing on Copia’s painted features as he taunted you.

Conflicted and guilt-ridden, your wide doe eyes stared into his half-lidded ones until you eventually nodded hesitantly. A small, barely-there little nod.

Eyes glimmering with delight, your Papa held the pink chocolate bar up to your lips once more, satisfied when you timidly leaned in and took a bite.

“Ah, what a good girl for Papa.” The man purred, discarding the chocolate onto the coffee table. He didn’t ask you to eat more, didn’t demand you to finish the entire bar, he just wanted you to take one bite. And somehow, that was even more despicable, because he made you eat just enough to have you breaking your sacrifice for him.

But who were you fooling? You’d do anything for your Papa, anything at all. He had bewitched you, and you were his willing victim.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Copia felt the exact same way about you. You were pretty clueless to the fact that you had the mighty Antichrist under your spell, all wrapped around your little finger.

Copia leaned in and gave you a kiss, humming at the taste of the creamy ruby chocolate on your sweet lips as you needily kissed him back.

“Such a naughty little thing, you are. Playing both sides likes this.” He teased you as you squeaked out pitiful protests, trying to tell him that no, you were good, you were a good Catholic girl. But how could you be, when you were with this man? You felt oh so dizzy; dizzy from his sinful kisses and dizzy from trying to justify your actions.

You gently bit Copia’s lip as he deepened the kiss, your tongues swirling together passionately as you helplessly melted into him, running your fingers through his luscious grey hair. You whimpered into his mouth when you felt his long, thick, hard cock straining against the corset of his pants and grinding into you; all while his gloved hands wandered lower, reaching under your short, frilly dress and grabbing two handfuls of your ass.

Before you knew it, you were being dragged into the Antichrist’s luxurious bedroom and forced into your knees.

“Fucking tease.” Copia growled, unlacing his pants with skilled gloved fingers. He pulled his heavy cock out, already reddened and weeping considerably as he ordered you to open your pretty mouth.

He didn’t give you any warning before he shoved his length past your lips, grabbing a fistful of your hair and beginning to fuck your face at a brutal pace.

You moaned in surprise, gagging on his cock as tears immediately began welling in your eyes. You did your best to take all of his impressive length, choking and coughing when the sensitive head of his cock hit the back of your throat over and over again. Your sounds were music to Copia’s ears, only spurring him on further.

“Do you go to confession after sucking Papa’s cock, Dolcezza?” Copia chuckled cruelly. “Do you get on your knees and pray for forgiveness? I only- fuck- I only want you to get on your knees for me.” He hissed, gazing at the ashy cross on your forehead as he continued to thrust roughly into your mouth.

You squealed out a humiliated moan around his cock, tears spilling onto your flushed cheeks as you stared up at him with bleary eyes, bracing your hands on his muscular thighs.

“You belong to Papa, little one. No other god, just me.” Copia snarled.

“You understand, si?” Using his grip on your hair, he pulled you off his cock so you could answer, satisfied when you only nodded rapidly while coughing and gasping for air. Barely giving you a break, Copia forced his cock back into your mouth as soon as he got your affirmation. Your Papa could be so merciless sometimes, but that was just one of the many exciting things you loved about him.

Gripping the sides of your head and continuing to fuck your throat, Copia growled out obscene moans, panting heavily. Shoving his length as far in as it would go, he held you there for a few moments, gurgling and sputtering around his girth while your nose pressed into his happy trail.

“That’s it, Dolce. My sweet girl.” The man shuddered breathlessly, seeing stars from the way your tight throat spasmed with each dry heave.

You suctioned your mouth around him, wanting to give your Papa as much pleasure as you could. He let out a loud, broken moan at that, beginning to thrust roughly once again.

“You suck my cock so well, oh- my good little slut!” He moaned, hips beginning to stutter as he neared his end.

You were fully crying on his cock now as you took everything he was giving you, his addictive praise causing your heart to flutter.

“Fuck! Oh, this sinful little mouth of yours! Dolce, I’m-!”

With a loud groan, Copia pulled out of your mouth and blew his load all over your face. Thick white ropes of hot, sticky cum painted you; dripping down your flushed, tear stained cheeks, your swollen lips, and even on the cross on your forehead. His big cock twitched as he came; and the man never failed to astonish you with how much he could give you, just cumming and cumming and cumming until he was finally spent.

You must have looked a mess, with cum and drool shining on your flushed and swollen lips, your thick lashes wet with crystalline teardrops. Copia smirked at the sight of you, smearing his unholy cum into the ash on your forehead.

“You pervert.” You pouted as he destroyed your holy marking. “And you got cum on my church dress too.”

Your Papa grabbed your upper arm and hauled you to your feet. “Oh? My little cockslut is worried about her church dress, eh? Her slutty little church dress?” He cooed, stroking a gentle finger across your cheek. “Look how fucking short it is. I’m surprised they even let you into that place wearing this.” He growled, causing you to shiver.

“I-it’s not slutty, you’re just a dirty old man who sees it that way.” You sniffed pitifully, egging him on.

“You call your Papa a dirty old man?” Copia echoed in exaggerated disbelief. “Is that what you think of me, Dolcezza?”

You only nodded, still pouting cutely as you licked some cum off your face, wiping away the rest with your sleeve.

“Well, what does that say about you, eh? You’re a little Catholic girl who loves fucking dirty old men.” Your eyes widened as he turned your quip around on you like a goddamn Uno reverse card. “You’re supposed to be a good little virgin, yet you spread your legs for a dirty old man every day and let him do what he pleases with you.”

“Papa!” You whined, clutching the fabric of his sleeves as you shamefully buried your face in his chest. You loved teasing each other; you loved it when Copia put you in your place. The shame only made your pussy wetter.

Copia didn’t waste any time in shoving you down onto his plush bed, planting a firm hand on your upper back and pushing you into the comforter when you tried to get up. He lifted your dress up over your ass, unceremoniously tearing your sinfully small panties down and off your legs. With a hand on each side of your ass, he stared directly at your pussy, which was dripping with an embarrassingly large amount of slick.

“Principessa, tu sei così bagnata.” Copia gasped, exaggerating his shock just to tease you. “Tell me, Dolce, if you are such a good little Catholic girl, why is your pussy so wet, eh?”

You now willingly buried your face in the bed to hide your shame. “P-Papa please…” You whimpered.

“What would your priest say, hm? If he could see you right now? Soaking wet and begging for the Antichrist’s cock like a whore.” Copia growled, cracking a sharp slap onto your ass and causing you to cry out.

You felt ashamed; what would your priest think? He would obviously be horrified and oh so disappointed in you.

“Does he know you’ve even let me sodomize you?” Copia taunted you with a condescending smirk. “Have you told him that during confession, Tesoro? That I’ve taken your virginity everywhere?”

“N-no!” You squealed, closing your eyes, pussy involuntarily clenching around nothing. You hoped that the wicked man didn’t see, but of course he did; nothing ever slipped by him.

“Ahh, do you like the thought of that, Principessa? Perhaps you should tell him what a naughty little thing you are. How you’ve given yourself to the very beast you were warned against.” Copia purred into your ear, voice dripping with lust. It always seemed as though his accent got thicker when he was aroused.

His fingertips trailed along your glistening slit, teasing just the opening of your pussy and pulling a high pitched gasp from you as he gathered your sticky juices. He pulled his hand away, licking his painted lips and watching as it webbed between his gloved fingers. He flipped you onto your back with one hand while he sucked your wetness off his digits, his intense eyes boring into yours as he did so. You cried helplessly at the sight, feeling an indescribable ache in your core.

After licking every last drop of your arousal off his gloves, your Papa forced your legs apart and, without warning, shoved his face between your thighs, his tongue immediately licking a hot stripe up your pussy and swirling around your clit before giving it a hard suck.

You screamed out at the intense pleasure, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, trying to somehow ground yourself. Copia’s grip tightened on your hips as your thighs closed around your head, grinding right onto his face. Your Papa never failed to make you feel like you were free-falling in the best way possible.

“So pink and tight. So wet for me.” He murmured before licking into you feverishly, slurping up your sweet nectar like a starving man. Your little mewls, yelps, and moans only spurred him on until you were writhing and whining in a pleasure-crazed frenzy.

Copia stopped just short of you cumming, leaving you desperately pleading for more. But within a second, he was ripping your dress off, roughly slinging your legs over his shoulders, and stuffing his thick cock inside your tight heat. He didn’t give you any time to adjust to his size, immediately beginning to fuck into you in an almost animalistic manner, hard and fast and merciless.

“Oh! Papa!” You felt like the wind was behind knocked out of your lungs with each of his deep thrusts, causing your eyes to roll back as he stretched you and filled you up so perfectly.

In this position, Copia’s big cock reached so deeply inside you that you swore you could feel him in your stomach. He precisely hit every pleasure spot inside you, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix as he muttered out strings of Italian curses.

You were utterly in awe as you gazed up at the man; his mouth hanging open, a few locks of grey hair falling into his face, and panting heavily as he used you as his fuckdoll.

“Take it! Take it! That’s it, Dolce, take my cock!” Copia growled, his gifted eye gleaming dangerously. It almost frightened you, the way it would practically glow in situations like this; but that little bit of fear only served to make you wetter. The grip he had on your hips was sure to leave bruises as he relentlessly fucked into you over and over again, showing you no mercy as tears rolled down your hot cheeks.

“Are you- fuck- are you my good little Catholic cumslut?” Your Papa moaned, trailing a finger across your lower lip.

“Yes, Papa! Aah-! Yesyesyes!” You gasped, lovingly nipping at his finger when it dipped into your mouth.

“That’s right. That’s fucking right, Dolce.” Copia snarled, his hand then trailing down to pinch at your nipples, causing you to arch your back off the bed, your legs tightening around the man.

You wept with pleasure, incoherently babbling and squeaking as you reached up to thread your fingers through Copia’s hair once more, pulling him down into a desperate kiss, all teeth and tongues and broken moans. Every time you were intimate with him, you were absolutely astonished at how hard this old man could fuck you. His thrusts were brutally relentless, taking your breath away; and before you knew it, you were about to tip over the edge.

“P-Papa, I’m-! Y-you’re gonna make me-” Your little voice almost sounded alarmed, helpless, as if you didn’t know what to do.

“Cum for Papa, little one, cum all over my fucking cock.” He hissed, sucking a dark hickey into your neck as his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive little bud.

With a piercingly high pitched moan, your orgasm came crashing over you like a ton of bricks. You wailed your Papa’s name over and over again, pussy fluttering and spasming around his thick length as your grip tightened almost painfully in his hair.

You convulsed under him, nearly feeling your soul leave your body as you just kept cumming and cumming; your pleasure so intense that you even squirted for him.

“Goddammit!” Copia cursed as he pulled out, giving himself a couple quick strokes before he was spilling his hot cum all over your pussy, grinding the sensitive head of his cock right into your clit, causing your eyes to cross and roll back as you moaned desperately.

It was all too much, the sight of your Papa shuddering and gasping as he stared at his seed painting your pussy and mixing with your own juices that were oozing out of you. You whined and mewled from oversensitivity, your legs falling open as your body went completely limp. Copia collapsed on top of you once he was finished, letting out a heavy sigh and wrapping his arms around you. Feeling his full weight on top of you was so comforting, especially as the post-orgasmic euphoria washed over the both of you like gentle ocean waves.

When you’d finally regained most of your senses, you were giving the man a gentle shove, and he rolled off you with a groan.

“Stay here.” You pecked his lips, limping into the living room, completely bare and dripping with your mixed cum.

When you returned, you found your Papa shirtless as he lay against the headboard, his blouse and vest discarded onto the floor, the corset of his rat-bitten pants still undone.

Your gaze swept over his beautiful form; his tousled grey hair, the 666 marking on his chest, the delicious little happy trail peeking out from his pants.

“Che ti preso?” He enquired curiously, but a mischievous smirk spread across his face as soon as you held up the chocolate bar and hopped back on the bed.

You bent down, kissing along his happy trail, his tummy, up his chest. You swiped your tongue over the mark on his chest, causing the man to exhale shakily.

Snuggling into Copia’s side and hooking your leg over his, you took a bite of the creamy chocolate, holding the bar up to his lips so he could have some too.

“I love you, you devil.” You giggled, placing gentle kisses along his jawline.

“Mm, ti amo così tanto, my little angel. Più di tutto in nel mondo.” Papa hummed dreamily, putting an arm around you and holding you oh so close as he gazed at you wondrously, his mismatched eyes sparkling with nothing but love.

Who knew the Antichrist was such a hopeless romantic? You sighed happily as the man leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss, simply unable to get enough of you.

The two of you remained in bed for the rest of the evening, sharing pink chocolate kisses and relishing in your sweet forbidden love.

𐕣𖤐 end <3 𖤐𐕣

[ken-dom]

My Body's A Zombie

Lars Lindstrom x gn!reader

∘₊✧ ~1k words

∘₊✧ Summary: Lars singing your favorite spooky season song leaves you only only option - kiss him

∘₊✧ Authors notes: I commissioned this gorgeous autumn Lars from the wonderful @demon-dai, spent a whole day listening the the Dead Man's Bones album (stopping as usual to appreciate how very Lars the vocals in My Body's a Zombie for You sound), and here we are. The Larsiest part starts at 1:40 if you're wondering. Endless thank yous to @heresthestorymorningglory, my very own Sherlock Holmes 🩷

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: Very mildly on the spicer end of the fluff scale, kissing, little hint of a voice kink maybe? ok definitely.

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

A big, shiny pumpkin lays discarded by your crossed feet, half-carved triangle eyes glaring up at you, abandoned, while your attention is entirely focussed on Lars.

His strong, careful hands caress and grip, the little tools of the carving kit even smaller within his precise yet delicate hold.

You wonder how it’s possible to be this powerful and move so gracefully at the same time.

You’ve held those hands. Been held by them. Short bursts of time, a little longer with every night spent in one another’s company. Maybe tonight he will manage more. He hopes he will. 

An unexpected sigh pushes up from your chest, and Lars’s head snaps up. A quiet smile pulls at his lips; a tremulous smile designed to ensure you’re okay. That everything is okay.

He nods when you smile back at him and after a sip of cinnamon hot chocolate, you both return to carving the pumpkins again.

Your heart beats just a touch faster, and you know it’s not just the heat of the crackling fire making the back of your neck prickle with heat. As soon as his eyes met yours over this adorable autumnal activity, the perfect quiet date for both of you, butterflies took flight low in your gut.

Despite your flustering, there’s a comfortable silence, aside from the slosh of pumpkin innards and the soft sawing to create pointy-tooth smiles. It’s familiar and warm, and it fills Lars’s stomach with something like hope. There are butterflies there for him, too, but there’s also a nervous energy building up that he knows he needs to channel into something if he wants to keep from running.

A forgiving hum cuts through the silence, and as Lars feels some relief at the tender release, you’re struggling to hold back.

‘You’re sexy when you sing,’ you blurt, cheeks burning, and Lars’s, too.

He doesn’t answer, and for a moment your stomach sinks. But Lars hums again, louder this time. It’s a tune you recognise.

As if with an unspoken agreement, you both drop everything. Your eyes lock with his again, and you lean forward, testing the waters. Would it be too much to dive forward?

Lars sits cross-legged and his fingers find his knees, squeezing hard enough for his knuckles to whiten, but he perseveres, humming right through the chorus.

Drawn to him like a magnet, you pounce, and Lars lands on his back with you right on top of him, all the breath squeezed from his chest as he adjusts to this new overwhelming feeling.

There are layers upon layers between you, but this is closer than he’s been with anyone since Bianca and oh, how he’s missed these simple intimacies. 

It’s different to being close with Bianca, yes, but welcome all the same, and quickly, you’re both very comfortable; Lars bold enough to slide his arms around your waist as he smiles up at you, and you propped above, an inch from his face, legs tangled.

Laughing, you breathe an apology for your conduct, but he’s laughing too until it all melts away into more humming and effortless acceptance that you’re touching now, and not just with hands. 

‘I know that song,’ you whisper, eyes dipping to his lips. ‘One of my favourites.’

Lars raises an eyebrow and you swear you see a smirk pass over his lips. ‘Oh?’

There’s a tense beat and you take a deep breath — cocoa powder and floral soap (the brand his beloved mother used to use) — and ready yourself to kiss him just the way you’d dreamed about for weeks upon weeks.

As you lean in, Lars moves his face away, mouth connecting instead with the crook of your neck, and a shiver runs down to your core. 

‘Oh!’ you utter, mind racing. I never thought he’d have it in him. Not this soon, anyway. Not-

Lars begins to sing, husky voice vibrating where his lips are at your throat, teeth nipping and mustache scratching at the tender flesh. Any resolve you may have had would be weakened if you hadn’t abandoned such formalities long before stepping through his front door.

‘The smell of my breath, From the blood in neck-’

You can’t help but let slip a little groan at the way his voice cracks just a touch, the way he shifts his range low to high so captivatingly, and how you can feel it in every nerve of your body, resonating through you with every syllable.

‘Oh, I hold my soul-’ 

Lars moves away from your neck, face to face with you again. His eyes squeeze shut in concentration. He’s trying to get this spot on for you, and it is spot on; you’re lost in his enthusiasm to please you sooner than you can miss his soft lips brushing against your skin.

‘From the lands unknown-’

Your breath catches heavy in your throat. The gentle vibration of his voice is radiating out from his chest and right into yours, and you know what’s coming. You know this song inside and out, and frankly, there’s no time to prepare for where this is heading. Oh god.

‘So I can play-’

His voice dips so hypnotically deep, you don’t realise how hard you’re biting until his hesitant fingers trace up your sides, eliciting a gasp that drags your swollen bottom lip free of your teeth.

‘The strings of your death-’

Entirely breathless, you cut him off with a hot, bruising kiss, and all at once he melts into the floor beneath him and floats up into you, fingers once a ghost of a touch now unwittingly driving into your hips to hold you still against his body and ground himself here with you forever.

Lars imagines you’ll sing the chorus together, the way he’d daydreamed every time he found himself alone at the lake, wishing you were there with him, but he forgets the next line of the song when your tongues meet, anyway.

[parkerpeter24]

Sending in req, wedding anniversary w/ peter can be smut or not but a lot of fluff <3

OKAY I LOVE THE IDEA thanks so much for sending this in 🤍 i tried my best idk why my writing feels a bit rusty and this isn’t that long 🥸🤧 also i accidentally made this pre-wedding anniversary 😭

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

requests are open

masterlist

the remnants of last night flooded your mind, leaving a wide smile covering your face as soon as you woke up. peter’s arm were wrapped firmly around you but he shuffled when he heard the change in your pattern of breathing.

you turned around in his arms and he pulled you closer, “g’morning, boyfriend. happy anniversary.”

you watched with partly closed eyelids as peter’s eyebrows furrowed, lips downturned, “i’m your fiancé!”

“right. i know.” you chuckled as he nudged his nose against yours. peter, your boyfriend since four years, had finally proposed to you one night before your anniversary, and despite him being the worst at secret-keeping, this one was exceptionally well kept. but knowing peter, you would have expected something like that from him anyway.

“why’d you say boyfriend?” he asked.

“you know, it was fun being your girlfriend. it’s like an end of an era.” you shrugged, getting up finally to start the day.

peter shook his head, “happy anniversary, fiancé.”

the two of you made breakfast together, stealing kisses every once in a while as you worked around the kitchen in co-ordination. peter cut up some strawberries while you baked pancakes.

“we should run to the grocery store later.” you stated as the two of you sat down at the dining table, besides instead of sitting across each other.

“why?” peter asked.

“there’s basically nothing left in the fridge.” you said before dipping your spoon in the nutella jar and pulling out a flood of the chocolate spread, covering your pancake in it.

“whoa! easy there, willy wonka.” peter teased, making you laugh.

“it’s alright. not like i’ve gotta maintain a figure, i got a boyfriend.”

peter’s face, once more turned sour with distaste. not from your pancakes but from what you’d just said, “i’m your fiancé.”

“yes, i’ve got a fiancé.” you gave him a grin before taking a bite from your stack of pancakes.

the two of you took a trip down to the grocery store around noon. peter gathered all the items from your list while you were busy exploring the snacks section, finally deciding on a few packs of readymade popcorn for your movie night later and some reese’s peanut butter cups.

on your way out from the store, you stumbled into your neighbour, mj. she noticed the ring immediately and her eyes widened in excitement.

peter realised you two hadn’t told anyone about your engagement. peter noticed the look of confusion over your face as mj congratulated you.

the brunette took your hand in his, pulling it up to your eye level so you could see the beautiful ring sitting on your ring finger, “fiancé.” he mouthed to you.

“oh! thanks a lot, mj.” you smiled at the kind girl.

you were sitting on the couch, legs stretched to rest over the coffee table as you waited for peter to bring the snacks out. the first scene of the movie you two had mutually agreed upon– after a long, long conversation over how star wars is better than rom coms– was paused over the screen as you tapped away on your mobile phone.

you were talking to gwen, telling her the whole thing since she wanted every little detail about how peter proposed to you. you sent her the last text as peter settled beside you, leaving against your shoulder, “watcha doin’?”

“nothing, just telling gwen about my fiancé.” you emphasized on the word.

“finally!” peter cheered, making you laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

the two of you cuddled on the couch as you started ‘the proposal’.

not to your surprise, peter was straddling your hips as the end credits rolled. his hands, warm under your t-shirt, travelled up, pulling the fabric along with them.

your tongue worked its way past your lover’s lips, exploring his mouth. your hand travelled to the nape of his neck, playing with the soft curls as he pulled away for breath. his lips attached to your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake, then over your neck. you felt him gently bite the skin over your sensitive spot, making you gasp, “peter! no teasing.”

peter pulled away to look you in the eye, giving you a smug look “what? i just wanna make sweet love to my girlfriend.”

“fiancé!” you scolded before sealing the gap between you two once more.

[the1975attheirverybest]

The Greatest British Bake-off

A/N: Prompter day 12

Prompt: autumn treats.

Warnings: none

----

"are you...serious?" she rolled her eyes jokingly. "The theme was 'autumn, boys. You've all got brownie m=ingredients."

"Matty picked the challenge." George tattled.

Adam mumbled something about having warned them about this.

Matty cleared his throat as a pre-announcement before speaking authoritatively, "Brownies can be autumnal."

Ross whispered into Matty's ear, "I think you have a special kind of brownies in mind," and they both giggled.

"Baby, this is brownie mix. with this level of laziness, I don't think we can call this a bake-off." she eyed the ingredients he'd laid out on the counter with snobby judgement.

"I've got a few surprises up my sleeve. Just...just time us, okay? lets settle this once and for all."

the title of "Best Band Baker" was at stake. Matty's competitive side has always been both attractive and entertaining, so she'd invited Charli and Carly to collectively enjoy this madness.

"alright boys. find your stations and I'll get a timer going...."

Charli took that as her cue to pour the wine.

"Okay, everyone settled? ready...set...AND GO!" She grinned at the sound of butter packets opening, whisks circling, and Matty struggling to open his Brownie mix and crack and egg.

"You should all give up now." George stated, dipping a finger in to taste-test his concoction, "my brownies will destroy yours without a doubt."

"Less trash talking more baking, George." Matty mumbled, his brows furrowed, his tongue sticking out. "christ! I think I cut myself."

Charli chuckled reminding everyone that, as a general rule, blood in the batter disqualifies you unconditionally.

"Me, me, me! I go first! I've finished first!" Ross announced, ecstatic.

"alright, we've only got one oven, so we'll have to put all of your...uhm...masterpieces in together. it'll be a game of Tetris so let me do it."

"well, let the record show, I was the first to finish. That goes towards my final score, yes?"

She looked at her co-judges, nodding when Charli and Carly both confirmed. "Yes, Ross. It does."

---

"I think we should grade them in the order that they were finished." Charli suggested. "Which means...Ross MacDonald. You're going first."

Ross smiled luminously, cutting up three pieces for each of the ladies to try.

They watched the boys serious and apprehensive faces and decided to milk it, taking their time, whispering their comments to each other and pretending to look serious in contemplation.

"alright, so we all agree?"

"mhm...."

"well, Ross." She took a deep breath. "Upon first glance it might seem like a perfectly respectable Brownie....but, my friend, the edges are a bit too dry and crispy. You'd have to cut off a significant portion of this thing to enjoy a brownie-textured bite. so...7/10."

"George Daniel, you're next, bro."

"George....oh man. you see how it's still runny in the middle? it MIGHT have turned into a brownie at some point, if it ever finished baking. sorry, babe. 5/10."

In the background, Ross and George bickered over who would have the worst luck.

"Adam gets extra points for the presentation. Tell us, are those actual chocolate shavings on top? wow, alright...we might have a winner here. 8.5/10."

"last but not least, Matthew...." She squinted her eyes, looking up at her boyfriend. "I...this color isn't a good sign, babe."

Matty rolled his eyes, "would you just- fuckin try it?"

"you sneaky little...." Carly giggled. "he's added pumpkin to it!"

"AND cinnamon."

Matty beamed "Can't have pumpkin without cinnamon. Obviously."

"hmmm....that's smart. and on theme." Charli mused.

"But Adam's presentation is infinitely more appealing...."

"Right, cuz with the pumpkin added, the color of Matty's brownies...well, it's not the most appetizing."

"He does get points for creativity though."

The three ladies nodded amongst themselves.

"do we have a tie on our hands?"

Matty, watching their debate, began to get visibly worked up. "No! That's not fair! ties are not an option! Here, listen..." He drove the knife through the still steaming dessert, "take another bite! really think about it. let it melt, luxuriously in your mouth. Smell it! It's autumn in your kitchen!"

She smiled, teasingly, at the love of her life. "wow, you really don't like losing do you?"

"Please! we should bring someone else in! Polly will break the tie. Or...yo, Ross. Call John!"

"Hmmmm" Charli winked at them to go along. "Nah, I think if we're being fair, it's a tie."

Matty, finally unable to remain still, walked out from behind the kitchen counter. "The fuck is that fair? fuck no! I demand a re-match! Only ONE band member can be the winner. this is ridiculous! Adam and I can go again! I've gotta run to the shops, though, we'll start again when I get back...."

[fiannalover]

Dip

(felt like posting a little sneak peek into my Pokémon OCs. Enjoy!)

(T/13 and up)

“Alright! They got the lava cookies and fondue too. Do you want the cheese one or the chocolate one?” Zena asked.

“I don’t mind either way. Honestly, for me, the most important part of a fondue is the fruit selection.” Danua replied.

“Ok. I'll get the chocolate one, then.” Zena replied, passing their order ahead through the phone. Getting all of Kelvin Town's signature snacks was very important. After all, they were having a movie night!

-----

“Well, why did you want to catch Golett in the first place, then?”

Danua froze. Her free hand fidgeted half-twirling, half–tugging on one of her longer strands of hair, dodging eye contact as he did so. Then, she forced the words out. “To tell the truth… I really like that sort of empowered guardians automatons a-and… old school anime stuff.”

“Really? Most of the stuff I watch is pretty recent, to be honest.” Zena said. “Do you have any recommendations for me to watch?”

Danua’s eyes lit up.

-----

“Huh. So these are rice crackers. Can’t say I expected that.” Zena said, holding one of the Lava Cookies. Taking it to her mouth, she eagerly bit upon the nori-wrapped food. “They’re certainly tasty, though!”

“I think it's one of those things that changed names as time went by.” The other girl suggested.

“I see. Those kinds of happenings are common enough, right? Oh, did you get the movie set up?” She asked.

“Yes. I think it'll work fine.” Danua replied, her Holocaster transmitting the movie’s box art to the television, showing a brown-haired girl riding a Mantine-like machine with a Pachirisu in her shoulder. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, let's go!”

-----

Zena grabbed her fork, stabbing a strawberry from the fondue’s kit and dipping it in the chocolate, stirring it inside the pot until it was infinitely covered in the creamy melted delight. The girl ate the piece of fruit in a single bite, making sure not to let anything fall on her bed, letting out contented noises as the bitter and sweet layers of dark brown and red mixed together within her mouth.

The movie had only just begun, the blond paying full attention through the opening scenes while the brunette carefully stole glances at her while doing her rewatch. Shieldon and one of Danua’s Pumpkaboo were let out of their Pokéballs, sometimes playing around, sometimes joining their trainers on the experience.

“Whoa… I can't believe everything that is floating around in this scene are spores.” Zena pointed out, while trying to remember something at the back of her mind. “Do you have to deal with those a lot in the Gym?”

“Not that many, myself. Shiinotic doesn't know the move yet, after all. But some of the other trainers fight an uphill battle whenever their Pokémon are a bit grumpy.”

“I see. Do your other Pokémon give you any trouble?”

“Well… I am responsible for most, if not all Pumpkaboo and Phantump in the Gym and they have a unique sense of humor, to say the least. But they never hurt me, even once.” She said. “I mostly just keep them from playing pranks on others. They can be a bit of a handful, in that regard, but most of them know when their playing around is too much, by now.”

“Got it. Well, every Pokémon is different, at the end of the day!”

“Yes. And each needs their own care.”

She nodded, then realized. “Oh, you haven't tried out the grapes yet, have you?”

“I don't think so, actually.”

“Got it!” Zena replied, picking one of the little fruits and coating them in chocolate. “Open wide!”

Though a bit surprised, Danua complied, pushing her hair off her face and eating the piece of food offered to her. Humming in appreciation, she commented. “This is very good chocolate, is it not?”

“It is!”

-----

“Oh! The airships!” Zena commented, trying to find her words. “I played this game last year that had some just like this one!”

Danua tried her best to keep a straight face, but she couldn't avoid a smile showing up. “Hehe, a lot of things took inspiration from this movie. This was one of the first few movies I watched, so, from my end, I get to feel happy when I realize I’m seeing something made by a person who liked the same things I did.”

“I see. I'm only watching it now, so I guess I'm going the other way around. It feels nice to watch this and learn from where the idea I was so impressed by came from.” The blonde replied. “There is a lot we can learn from the past, huh?”

“Yes. It's history, it's people, it's promises… it's important to remember them, I think.”

-----

The movie’s climax kept on growing, Zena’s unwavering attention following every second. Until a moment changed her energy from awestruck to thoughtful, that is.

“This moment… it's kinda like Geosenge a couple years back, isn't it?”

Danua’s eyes widened upon hearing that association, but she kept her composure. “It is a bit, isn't it? When people are desperate, they go to extreme measures.”

The girl thought about that as the movie’s great weapon decomposed in front of them, while the antagonist held on to her pride no matter what. Then, she looked at Shieldon and Pumpkaboo, which, after playing for quite a while, now peacefully napped together.

“We have to be very careful with how we make use of the past, don't we?” Zena asked.

“Yes. We do.” The Gym Trainer replied. “But I don't think doing so is bad. They’re the foundation that inspires us to move forwards, after all. There will always be people who look at it and think they can get a weapon or profit out of it. But that doesn’t make it bad. I think it is just a matter of giving it due respect.”

“Yeah. And if the past comes to us, we must make sure it lives the best present possible!” Zena added. “This world and its histories alike… I’ll help preserve as much of it as I can!”

-----

Whew. Today had been a handful, had it not? Myldrid was glad he was not yet too old to go around doing all this spelunking, at the very least.

By now, the girls probably had finished settling down in their rooms. They would have a peaceful night of sleep, if nothing else. As for him…

“Excuse me, miss. Are the Springs still open?”

“Of course, sir! You still have a couple hours if you wanna try them out!”

Fufufufu. It had been a long time since he last had the opportunity to do this, after all. Gotta make the best of it~!

Directing himself to the male side of the baths, Myldrid carefully removed his clothes. The shirt was unbuttoned and put aside, shoes and socks were stored in the proper location, pants following suit, legs and arms stretching and waking up as they got free from constraints. With only a bath towel on him now, the Professor adjusted his hair, making sure to change the ponytail to an updo more compact for what he was about to do.

His muscles gleamed from the indoor lightning and regular exercise, nevermind the hike he did that day. He wasn't too vain or anything, but it was nice to see he kept in shape. Those dance lessons helped more than just Lucan, that was for sure.

Going to the outdoor, open spring, Myldrid appreciated the beauty of the starlit view amidst the rocky mountains of the region. The moon reflected into the water, showcasing pure serenity and peace of mind.

The man calmly dipped his feet into the bath, pleased with the water’s warm, comfortable temperature. Then slowly, steadily entering, he savored the feeling of the hot water enveloping his legs, torso, and arms, blessed respite at the end of an eventful day.

A nighttime Hot Springs bath, all by himself, under the moonlit sky. Such were the blessings of adult life.

Hum... he felt like he needed just one more thing. He wouldn't entertain alcohol right now, but-

Ah. One of the Hot Spring's staff members came to check on him. Perfect. Turning around, Myldrid put both of his arms at the rocky edge of the springs, head resting on them as he looked at the server.

"Hey there. Could you get me a drink?"

[heartofspells]

Multiplying Parents

Harry Potter, aged seven and three quarters – nearly eight – is a very special boy (that's what Padfoot says – Harry is inclined to believe him). All his teachers know it because Harry is certain to tell them, repeating the exact phrasing Sirius always uses when he says it.

"You're a special boy, Haz. A special boy with a wonderful house. Let's keep it that way and not set it on fire."

"Harry, you're so special, d'you know that? All those brilliant friends. Do you want to keep them for a long time? Yes? Then I'd suggest you stop poking them with sticks while you pretend they're wands and that you're cursing them catatonic."

"Special boys have the sexiest godfathers, did you know that, sprog? Too bad it's not been helpful in the shagging department recently."

Harry doesn't think Sirius had known he'd heard the last one, and he'd never said anything of the sort again after Harry had loudly repeated it to his newest teacher upon their first introduction when Sirius had come to pick him up at the end of the first day of school. Blushing furiously while trying to act as though he wasn't, nostrils flaring, Sirius' gaze had dropped to Harry where he'd been humming between the two adults. Sirius still turns a terrific shade of red whenever he's forced to interact with Ms Hatherton, the woman eyeing him like a treat dipped in chocolate, not that Harry notices much.

"Trying to kill your old dad, aren't you?" Sirius had hissed out the side of his mouth after the encounter as they'd nearly jogged down the pavement away from the school and the chortling woman. Harry hadn't entirely understood, but he'd laughed at the exasperation in Padfoot's voice.

Keep reading on AO3

[scorchieart]

Characters: Gilbert von Obsidian x F!Reader

POV: 1st person Genre: Slice of Life

Prompt #4: “I'd agree with you, but then we'd both be lying.”

Wordcount: 999

A/N: I did it, you guys! Thank you Mary Ellen for the request and the vote of confidence, and pretty much laying the groundwork for this entire fic, it could not have been done without you. And thank you to everyone else who believed I could write Gilbert, this one goes out to you all!

I missed the little rabbit the moment I sent her away. Each day in her absence was like blindly wading through the thickest bog, pushing and pulling with no end in sight, as though the sun had forgotten to dawn. I missed the way she happily hopped into my sights like a footloose bunny, spun poetry from the even most mundane of topics like a morning dove, and warmed my skin as heartily as a babe seeking her mother’s embrace. 

All these things and more I wanted to convey upon her return, to tell her of the heartache that flowed through my veins as organically as my own blood, both sustaining and rotting me from the inside out, but one look at her glittering smile dissolved those woes quicker than any antidote, and we were back to our daily routine.

My little bunny and I, side-by-side. Nothing in between.

“Won’t you at least try one of Prince Yves’s danishes? He prepared four entire batches before agreeing to let me bring some back for you.”

Her words were sincere and earnest, and I could tell she truly had my best interest at heart as she carefully arranged three pastel pastries from a rose-draped basket onto a plate. A gentle breeze whistled through the gazebo where we sat, and though our shoulders were flush against each other, the sweets she carried seemed to separate us once again, like a border between winter and spring.

“I’d much rather have one of your famous double-chocolate dipped cookies instead,” I said, lightly pushing the plate back onto the table with the hilt of my cane. “Or a dozen.”

She frowned and picked the plate up again. “But I can make those for you any day. These were prepared only just this morning, and I went through a great deal making sure they stayed level on the journey. The meringue in the batter will deflate if we wait any longer.”

“And that is precisely what I want,” I said. Though we have known each other for quite some time now, I still wondered whether she could pick up on all my cues. Visual ones she mastered instantly, as did most who met me, like when I tap my cane on the ground to grab attention or tilt my head to emphasize a point. But she still needed to work on subtext, because while I meant my comment to be endearing and praiseworthy of her talents, she responded by turning the other cheek and letting out a snide “Humph!”

I truly enjoyed this playful side of her. It assured me that what I believed in was shared by another soul; that one was never too old to cling to childish habits. But what I wanted more than anything now was a return to our normal relationship, back to when the sun dawned brightly on my days like I heard it does in Rhodolite.

“Have I gone and upset my little rabbit? This simply will not do, especially in the midst of my terrain,” I said, a playful rumble gurgling in my belly as I pronounced each word. “Of course, the ill-manners of a beast left alone to prowl in his big empty castle are expected upon the first meeting of his beloved bunny after ages of crippling solitude, yes?”

She turned to face me, and in an instant I knew she had fallen yet again for my renowned duplicity, innocent as I was today.

“It wasn’t exactly ages,” she began, her face clouding with guilt. “But… I guess I have been gone longer than usual this time. I thought bringing the sweets would cheer you up, but is there any other way I could make it up to you? Besides the cookies, I mean.” She added, and the rumble in my belly released in a low chuckle.

“I have several ideas,” I said, the childlike sensation surging inside me. I raised my hand between us, palm facing upward. A few moments passed as she stared blankly at it before she caved.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked, poking my hand with her forefinger.

“Well, that’s your mission now, isn’t it?” I said, stretching my cheeks in a wide grin. “There are many answers to this riddle, but only picking the best will absolve you of your misdeed.”

“And if I don’t pick the best answer?” she said.

I tilted my head and her eyes went wide. Yes, I do believe she has my visual cues down pat.

“You’re just bluffing, aren’t you?” she stammered. “Come on, it’s not like me staying away for that long was so bad. It’s not that big of a deal, right? Right?”

“Hmm. I’d agree with you, but then we’d both be lying,” I said. Of course, I was only playing this up for my own amusement, but seeing her urgently wanting to keep in my good favor gave a certain rebelliousness I could only find enjoyment with in her, my little bunny. I lightly shook my hand. “Tick tock.”

She lowered the plate and frantically looked around the gazebo, eyes darting to the table and the exit and our seat and the flora surrounding us. It was a little difficult concealing my excitement; she wouldn’t find what she was looking for around us. I could have sprung up this game in the middle of a wasteland and it would make no difference. 

Her eyes finally shut in concentration, and I took in the subtle beauty of her musings. It was like looking through a mirror of my time when she was away. Lost in thought, with no lifeline to cling to.

But in an instant, her eyes shot open and she beamed. Before I could react, she seized my upturned hand in both of hers and lunged at me, burying her face in my chest, my once-nippy fingers held captive in the compressed space between us. Touching. Nothing in between.

“Did I get it right?”

At least I can say I was able to write him before canon complicity shunted him from my grasp for the next year.

Tagging: @atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents @dear-sciaphilia @ikesenwritings @myonlyjknight @gilbertvonobsidian

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[timetraveltasting]

HOT DR PEPPER (1968)

It's been a spooky and scary week or so in many ways, and what better way to comfort myself than trying out this Halloween-branded Hot Dr Pepper for my next Tasting History , or rather, Drinking History, concoction. This alcohol-free drink is exactly what it sounds like: Dr Pepper pop warmed up. Dr Pepper, currently the second highest-selling carbonated soft drink in the United States, was created in the 1880s by pharmacist Charles Alderton in Waco, Texas, and first served around 1885. It was first nationally marketed in the United States in 1904, and went on to become a favourite soda with broad and structured marketing campaigns by the 1950s. In the 1960s, the company noticed that Dr Pepper sales dipped in the winter months. So, they launched a marketing campaign, with Dick Clark as the spokesman, to popularize hot Dr Pepper in order to boost winter sales. There were printed ads, there were TV commercials, restaurants began featuring the drink on menus, and you could buy special hot Dr Pepper mugs. However, the drink never quite caught on, and those who drink it today tend to favour it as a way to soothe symptoms of the common cold. I decided to try this recipe because Dr Pepper is one of my favourite pops, and I also like a warm drink in the colder months. See Max’s video on how to make it here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

This is most definitely the easiest 'recipe' I have made yet. I just bought one can of Dr Pepper (I got the Halloween-branded can, which has no flavour difference, but a fun design!) and a lemon.

I poured the can into a pot and heated it on the stove on medium heat until it reached 85 degrees Celsius (180 Fahrenheit), using my brand new cooking thermometer. I then poured it into my favourite mug (shaped like a curling stone), sliced the lemon, and added a slice to the mug. It smelled good, and looked kind of like a hot, sweet black tea.

My experience tasting it:

After waiting for it to cool down a little and for the lemon to hopefully impart some of its flavour into the hot Dr Pepper, I took a sip. Shockingly, it tasted of... Dr Pepper! Surprise, surprise. The only differences I could detect were the hot temperature and the flatness. There were simply no bubbles left in this formerly-fizzy drink. My tastebuds kept searching for a hint of lemon, but not much could be found - perhaps it blended too well with the 23 spices Dr Pepper claims to contain. Regardless, I did like the drink, but only because I already like Dr Pepper. I suppose the heat of the drink was comforting, but I would probably prefer to make tea, hot chocolate, or mulled wine if that's the mood I was in. Of course, Max did warn me of all of this - he had a near identical reaction to hot Dr Pepper - but I decided to make it because it is one of my favourite pops, and why not? While I did think it tasted good, it didn't taste good enough for me to make it again. I could imagine, however, that this recipe could be improved upon by adding a fruit juice or two, or a few more spices on top of the 23 apparently already in the Dr Pepper recipe. If you end up making it, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Hot Dr Pepper original recipe (1968)

Sourced from Dick Clark's instructions in a Dr Pepper commercial (1968).

Just heat Dr Pepper in a saucepan till it steams. Then pour over a thin slice of lemon. That’s a hot idea! Yes, Dr Pepper is delicious cold or hot.

Modern Recipe

Based on Dick Clark's line in a Dr Pepper commercial (1968) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

1 can of Dr Pepper

1 lemon slice

Method:

Pour the Dr Pepper into a saucepan. Set it over medium heat until it reaches 180°F (85°C).

Place a lemon slice in a mug. Pour the hot Dr Pepper over it, then serve it forth.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

The Gym Membership - Part 29 (Crosshair)

Summary: Crosshair finds a little peace

A/N: Hello Lovelies,

Sorry for not posting yesterday, I wasn't feeling all the greatest, but I'm fine now. So enjoy!

You'll understand the GIF after you read the story.

WARNING FOR FLASHING LIGHTS - GIF

Love oo

Warnings: Threatening, irritating, coffee, teenagers (aka Youths!), someone woke up and chose death. If I miss any warnings, please let me know.

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Cross’ irritation arose once again upon hearing the false cheeriness, just when he’d gotten his mood back to normal, it was quickly dipping back to being unbearable. He kept his jaw clenched as he glared into the teenagers face, “Coffee. Dark Roast. Black”

“Oo-kay…” the child answered, nervousness creeping in as his finger shook a little while he put in the order. “Um… sorry, sir the … um … the size?”

Seeing the kid tremble brought a little smirk to Crosshair’s face, it wasn’t fair but hey life’s not fair. Better this kid learned it now. He was scared and self-conscious, simply because the man in front of him was having an irritating day, somehow that brought a glimmer of joy to Crosshair. 

He took a deep breath and looked around the counter, “What’s the biggest size you have?”

“Oh well!” The teenager’s cheerfulness came back, his fear vanishing in that second, which simply irked Cross. “We have the vast, enormous, or if you are a real caffeine addict we have the colossal. So it really depends on how much caffeine you would need for today. Not to mention we do have about three different blends we are offering today. There’s Alderaan dark roast, Coruscant speed and our house blend. Now …”

The kid stopped in his tracks as Cross raised his hand, his brows furrowing to a point, his silent way of telling the kid to shut up, “I’m sure this is the absolute highlight of your day. Probably your year, I’ve no doubt that you are thrilled to be out of your house away from your computer, and actually interacting with live people. However, all I want to hear from you are the sizes. Any more than three words, and I can become very unpleasant. Now, I’ll have the large Alderaan dark roast, black. Is that understood?”

“Uh … yes … yes, sir.” His finger trembled as he put in the order, waiting for an eternity for the total to appear, “That’ll be a total of seven dollars and thirty-four cents, sir.”

Cross dropped a twenty on the counter, “Keep the change” after all he was a bit of a prick to the kid, the least he could do was give him a really good tip. 

“Oh … uh … t-thank you, sir”

He simply nodded and moved to the other end of the counter waiting for his coffee. He glanced around watching the couples sitting together as they cooed over each other. The students who had their noses buried in a book, letting life pass them by. He even saw a table where a Marine sat waiting for his ride, it looked like. Somehow, all this cheeriness was irritating him even further. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. 

It wasn’t long before his coffee was ready, he dropped in about six sugar packets, as he heard a rather loud and annoying voice order above the crowd.  

“I’ll have the Mocha Coruscant Speed Frappuccino with extra whipped cream a sprinkling of cinnamon and nutmeg with a soupçon of chocolate drizzle, and a slice of pecan pie” 

All Cross could think at that moment was how much he missed his gun right now. Whoever that was, had to be the most pretentious and annoying person ever. Did they really have to use such a fancy word? Couldn’t they just call it what it was, a small amount. Ugh. That order alone just made him even more irritated, he was glad to be leaving this stupid cafe. He had no clue what exactly made him even think about going into this hipster, kids pretending to be adults, type of cafe. 

He grabbed a to-go lid to cover his cup, wondering why in the world did he have to pay seven dollars for a simple black cup of coffee. He glanced around to see a few people pick up their cups and take a moment to smell the coffee before actually taking a sip. He couldn’t understand what the fuss was about, coffee was coffee. It was just something to keep the day moving along.  

His hand hovered with the lid over the top of the cup, wondering if maybe he should see what the fuss was about before covering it and heading off for his day. He tried to brush away the curiosity he was feeling, only to be surprised to see his hand act on its own as it brought the cup closer to his nose. ‘Well, since it’s there,’ he justified as he leaned forward ever so hesitantly. He looked like a man who was afraid his cup was going to jump out and bite him. He felt incredibly ridiculous and annoyed at his own actions, but it didn’t prevent him from taking a whiff of the freshly brewed aroma.

The hint of chocolate, the deep rich aroma of the coffee bean, followed by a subtle scent of cinnamon, filled his nostrils, the beans were strong but not overpowering. The irritation he had been feeling all day was starting to ease with just that one whiff, he wasn’t sure why, but he felt attached to the cup of pure satisfaction. 

If this is what a smell could do, he couldn’t wait to taste it. He inched the cup closer to his mouth, he could feel the heat from the hot liquid begin to tickle his nose, as the condensation licked his lips, never in his life had he wanted to taste a cup of coffee as much as he did in that moment. 

He felt the hot liquid slosh against the cup as he drew it closer, his bottom lip touched the smooth paper cup, despite the intensity of the heat, he was ready to take it in, to welcome it into his mouth. His hand tilted ever so slightly, closing his eyes hoping the taste would match its scent. His stomach lurched in anticipation, his mouth watered for the warmth he craved. 

He took in a deep breath, and just as he felt the beginnings of warmth were welcomed on his tongue … it was gone. The closeness that had been there a second ago vanished, as he felt someone bump into his elbow, forcing his arm into his side, causing his hand to tilt from the sheer surprise and weight of the person bumping into him. Propelling the hot liquid out of its treasured container,  spilling all over his hand.

The heat and burn was unbearable on his skin. His fingers released the dangerous substance before he even realized what happened. He winced at first from the burn, and then when his eyes fluttered open trying to determine what just happened, the pain in his hand subsided as soon as his eyes focused on the downed coffee cup.

It almost brought a tear to his eyes to see the coppery rich liquid all over the floor before he even had a chance to taste it. His hand clenched as his irritation flared again, this time with renewed vigour, he turned his head sharply to the culprit, his eyes narrowing as he looked upon the face of the person who’d chosen death today.

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