#hastings coming back into his life earlier

[my-archived-blog]

Quotes from Curtain: Poirot's Last Case

[earthtooz]

cw: arranged marriage, fluff, neglect at the beginning, ratio falling hard, pining, ratio being jealous of aventurine, unedited bc i wrote this with my heart not my brain

my brain has been thinking about an arranged marriage fic with dr. ratio...

he isn't kind to you at first, less than happy to share a life with a mere acquaintance. he's heard about you before in passing, noting your achievements with a grain of salt because nothing about you particularly mattered to him, irrelevant against the mass of scrolls and books he needs to read.

you don't really disturb his normal routine too much. you move in to his estate with a fair share of your belongings, but none of them crowd his house too much. you have your own room, pristine guest room unearthed by your artistic touch.

aside from dinners, you don't get to see each other too much. he starts his mornings early, getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise and start his day with a hearty meal. you wake up later, partaking in a slow morning, and if you glanced out the window, you might be able to see your husband running laps around the expanse of his gardens.

you admire his dedication and routine, it's fascinating to live beside a genius. everyday, the chest table that sits in the living room changes, the black and white pieces never remaining where you last recalled. the size of his blackboard is impressive, and yet too small to fit all of the formulas his brain remembers, hands effortlessly dancing along the surface to scratch number after number.

a frequent order of his estate is chalk. a new pile is delivered every three days, and he goes through them without fail every time.

during dinner, he tries to spare some conversation with you. you don't tell him too much about your day, not wanting to bore him with your menial chores. he's only half-listening either way, so you'll feign understanding about his work when he explains what he's up to.

ratio is not an attentive husband, but he doesn't mistreat you, either. he allows you to spend his assets without too much care, doesn't police your everyday tasks, and also doesn't bat an eye at other men or women. his pursuit of intelligence is important, and your wellbeing would not come in between that.

your monotonous, distant routine changes one autumn dusk. you're perched in the front yard with an easel set up before you, the sky in front of you now a blend of pink-purple hues. he returns home earlier than you expected, carriage stopping at the front of his estate, and he witnesses you in your tranquil state.

the paint strokes on the canvas before you are skilled, and show years of dedication to the craft. you're so invested in the piece before you, that you don't even hear him approaching until he calls your name.

"the night turns colder with each minute. shouldn't you come inside before you fall ill?" the scholar greets, and you're snapped out of your creative reverie, looking over at him.

"oh, i had not realised. let me clean up here, first." you take your canvas off the easel, but to your surprise, your spouse kneels down to organise your oil paints back into their box.

"make haste, then," he urges.

during dinner, he can't help but be curious over your hobby, the stubborn splotches of paint clinging to your hands visible to him. that night, you engage in uninterrupted conversation, and discover that he's an artist himself- a sculptor. it calms him, and all the statues reside in a removed room, adjacent to his study.

despite your years of matrimony, you had never once dared enter his study, but the design is so fittingly him. it is organised (well, as organised a genius can be), with shelves and shelves filled with books, discarded scrolls lay around the room, but even then, his taste for greco-roman aesthetics are seen. roman dorics act like stands for little plants, and his many certificates are displayed, along with other achievements.

(his study is overwhelmingly filled with them. though you knew of the merit of the man you were arranged to be married to, you had never known just how expansive the list is. perhaps, that only made him more intimidating to you, standing beside a genius does not feel so light to say anymore.)

he shows you his sculptures, and though many of them are... self portraits... the likeness is disgustingly accurate. it was as if he had casted himself in plaster and displayed it proudly. you wonder how long he must have stared in the mirror to perfect their appearance.

but, there are also various other formidable statues. some of people you recognise. you compliment his skill and don't get to see the blush that spreads along his cheeks.

it seems that you've chipped a way into his heart, because between brushstrokes and chiselled marble, he falls in love with you.

ratio knows he didn't start off being the best husband, but he tries to now, and begins by being present. asks you to dine together where possible, listens when you're talking about your day, and the two of you can be seen venturing downtown together; an unbelievable sight for those who believed that ratio was romantically inept.

perhaps, an even more unbelievable sight, was the soft smile on his face that glanced at you very adoringly, and how you remained unaware of his affections.

and, maybe a jealous veritas ratio is just as unbelievable.

he is practically glaring daggers at the side of a certain blond's head. ratio has never been fond of the scheming businessman, aventurine, and is even less so of the fact that you seem so close to him, more than you are with your own husband. you're speaking with him like how one would with old friends, a peaceful visit to the markets turned sour by his presence.

when you finally, finally, finally, bid farewell to aventurine, who gave ratio a look that signified he was up to no good, your husband held your hand in his gloved one with an unforgiving grip. his mood is dampened for the remainder of the day, and is only made better when you enquire about his sudden glumness, visiting his office to see if he was alright.

you leave him with a kiss on the crown of his head, and a whisper of 'goodnight', before retreating to your chambers, and the only thought that circulates in his head for the rest of the night is you, and how he's going to sweep you off your feet.

[pucksandpower]

Help, My Cat Drank My Red Bull!

Max Verstappen x veterinarian!Reader

Summary: in which Sassy gets into an open can of Max’s energy drink and inadvertently leads Max to the love of his life

Max sighs as he exits the sim-rig, stretching his arms over his head. After a few intense hours of virtual racing, he could use a pick-me-up.

He wanders into the kitchen, spotting the full can of Red Bull he had left on the counter earlier.

Perfect.

But as Max reaches for the energy drink, something catches his eye — a sticky puddle on the granite countertop where the can should be. He leans in, sniffing cautiously. The unmistakable sweet scent of Red Bull wafts up.

“What the ...” His voice trails off as a blur of tan fur darts past the corner of his vision.

Sassy skids into view. Her pupils are dilated to the size of marbles and she’s practically vibrating with excess energy. Max’s jaw drops as the realization hits.

“No, no, you didn’t ...”

But the evidence is irrefutable. Sassy must have knocked over the can and lapped up every sugary drop.

Max runs a hand through his curls, panic rising. Too much caffeine could be incredibly dangerous for a cat her size. He needs to get her to a vet right away, but at — he checks his watch — 2:14 in the morning, his usual clinic will be closed.

“Come here, Sassy!” He calls, slowly advancing on the hyper feline.

But Sassy just stares at him, unblinking, before bolting in the opposite direction with a manic burst of speed. Max gives chase, cursing under his breath as she darts around furniture and ricochets off walls. After several frantic minutes of pursuit, he finally manages to corner the cat and scoop her into a carrier.

Sassy yowls in protest as Max secures the door, but he has no choice. He grabs his keys and races down to the parking garage, carefully settling the carrier into the passenger seat of his bright red Ferrari before peeling out toward the nearest emergency vet clinic.

The drive seems to take an eternity with Sassy howling the whole way. Max’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel as he haphazardly parks outside the clinic and jumps out, slamming the door behind him.

Only to stop dead a few steps later, the realization crashing over him like a wave. In his haste, he left the cat in the car.

“Shit!” Max spins on his heel, cheeks burning as he hurries back and grabs the carrier, cradling it awkwardly against his chest.

He strides through the front doors of the clinic, the receptionist looking up in surprise at his abrupt entrance.

“Please,” Max gasps out, eyes wide. ���My cat, she drank a whole can of Red Bull. What do I do?”

The receptionist’s brows knit together briefly before her features smooth into a professional mask. “Okay sir, please have a seat in exam room three. The doctor will be right with you.”

Max nods frantically, hurrying down the hallway as directed and gently depositing the carrier on the exam table. He resumes his pacing, running anxious hands through his hair.

After what feels like an eternity, the door finally opens. But the person who walks in absolutely takes Max’s breath away.

You are, without a doubt, the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen. From your cascading locks to your warm eyes, Max can’t tear his gaze away. Your figure is highlighted by pale blue scrubs as you cross the room, a soft smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

“Good morning, I’m Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. What seems to be the trouble?”

Max’s throat is suddenly, inexplicably dry. He clears it harshly. “U-uh, hi. I’m Max. Max Verstappen. My cat, Sassy, she — well, I had a can of Red Bull out and she must have knocked it over because when I came back, it was empty but the counter was sticky and then she was just … super hyper and crazy ...”

His words stumble to a halt as you lean over, gently pulling the still-feisty Sassy from her carrier and depositing her on the table. You murmur soothingly, stroking her soft fur as you examine her dilated pupils and elevated pulse.

“Hmm, yes, it does sound like she’s had a bit too much caffeine.” You shoot Max a reassuring smile that makes his heart skip a beat. “Not to worry though, we’ll get her taken care of.”

As you deftly slip a mild sedative into the crook of Sassy’s leg, Max can’t help but watch in awe at how gentle and caring you are. He’s never seen someone so compassionate and loving toward an animal before.

Within minutes, the sedative takes effect and Sassy transforms from a blur of frantic energy to a lazy puddle of fur, watching the room with heavy-lidded eyes. You scratch between her ears, lips quirked.

“There we go, that’s better. She’ll be feeling pretty groggy for the next little while as the caffeine works its way out of her system.”

Max nods dumbly, completely mesmerized as you deftly check Sassy’s vitals again.

“Her temperature and heart rate are looking good. I’d just recommend keeping her awake and hydrated until the effects have fully worn off in six to eight hours, then she should be back to normal.”

“Okay, yeah. Thank you so much, really,” Max gushes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was so worried when I realized what happened.”

You shrug with an easy smile. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Better to get these things checked out, just to be safe.” A teasing glint enters your expressive eyes. “Although, I have to ask — how exactly does a Red Bull can get knocked over and lapped up by a cat?”

Max feels his cheeks flush again as your gaze meets his, warm and friendly and so incredibly beautiful up close.

He clears his throat. “Uh, well, you see I was sim racing for a while and just left it out, which was dumb of me ...”

As he rambles through the explanation, Max can’t tear his eyes away from the crinkles that form around your eyes when you smile or the melodic lilt of your laughter. By the time he’s finished, he’s even more smitten than before.

An awkward silence falls as you finish up examining Sassy. You turn back to Max, expression soft.

“Well, it seems like your girl is going to be just fine. I’ll get the discharge paperwork ready for you.”

Your footsteps retreat toward the door and panic seizes Max’s chest. He can’t just let you walk away, not without at least trying ...

“Hey, uh, Dr. Y/N?” He calls out before he can overthink it.

You pause, eyebrows raised expectantly as you turn back.

Max suddenly can’t remember what he was going to say. His mind goes blank, palms growing sweaty, as he shuffles his feet. The words completely escape him as he’s overwhelmed by your warmth and beauty.

“I, uh … thanks again. For helping Sassy,” he stammers out instead, mentally kicking himself.

You smile patiently. “Of course, I’m just glad she’s going to be okay.”

An awkward silence stretches between you as Max wars internally, desperately trying to muster the courage to ask you out properly. But the moment slips away as you begin to turn back toward the door.

“Well, I’ll get those discharge papers ready for you.”

“Right, yeah, okay. Thanks ...” Max’s words trail off lamely as you exit the room.

He squeezes his eyes shut, smacking his forehead in frustration. He just completely blew his chance with the most incredible woman he’s ever met, all because he’s a bumbling idiot who can’t even form a simple sentence around someone that effortlessly beautiful and caring.

Max blows out a long breath, trying to refocus on the fact that Sassy is going to be alright, at least. As he carefully gathers her sleepy form back into her carrier, he can’t help the pang of regret that settles in his chest.

Maybe your paths will cross again someday under better circumstances. A guy can dream, right?

***

The next week drags by for Max in a blur of monotony. He finds his thoughts drifting constantly back to the emergency vet clinic, replaying his disastrous non-attempt at asking you out on a date. Just the memory of your radiant smile and warm eyes is enough to make his heart stutter.

But as the days pass with no sign of you around Monaco, Max’s hope slowly fades. Of course someone as incredibly kind, caring, and beautiful as you would never go for an awkward guy like him. He’s an idiot for thinking he even had a chance.

Exactly one week after the Red Bull incident with Sassy, Max is moping on his couch, idly stroking Jimmy as he channel surfs. He pauses on a cheesy romcom, watching with mild disdain as the bumbling male lead performs increasingly ridiculous stunts all for a chance to see his love interest again.

It’s utterly ridiculous. And yet … Max feels a strange sense of kinship with the hapless romantic on screen.

Because as he stares at the TV, a crazy idea begins to take shape. If he wants to see you again so badly, why not take a page from the movie’s playbook? With a jolt of determination, Max scoops up a disgruntled Jimmy and tucks him into his carrier.

“Looks like you’re coming with me on an adventure, buddy,” Max murmurs, grinning slightly at Jimmy’s unmistakable look of disdain. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while. I just need you to play along so I can see Y/N again. You’re going to help me make her yours and Sassy’s new mom.”

Jimmy yawns pointedly, seemingly unimpressed with Max’s romantic scheming. Max just chuckles, scratching the cat between the ears before grabbing his keys and heading for the garage.

He settles Jimmy’s carrier into the passenger seat of his Ferrari, the engine roaring to life under his expert control. As he navigates Monaco’s winding streets, Max keeps up a steady stream of conversation with his distinctly unreceptive feline audience.

“You’re going to love Y/N, I just know it,” he insists, pulling up to a red light. “She’s the kindest, most compassionate person I’ve ever met. The way she took care of Sassy with such patience and gentleness ...” Max shakes his head in wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Jimmy blinks slowly at him, conveying an impressive blend of judgment and displeasure at being awake, much less participating in this ridiculous plan. Max just barrels onward.

“Look, I know this seems crazy. But Y/N … she’s just special, you know? And if this is what it takes to get to know her better, then I’m all in.”

He pulls up to the familiar sight of the clinic, parking much more calmly this time before grabbing Jimmy’s carrier and heading inside. The same receptionist from before looks up in surprise as he approaches.

“You again? Is everything okay with Sassy?”

Panic grips Max’s chest as he realizes he didn’t actually come up with an excuse for bringing Jimmy in beforehand. He scrambles for something, anything, to say.

“Uh, well, actually it’s Jimmy here who needs to be seen,” he rushes out, nodding toward the disgruntled cat. “You see, I was just, uh … brushing him earlier and he seemed great. But then I went to pick him up and it was like … bam!” Max mimes an explosion gesture. “Total f-fur explosion, just hair going everywhere! It was like he was … moulting, but not in the normal way, you know?”

By the time Max finishes, the receptionist is staring at him in bewilderment. He can feel the flush creeping up the back of his neck as she blinks slowly.

“A … fur explosion,” she repeats flatly.

“Exactly!” Max insists with a vigorous nod. “Just an absolute furpocalypse, you would not believe it. So I figured I’d better bring him in to get checked out, just in case?”

A beat passes as the receptionist seems to silently debate arguing with him further. Finally, she just shakes her head.

“Okay, well … go ahead and take Jimmy back to exam room three again. Dr. Y/L/N will be right with you.”

Max’s heart leaps into his throat at the mention of your name as he forces a polite smile and heads back down the hallway to the familiar room. He carefully lets Jimmy out to explore as they wait, praying fervently that you’ll actually be the one to walk through that door.

The minutes drag by in tense silence, Max gnawing nervously at his thumbnail. Just as he’s starting to think this was all a terrible idea, the door swings open and you step inside.

It’s like the world stops spinning for a moment. You are … breathtaking, even more gorgeous than Max remembered. From your tumbling locks of hair to the gentle curve of your smile, he’s completely mesmerized all over again.

You glance up from the chart in your hands, doing a slight double-take as you recognize Max.

“Well, hello again you!” Your voice is bright and melodic. “I can’t say I was expecting to see you back so soon. What happened?”

Your inquisitive gaze meets Max’s and he very nearly blurts out the entire truth right then and there — that he absolutely made up an excuse just for the chance to see you again. Somehow, he bites back the words at the last moment.

“Oh, uh, it was the weirdest thing,” he stammers instead, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I was brushing Jimmy, my other cat, earlier and all of a sudden his fur just started … exploding everywhere! Like, full-on furmageddon. It was insane.”

He cringes inwardly at how stupid he sounds, watching as a crease forms between your brows in contemplation. After a moment, though, your features smooth out into an easy smile and you move closer to gently stroke Jimmy’s silky fur.

“Well, let’s take a look, shall we?”

For the next several minutes, Max watches in rapt fascination as you thoroughly examine Jimmy from ears to tail, gentle hands ghosting over his fur as you murmur soothing reassurances. Just being in your presence is intoxicating.

You’re so caring and patient, even with the obviously fabricated reason Max invented to see you again. It only makes his growing infatuation burn all the brighter.

Finally, you straighten back up and turn to Max with a warm smile.

“Well, I can definitively say there was no fur explosion or moulting crisis with Mr. Jimmy here,” you tease lightly, arching one perfect eyebrow. “He seems perfectly healthy to me. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Your knowing look pins Max in place, cheeks flushing guiltily. He rubs at the back of his neck again, trying to decide if he should just come clean or stubbornly dig himself deeper into this ridiculous invented scenario.

But as he opens his mouth, ready to try and bumble through another excuse, something stops him. Maybe it’s the patient understanding in your warm gaze or the gentle amusement playing at the corners of your mouth. Or maybe it’s just Dutch stubbornness rearing its head.

Either way, Max’s words grind to a halt as he takes a deep, fortifying breath.

“You know what? I’m just going to put it all out there,” he blurts before he can second guess himself further. “The truth is … I made up this whole thing as an excuse to come see you again.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but Max presses onward, suddenly unable to stem the flow of words.

“I tried to ask you out last week after you helped Sassy but I completely chickened out like an idiot. And I just … I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about how caring and amazing you were.”

Max’s heart thunders in his ears as he runs an anxious hand through his hair.

“So, I don’t know, I got this stupid idea to bring Jimmy in so I could see you again. Which is insane, I know, and you probably think I’m some total weirdo stalker creep now but-”

“Max.” Your soft voice cuts through his panicked rambling like a lighthouse beam in the fog. “Breathe.”

He sucks in a shuddery breath, feeling his cheeks flush scarlet under your gaze. This is it, the moment you shut him down for being a complete crazy person and he has to slink out of here in shame. Maybe he can move to Timbuktu and become a goat herder to escape his humiliation-

“I have to admit, this is a new one for me,” you continue, a teasing lilt to your words. “Most guys don’t go to such elaborate lengths just to see me again.”

You take a step closer, eyes sparking with a hint of mischief that has Max’s breath catching in his throat.

“Though I have to say, faking a pet illness is definitely an … original move. Do you go to such dramatic extremes for all your romantic pursuits?”

Max can’t help but huff out a surprised laugh at that, some of the tightly-wound tension easing from his shoulders.

“No, I uh … you’re pretty definitively the first person I’ve literally made my cat an accomplice just to spend more time with.”

The laughter that bubbles up from you at that is bright and infectious, warmth blooming in Max’s chest as he drinks in the delighted crinkles at the corners of your eyes.

“Well, as harebrained schemes go, I suppose I’ve encountered worse,” you tease warmly. “Though in the future, you’re welcome to just ask me out like a normal person.”

A weighted pause hangs between you as realization dawns in Max’s thundering heart. Is this … is this your way of giving him that very opening?

He clears his throat roughly, feeling oddly like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice, every molecule vibrating with anticipation and hope and sheer, pounding need.

“Does that mean … I mean, would you want to?” The words stick in his suddenly dry throat. “Go out with me, that is? On like … a date?”

The breath rushes from Max’s lungs in a dizzying whoosh as he finally gets the words out. He watches you intently, hands clenched into nervous fists as he waits for your response with bated breath.

For a moment, you’re quiet, considering him with an inscrutable expression. The silence seems to stretch into eternity, suffocating Max as a thousand worst-case scenarios start to race through his mind.

This is it, he’s blown it forever. You’re going to turn him down, probably with a gentle let-down about having to be professional or not dating clients or something. He’ll be crushed, forced to slink away and change his name and flee to the farthest reaches of Nepal to become a hermit and-

And then, finally, you smile. It’s soft and warm and sends relief crashing through Max in a blissful wave.

“You know what, Max? I would really like that.”

He blinks, feeling a little dizzy as the words bounce around his head. “You … you would?”

You laugh again, low and melodic, taking another step toward him. “I would. In fact, I’d love nothing more.”

A giddy grin splits Max’s face before he can rein it in. You actually said yes! To him! After his utterly insane made-up pet emergency, you still somehow agreed to go out with him.

The absurd wave of giddy elation and disbelief must show on his face, because you shake your head fondly.

“What am I going to do with you, Max Verstappen?” You say, voice warm with wry amusement. “Anyone else might have turned and ran after that nonsense, but I have to admit … there’s something terribly endearing about your attempts at romance.”

You brush past him then, headed for the door with a coquettish glance over your shoulder.

“I’ll get those discharge papers ready. And maybe once the completely fabricated fur crisis is dealt with, you can take me out for that date one of these days?”

Max can only nod dumbly, wide smile still firmly in place as the exam room door swings shut behind you. He glances down at a disgruntled Jimmy, scratching his cat’s ears with a breathy chuckle.

“Looks like your little acting gig paid off after all, buddy. Your new mom’s gonna take me out on a date!”

***

A few months later, Max can barely contain his excitement as he weaves through the familiar organized chaos of the Monaco paddock. This race holds a special thrill every year as one of the marquee events on the calendar. But today, there’s an extra level of anticipation thrumming through his veins.

Because for the first time ever, you’re here with him.

After months of gentle coaxing and meticulously planned days off, he’s finally convinced you to spend an entire race weekend as his guest. The chance to show you his world, the intoxicating intensity of a Grand Prix up close, fills Max with a buzz of elation.

He can’t wait for you to experience it all — the roar of finely-tuned engines, the crunch of data analysis, and even the mundane periods of hurry-up-and-wait that are all just part of the hectic lifestyle he loves. Just having you by his side makes everything seem that much more vibrant and alive.

Max throws you a brilliant grin as he catches your eye, unable to resist drinking in how gorgeous you look, face glowing with curiosity and excitement at taking it all in. His breath catches a little at the warmth in your returned smile. Even after months together, he’s still constantly amazed that this funny, caring, wonderful woman actually agreed to be his.

A gentle hand on his arm breaks through Max’s reverie. He glances over to find his trainer indicating they should move on for the next pre-race commitment. Max nods easily, squeezing your hand as he slows.

“Why don’t you wait here? I’ll just be a couple minutes with Rupert going over some details, then we can grab some food, yeah?”

“Sounds perfect.” You lean in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek that makes his head swim. “I’ll be here.”

Max’s grin is so wide it borders on goofy as he tears himself away to follow Rupert toward the motorhome, throwing one last look over his shoulder. You’ve settled onto a stack of tires just around the corner, radiant smile still in place as you watch the surrounding action unfold.

His trainer’s voice pulls Max back to the present as they walk, and he does his best to shelf his heartsick infatuation for a few minutes to focus. This is it, the most famous race of the year. The track with no room for error during qualifying. He should be mentally locking in, triple checking every detail and sensor read-out.

Instead, his mind keeps drifting back to how soft your lips felt against his cheek, how undeniably right it feels to share this with you.

By the time their brief walk-through wraps up, Max is practically shaking with anticipation to rejoin you. Only as he turns back toward where he left you, jacket slung over his arm … you’re nowhere to be seen.

A crease forms between Max’s brows as he scans the scattered tires and tool chests, looking for your familiar figure. You couldn’t have gone far in such a short span.

Then a flash of movement from the Mercedes garage entrance catches his eye and Max feels his heart plummet. There you are, crouched down animatedly in front of the German team’s pit … with none other than Lewis Hamilton and his bloody bulldog Roscoe.

Of course. Of course Lewis-freaking-Hamilton would zoom in the second Max’s back was turned to try and work his charms on you. Even bringing that dumb dog out like the world’s most obnoxious prop to appeal to your soft heart for animals.

Max sees red, an irrational wave of protective jealousy surging through his veins as he watches you laugh at something Lewis says, completely charmed. Your hand strokes Roscoe’s broad head idly, pure affection written across your features.

And just like that, Max is moving before his brain can catch up, feet carrying him hastily across the pavement as if drawn by an invisible cord.

You glance up as he approaches, smile stretching even wider. “Max! Lewis was just-”

But Max pays your words no mind, slipping an arm around your waist and tugging you snugly against his side as he sizes up Lewis with narrowed eyes.

“Everything okay over here?” His gaze pointedly avoids the dog panting at their feet.

He sees confusion flicker across your features, but Lewis just chuckles good-naturedly.

“Just making a new friend is all! Your girl here is an absolute natural with Roscoe.” He shoots you a warm grin and motions to his dog, who thumps his stubby tail happily against the pavement.

Max feels his jaw tighten, irrational possessiveness flaring hot and bright as Lewis’ approving gaze lingers a little too long for his liking.

“Oh, the pup’s adorable!” You enthuse, dropping into a crouch again to ruffle Roscoe’s velvety ears. “You’re being such a good boy, aren’t you?”

Max scowls down at the dog, annoyed by his besotted panting and frantically wagging tail as you dole out affectionate pats. Like the mangy thing has any inkling how lucky he is.

Leave it to Lewis to trot out something irresistibly cute like that just to try and win you over.

Seeming to sense his silent brooding, you straighten back up and loop your arm through Max’s, squeezing his bicep gently. “I’m getting a little thirsty, actually. Do you mind if I run to the hospitality tent for a drink quickly?”

Lewis perks up instantly. “I can show you whe-”

“She knows the way,” Max cuts him off, perhaps a bit too sharply judging by your surprised blink. He softens his tone with an effort. “To Red Bull hospitality, I mean. I’ll walk you over.”

He turns on his heel, tugging you along in the wake of his hasty dismissal. Your brows knit together and you open your mouth, no doubt to question his odd behavior.

But Max stubbornly presses on, only slowing once you’ve turned past a row of transport trucks and the Mercedes garage is out of sight. He releases a long, slow breath, some of the weird, clawing tension ebbing away now that you’re back by his side.

“Everything alright?” You ask carefully, mouth curved into a bemused half-smile. “That was … a bit of an abrupt exit back there.”

Max snorts, shaking his head ruefully as you fall into step together. How is he supposed to put this in a way that doesn’t make him sound like a completely irrational, jealous idiot?

“Yeah, everything’s great. Just felt like it was time to move on before Lewis could really get going, you know?” He shoots you a sidelong look, arching one brow meaningfully. “Dude loves to hear himself talk.”

You huff out an amused breath, lips twitching like you’re struggling not to grin wider. “I’m not sure I’d go that far. He seems perfectly lovely from what I could tell.”

Max shrugs one shoulder, brushing off the statement and its implicit critique of his attitude. Lewis is a fine enough guy … he just also happens to be a chronic flirt who clearly recognizes a beautiful, charming woman when he sees one. And that activates Max’s protective instincts on a level he didn’t quite anticipate until he saw Lewis zeroing in on you like that.

You drift closer as you walk, bumping his shoulder with yours playfully.

“You know, it was kind of sweet, actually — him bringing Roscoe out to meet me. I think he knew I’m a sucker for a cute dog.”

Sweet. Right. Because Lewis was just doing it all out of the goodness of his bleeding heart.

“Don’t you mean Roscoe is the real competition here?” Max tries for a teasing tone, only half-joking. “Pretty sure that mutt was the one working overtime to charm you.”

He tosses you an exaggerated leer, stoking the banter to cover his lingering irrational annoyance at the entire situation. If you noticed his blatant brush-off of Lewis, you’re being mercifully subtle about calling it out.

Sure enough, you lift one delicately arched brow, lips curved into an indulgent smile. “Is that so? And here I thought it was just Lewis trying to get on my good side. My, what a dilemma!”

Max chuckles despite himself at your playful tone, some of the weird tension ebbing further from his shoulders. Of course you’re not fazed by all this nonsense — you never are. Not only are you unfailingly kind and patient, but you clearly know him well enough by now to recognize when his protective instincts are causing the occasional bout of unreasonable jealousy.

Even though he swears up and down he isn’t actually jealous, not really. Just … being cautious after finally finding someone as incredible as you.

Red Bull hospitality comes into view up ahead, its distinctive energy drink logos splashed across the entrance. You start to slow as you approach, hand trailing lightly down Max’s arm until your fingers brush his.

“I wasn’t gone that long, you know,” you point out, regarding him with those warm, knowing eyes. “I wouldn’t just run off and leave you behind on your big weekend.”

Something in your tone, soft yet insistent, assures Max that you see right through his childishly competitive display. He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish as you continue.

“Max, you don’t have to worry about anyone trying to steal me away or whatever it is that’s going through that handsome head of yours. I’m yours, remember?”

Your fingers tangle through his and your free hand comes up to cup his cheek, grounding him fully in the moment. He nods slowly, leaning into your touch as the last wisps of stupid, needless jealousy evaporate under the warmth of your fond gaze.

“You’re right, I know. I do remember.” He turns his head slightly, brushing his lips across your palm. “And I’m yours.”

“Exactly.” You raise up on your tiptoes to dust a feather-light kiss across his mouth that leaves Max’s head spinning delightfully. “Now, what do you say we get something to drink so we can enjoy the rest of the weekend together?”

Max grins, feeling lighter than he has all day as he catches your hand and tugs you toward the tent entrance.

“Lead the way, liefje. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

And he absolutely would, too — past Lewis and Roscoe and any irrational jealousy that rears its head. Because having you by his side through all the whirlwind of Formula 1, getting to share this wild life with the woman he loves more and more every day?

It’s the only competition Max has any interest in winning.

[fulltulips]

bed chem - l.dh ; part o n e

description: what happens when you finally come face to face with the one and only notorious playboy!haechan...? you can't help but wonder your bed chem with him.

pairing: lee haechan x fem reader

genres: fluff, smut, college au

warnings: alcohol and smoking mentions, pet names, kissing, vulgarities, suggestive sexual activities, drunk mentions, reader uses her/she pronouns

author's note:

hihii !! this is my first ever post... so please be nice and I hope you enjoy this ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ♡ recently i’ve been listening to short n sweet album !! and i love bed chem sooooooo much ˘͈ᵕ˘͈ so i got the idea of writing this fic !! do lmk if you guys might want a entire series of short n sweet with other members hehe

location: home

“come onnnn y/n! i promised the dreamies i would be there at the party at mark’s houseee!” renjun whined as he tugged on your cherry patterned silk pyjamas.

“okay…go then?? i don’t understand why i would have to go with you??” you lazily said as you continued watching bridgerton without sparing renjun a glance.

“because you’re my best friend? and plus the dreamies have been wanting to meet my housemate for so long!”

ever since college began a year ago, renjun was in search of a place to stay in and luckily then you were in search of a housemate.

it was awkward in the beginning to say the least…

you had never lived with a boy your entire life until college but luckily renjun was the nicest guy ever, you guys instantly clicked and became great friends.

well renjun could’ve stayed with his dreamies friends that you’ve never met but renjun claims it’s too dirty and messy to live with 6 other boys.

you wouldn’t even dare to imagine the chaos…

“okay but what’s in it for me if i go?” you sighed, finally turning over to look at renjun.

“you’ll finally step out of the house and interact like a normal social functioning human?” renjun sarcastically replied giving the most “duhh” face.

although that was sarcastic, it was true… you hadn’t stepped out of the house since the semester break had began last week.

you’ve just been lazing at home with the same routine everyday.

you woke up in the late afternoons, ate lunch, binged watch your favourite shows till midnight before you finally ate your dinner and continued watching shows till you fell asleep.

the only person you communicated in the past week was only renjun but he was always out and about.

a huge difference between the two of you…

you were definitely comfortable but upon hearing renjun’s statement made you realise just how much you’ve been living like a cavewoman…

“fine! i’ll go with you… ONLY because i cant keep living like a cavewoman…” you finally stood up from the couch and got to your room to change and get ready.

“10minutes is all you get y/n!” renjun yelled.

pfft… 10minutes? in his dreams…

20 minutes later

“y/n! YOU MUST MAKE HASTE!!” renjun yelled.

(bridgerton reference hehe)

“i’m ready!! geez calm down renjun” you walked out of your room in a sheer white babydoll dress as you finished touching up on your lip tint .

“gosh i could fly back and forth between korea and china and you still wouldn’t have finished getting ready” renjun joked erupting laughter from both of you.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

location: mark’s house, at the party

the moment renjun and you had arrived at the party…

my oh my… you could feel the bass vibrations of the music through your ears and the ground.

it was obvious this is mark’s house.

with vibrant neon flashing lights shined and lighted up the house as the lights peeked it’s way out of the windows giving the dark neighbourhood some sort of lighting.

you couldn’t imagine how badly your eyes were gonna hurt the moment you stepped into the party.

“hey! renjun you’re finally came!” a pretty boy with the biggest grin welcomed renjun.

“i would’ve been here earlier if miss given 10 minutes didn’t take so long…” renjun complained.

man… this dude won’t ever let this slide anymore…

“oh? she’s your housemate? you didn’t tell me she’s this beautiful? hi ! i’m na jaemin nice to meet you” jaemin introduced himself with sparkles in his eyes.

warmth crept up your cheeks as you’ve never had someone directly compliment you like this.

“hi…? im y/n… nice to meet you?” you shyly greeted back feeling nervous while jaemin held the most intense eye contact with you while you were mess looking everywhere but jaemin in the eye.

“you’re so cute like a tiny bear! gosh i would keep you in my pockets if i could!!” jaemin grinned and patted your head.

you could feel even more warmth rushing up this time round.

“okay jaems i don’t need you flirting with my housemate. my house is the last place i need you to be in” renjun rolled his eyes as jaemin held his hands up as if he was surrendering.

you chuckled lightly loving their friendship banter.

“let’s go find the others they’re waiting! come on little bear” jaemin told renjun as he slung his arm around your shoulders.

although it felt weird having a arm around your shoulder with a random dude you just met… it made the party felt less taunting honestly.

squeezing pass a body of strangers was the worst feeling ever but having jaemin’s arm to guide you made you felt safer while you could smell the beer coming from jaemin’s breath.

“alright guys! meet y/n! she is renjun’s housemate” jaemin stopped in front a place with a couch and a few beanbags placed with 4 other boys there.

you shyly waved at them

“hi!! im chenle nice to finally meet you!! ya! jisung quick say hi” chenle excitedly nudged this tall guy sat beside him which you assumed to be jisung.

“hi im jisung…” he muttered

“don’t worry about jisung he’s quite shy with new people” jaemin whispered to you as he stood beside you.

“hi jisung! nice to meet you” you mustered the friendliest greeting you could give and waved at jisung which he returned.

“hi y/n ! im jeno” jeno introduced as he smiled forming crescent moons gathering attention to the beautifully placed mole beneath his eye.

“ayo wassup im mark! you can mark me in your hea-”

“ok that’s enough mark!!” everyone interrupted mark’s introduction.

“aw dude i was hoping to say it once tonight” mark sulked as he took another sip from his red cup.

you couldn’t help but laugh at their silliness.

“wait where’s haechan hyung?” jisung questioned.

“probably sucking off a girl’s face or smoking right now” renjun said like it was the most natural thing ever.

“whatever he’ll find his way back later. come sit y/n !! do you want a drink? i can get it for you”chenle said as he patted the empty seat on the couch beside you.

“oh that’s okay i can get it myself! does anyone want anything from the kitchen?” you smiled appreciating the offer from chenle before you asked the group.

everyone shook their heads with some saying thanks.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

you squeezed past the bodies of strangers again with random turns and passes until you finally found the kitchen.

but of course… another obstacle was in your way…

like a literal obstacle.

two humans making out in-front of the fridge making it impossible to get your drink.

you coughed lightly in hopes of getting their attention…

nothing.

“excuse me…?” you softly said.

still nothing.

“uhm hi… if you could just excuse me-” you said as you tapped the guy’s shoulders.

“what?” he scoffed, rolled his eyes before he finally faced you.

‘i was in a sheer dress the day that we met’

you felt the world stopped.

the music tuned out and you could feel your breathe stolen away.

you were faced with a guy with beautiful honey skin and a pair of the softest brown eyes despite the heavy smudged eyeliner.

he had beauty marks on his face that formed constellations.

he towered over you allowing his scent to engulf you. it was mix of woody scent, alcohol and cigarettes.

he stood tall as he dressed in in a black singlet and jeans with a classic black leather jacket over his shoulders.

the girl he made out with was long gone, it was just the two of you staring at each other in the kitchen.

it was safe to say you were attracted to this man in-front of you knowing well he screamed bad news.

the longer he stood and looked at you, his eyes softened.

you stood in-front of him, doe eyed, full of innocence in your white sheer dress and your pink pouty lips.

“fuck…” he thought in his head.

the same you thought. from just his appearance you could feel wetness pooling in your pink laced thongs.

you couldn’t help but wondered what was your bed chem with him.

he was the complete opposite of you, he embodied bad news, he was dark and mysterious, like a thunderstorm.

but you were different, you were alluring, you were like a breeze in a garden on spring day, like a breath of fresh air.

“cat got your tongue love?” he finally broke the silence.

“huh..oh.. uhm i just wanted to get a drink from the fridge sir?” you stuttered as you looked down at the ground barely gathering any courage to speak up.

weirdly the endearment felt so smooth when he called you as if he has always called you in that your entire life.

he found you so adoring.

but the way you said sir, made him felt something in him stir.

“did you just call me sir?” he questioned feeling intrigued.

“well… i don’t know your name” you finally looked up at him.

“don’t go around calling any guy sir randomly love. you don’t know what it does.” he leaned forward closing the distance between both your faces as he cups your face in his rough hand.

what a hypocrite this man was calling you love…

you could smell the mix of alcohol and cigarettes in his breath, which you usually hate but somehow you didn’t mind when it was with him.

“yo hyuck! finally i found you come be my beer pong partner- oh? y/n you finally met haechan!”

‘we were both in a rush we talked for a sec’

‘your friend hit me up so we could connect’

oh… so he’s renjun’s friend… haechan… haechan… hyuck?

haechan removed his hand from your cheeks, somehow you felt sad from the loss of comforting warmth from him.

“haechan this is y/n! she’s renjun’s housemate” mark staggered his way over to you and swinging his arm across your shoulders clearly losing his senses to alcohol soon.

“alright let’s get going beer pong championship achiever” haechan rolled his eyes as he removed mark’s arm from your shoulders.

“lessgooooooo!” mark excitedly exclaimed as he exited the kitchen to the beer pong table.

“i’ll see you around love” he patted your head with a smirk on his face and left with a wink.

blush crept up to your cheeks, you could feel yourself physically feeling hotter.

you quickly got your drink from the fridge and left to sit on the couch with the rest of the dreamies.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

but the whole night you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander towards haechan standing at the beer pong table.

with the occasional glances and winks haechan would give you was not safe for your heart.

there was no denying you found haechan attractive.

but how could it be when you just met him?

“y/n? you good? you’ve been staring at haechan?” chenle questioned.

you’ve been exposed.

“oh? no i wasn’t… i think i’m just tired i tend to usually blank out” what in the stupidest excuse.

“aite it’s time to head back stoned y/n! let’s goooo” renjun stood up from the beanbag and walked towards the door.

“whaaaaat we just met stay longer little bear!” jaemin whined with rosy cheeks and eyes that were barely focusing on you anymore.

“sorry guys it’s late i should head back now… we can hang out sometime soon again tho” you suggested with a smile on your face.

jeno smiled and gave a okay sign with his hands before he waved bye.

before you could even step out of the house, a hand grabs your wrist.

you turned to find haechan holding onto you.

“leaving so soon love?” he cocked his eyebrow as he bent down to reach your height, making both of you face to face now.

you stumbled back a little, shock from the barely existent distance between the two of you.

haechan’s hands found it’s way behind your waist supporting you from tripping. you felt your breathe hitched from the contact.

his hands were warm but the silver rings he had on gave a cold touch to your waist. you love his touch, you craved for it and wished to be held by him as long as you can.

you couldn’t help but wonder how his touch would feel all around your body, playing with your tits as his other hand fingers you making you cum all over his fingers.

and watching him lick your cum all off his fingers and your pussy.

“i bet we would have really good bed chem…” you thought to yourself.

as you looked into his eyes this time, it held softness and sincerity different from when you had first met. you could feel his hot breath against you while you were quite literally holding onto your breath.

he smelled so good, you just wanted to be around him all day but you had to remind yourself, you had just met.

“yea it’s getting late and renjun’s already waiting so…”

“before you go…” he hands you his phone with his keypad on display.

you looked at him with questions in your eyes.

“what’s your phone number love? i need to keep in contact with you don’t i?” haechan chuckles as he jokingly uses his finger to push your forehead.

he looks so good smiling, like a bright sun on a cloudy day.

“oh! you could get it from renjun tho…” you said while keying in your phone number on his phone.

“if i get it from renjun, i wouldn’t have a chance to talk to you right now don’t i? and i wouldn’t be able to give you this.”

“huh? give wha-” suddenly you felt a pair of warm lips on your forehead.

“goodnight sweet dreams love. get home safe, text me when you’re home” he smiles and ruffles your hair.

oh haechan… what are you doing to my heart…

[anantaru]

— calling him a petname for the first time

including kazuha, zhongli, kaveh, scaramouche x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack, very sweet n cute

— kazuha + "love"

"there you go."

kazuha proceeded slowly, carefully walking towards you with a cup of sakura bloom tea in his hand— although it was getting relatively hot around inazuma city, when the evenings shadow deepened into a blue and purple, a sudden cold breeze always pelted itself on your face.

you joyfully accept, pulling up the collar of your jacket to shelter your trembling body before taking the cup in your hand, "thank you love." and you certainly said your next sentence without thinking about anything and all.

in fairness, it tumbled out of you rather easily, but the following heat on your cheeks slammed you like a harsh blow when you realized.

"oh?"

kazuha makes himself comfortable next to you, and he looked absolutely beautiful when you face him directly— from the fierce humidity that had occurred earlier on, his upper garments were faintly plastered against his chest and showing a fine outline of his muscles, but the unexpected shade on his skin, the brilliant, blinding blush on his face was not the sun's fault, no, he cannot talk himself out of that one.

it's certain that while you were surprised by the sudden nickname bumbling past your tongue, he too found himself both dumbstruck and flustered by it, wondering why you never said anything like this before.

"I like the sound of that." he admits bluntly, both bracing yourself from a current of a cold breeze washing over your backs, bursting into the heat, his lowered eyebrows and squinted eyes illustrating a motion of both excitement and understanding.

"how should i call you?" oh, well, you didn't see that one coming, did you? but you laugh at his words, then realize he was actually being serious.

"however you want to." you lean close, resting your head against his shoulder as he slants against you as well, both fluttering your lashes open to watch how the sun still casted a faint yellow light through the sky, both awaiting the coldness of the night.

"I will think of something special."

he promises, because kazuha sees nothing but uniqueness and the extraordinary compassion you fueled him with, he's so desperately in love with you, he can barely manage to calm down his heightened breathing.

in his eyes, it's a sentiment not able to be characterized by words— that's how he'd personally describe it if he had to.

— zhongli + "darling"

black, deep branches that traced the blue black heavens overhead, cascading over the darkened night as zhongli finished the last couple tedious tasks he had left before being able to go home and most importantly— finally enclose you in his arms again.

but it was quite different this night, because in a sudden haste, he perceived the sound waves of footsteps nearby, undistinguished, progressively becoming louder until an unforeseen knock on his door.

"yes?"

the man adjusts his clothing before standing up, in pair with you voicelessly opening the door, yet with a smile, one zhongli had dreamed of all day long.

"hello darling." you joke around, being quick when you step towards a pair of open arms, welcoming you right away. "hello to you too."

as a matter of fact, there were a plethora of feelings being released right now, not from you, you were quite busy squishing your face into zhongli's chest, whereas he caught sudden wind of your welcoming words he, at first, didn't note as precisely as he should've.

at the same time, he was aware you were obviously joking around— which you would do more often than not but for some reason he found himself greatly enchanted by being called something else other than zhongli or morax— which, morax was a name you both agreed on not using anymore, despite his past being a pronounced part of him, he preferred to live a life with you, in the present and near future while leaving the past behind for good.

"darling."

in a trice, zhongli addresses you in the same way, but it sounds a little silly coming out of his mouth, maybe because of the certain manner of speaking he'd use on a daily. whilst, who were you to pass up on being called that as well?

with a giggle, you decide to lean into the flavorful gamble, "yes, darling?" and you're quick with your answer, finding it rather amusing how you were able to practically render your boyfriend speechless for a second.

"no wait!" you backtrack, "it fits you more." and point out with a flourish, placing both of your hands against his warm cheeks before puckering your lips out for a quick kiss, "so i figured why not use it on you tonight."

"very well." he accepts the compliment with a gravelly laugh— you cannot even blame zhongli for acting so awkward about it since he never really had something like this before, a genuine relationship with a human.

his gaze narrowed, your sights locked on like magnets, but his entire face sparkled, with the skin on his eyes a little wrinkled round and under them, and with the mouth a little drawn back at the corners he indicates a smile, voice low and ethereal.

it's almost as if with nothing but this, you managed to make his entire day all the more heavenly and fulfilled.

— kaveh + "sweetheart"

what were the specific chances of losing your house keys three damn times this passing week?

kaveh was truly embarrassed about it and wondered if someone else had been playing tricks on him but ultimately decided to brush it off for once in his life, because truthfully— he was tired, to a higher standard exhausted, of walking around sumeru city aimlessly to reach your home now, where he hoped he could stay the night.

to make things worse, it was pouring outside, violently raining and by the end of his designated route, kaveh was thoroughly swamped and so were a couple unfinished drawings he had originally tugged into an envelope, cursing underneath the gloominess of his breathing at the entire moment.

you open the door for your boyfriend, soused in worry, immediately being as understanding and careful as possible, you knew him after all and frankly, it was written all across his face on how awful his day must've went— his eyes lowed as he watched the ground when you took his hand to guide him into your bedroom, so he could change into the spare clothes he left behind at your place a couple weeks ago.

"i cannot do this anymore!" he curses, freeing himself from his drenched garments, the dramatic mannerism and tone was like written out of a dramatic book, fully illustrated and out in the open, and if you didn't know any better you certainly would've answered with a light hearted giggle.

"it's alright." you smile, "you're home now sweetheart."

and follow up your sentence with taking a warm, fuzzy blanket from a drawer, easily slipping it over his shaking body. but hold on— just a second if he may, did kaveh hear that correctly right now?

"what?" his eyes were glowing with a perception of both excitement and being utterly flustered, forgetting he was sad just a second ago.

"what did you just call me?"

it's done now, he can die a happy man after that encounter.

he was observing himself and noticed how this single word shoot an electric pulse through his bones and limbs, he was on fire, truly, already casting aside and putting away the awful day he had prior, it's like it never happened now.

"sweetheart?" you feign innocence, pulling yourself into your boyfriends chest before propping your chin up to face the blonde, the sweetness and compassion he desperately craved from you spiraling inwardly, "do you like how that sounds?"

"i do." kaveh wraps his arms around your body, sighing deeply in his chest, "i really really do."

and silently hopes you'd start calling him that now, because for some reason, hearing you address him in that way, with that familiar soft flutter and how it idly left your lips lingered in his thoughts, tranquilizing him tenderly.

— scaramouche + "baby"

"ugh."

"stop moving, kuni!"

bothersome, or quite tiresome, two words that would perfectly describe the situation you were a part of right now.

if anything would be said or done, scaramouche should be more than delighted, thankful to his very core, that you were gracefully helping him out with his eyeliner on this fine morning— well, if he wouldn't act like a little diva that is.

"i‘m not moving!" he frowns and rolls his eyes at you, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "but you‘re poking my eye on purpose, admit it!"

"i'm not doing it on purpose!" you swiftly bark back and don't give him a single chance to actively engage in a rebuttal, silently inching a little into him until fully seated on his lap, "you're just making it very hard."

okay, he might've been a little too brass today, but you can't really blame him since he had just woken up, his sleepy image was daubed all over him— not just the low-toned shape of his eyes, it's also about the difficulty of staying awake while you're helping him out, because most definitely was sleeping in sounding a lot more appetizing then going to work right after you're done.

maybe, only maybe, dear scaramouche over there did it on purpose, sabotaging your ways of aid, to have you on his lap a little longer. but it's not his fault so don't even dare saying that, you're so comfy when you practically liquefy into his touch and he cannot stop inching you closer to him.

"i'm almost done." you remind him of his current, active fear and he attempts to yank his head to the other side when you swiftly pulled him back to where you wanted him to be.

you whine loudly, "baby!" and quickly lick your thumb to get rid of the expelled color on his face, "i almost messed it up completely!"

"uh—"

he glimmers a little at the name, but tries to keep it low-key if only his cheeks wouldn't decide to blush right now, in the most inconvenient time, "i— I'm sorry."

you laugh before raising a brow, "damn, i never heard you apologize before." and finish up the last line to his eyeliner, yet staying on his lap before sneakily running your hands over the back of his neck to slant yourself into him.

"i never heard you say baby before either." he admits with a giant smirk, but in his usual fashion, with a little snark on the side as well.

"you're right!" you say all giddy, placing a subdued kiss on his lips, "i should use it more often."

in accessory to your kiss, your eyes sparkled vividly before showing the kindness and benevolence he fell in love with.

now, you had suddenly understood what it was about, that in reality kuni only wanted to spend a little bit more time with you before it was impassable to leave for work.

straightaway, scaramouche can't wait for the next time you'll call him that, the little word he already seems to fancy.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[101maverick]

Damian Wayne Ah Ghul with a reader who is super shy? Like she meets his family and she's practically hiding behind Damian? No pressure, but I'm just a naturally shy person myself.

A/n: I've been thinking of a meeting like this for a while now! tho in my daydreams the reader is a lot more bubbly and stuff, but this one is super fun too! I think I might write them both out :) When it comes to Damian I tend to envision him around his canon age (12ish I think?) because it gives me agency to explore puppy love and I find it so cute! Plus I'm a sucker for school shenanigans hehe🤭 Here Damian is around 15-16 :) Hope you enjoy!! If you like my work, please consider reblogging and checking out my other works through the master list in my pinned post<3

Word count: 1642

Meeting the Family

Your hands are clammy.

Not even overtly so, just enough to make you uncomfortable, to get that unbearable out-of-place sensation one always gets when something's slightly wrong and it feels like life has decided to point a spotlight to it.

You nervously adjust your dress' skirt, fiddling with the hem to make sure it sat at just the right height. You had spent an embarrassing amount of time picking it out, having Damian come by your house earlier than necessary to make sure your choice was appropriate for this occasion, along with your hair and what little makeup you had decided to put on.

He had assured you countless times that you 'could never be anything less than far above standard' , and while that did put you at ease you still have to do your best to relax as you build up the courage to enter the house, Damian waiting by your side.

You and Damian had started 'dating' around three months ago now, and this was your first time meeting his family.

Whenever you think back to how he proposed to you a chuckle curls your lips upward, remembering how out of your depth you felt as he announced his intent of 'courting' you while he held a baby kitten out to you.

The memory loosens you up a bit, and you nod to Damian, who rings the doorbell. He's been holding your hand the whole time, something you find extremely sweet. He gives your hand a squeeze.

Sooner than you'd like, the door opens and you are greeted by the Wayne family's butler, who your boyfriend had informed you is basically like a grandfather figure for them.

He’s an older man, standing tall in a prim and creaseless suit despite his age. His eyes crinkle as the corners of his mouth uptick just the slightest bit, remaining composed as he greets you two.

“Ah, Master Damian, you have finally returned with our guest I see.” He says, looking at your boyfriend. He then turns to you. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, miss…” he trails off.

You can feel your cheeks burn up, and your tongue tangles up as you haste to give him your name. You try to downplay the stutter as much as you can, and rush through the rest of greetings and pleasantries. “It is very nice to meet you as well, mr. Pennyworth.”

Mr. Pennyworth just nods curtly and opens the door wider, making space for you and Damian to enter. "I am glad, miss. Please, follow me to the sitting room." After a nod from Damian, he turns around and starts walking down the hallway to the left of the grand staircase the Manor's foyer opens up to.

The ceiling is extremely tall in this part of the house, two stories high at the very least. The ancient mahogany of the staircase is intricately carved, and the deep, rich blue-green carpet covering the steps gives the entire ensemble a much more regal look, with the way it matches the curtains that are pulled apart to let in all the midday light from the six-feet tall arch windows. It feels way too regal for someone like you.

Damian, on the other hand, looks completely in his element. Not only is this his house, he just fits in with this sort of environment, this regal, sophisticated, high-class one. The blue-green of the curtains and carpets makes the emerald of his eyes pop, and the dark mahogany compliments his tanned skin, reflecting the golden glow of the sun.

Looking at him, you feel a bit surer of yourself, and you straighten your shoulders to match his stance. You're just meeting his family. You can do this.

Mr. Pennyworth leads you to the sitting room. Damian's entire family is lounging there, the majority sitting up while a few rest on the plush couches and chairs. The moment you step foot in the doorway, all conversation stops and all eyes turn toward you.

You can't do this.

————————————

Each of the Wayne family members are here, it seems, and the more you stand there the more you want to crawl out of your skin.

All of these people have been gathered here today for a family lunch because you have come over, and dang if that doesn't make you feel like the inconvenience of the year.

Only a fool doesn't know about how important each of them is, and you certainly aren't one.

Richard "Dick" Grayson, world-class acrobat and notorious heartthrob since his teens, and he surely has better places to be today than here. Keeping up with all of his connections is basically a full-time job, with how Gotham socialites are.

Jason Todd, recently come back from his years-long trip around the world, could be playing golf with the Prince of England right now instead of meeting his youngest brother's high-school girlfriend.

Timothy Drake, at nineteen is C.E.O. of Drake Industries and Bruce Wayne's representative for Wayne Enterprises, right now he could be closing billion-dollar business deals.

Duke Thomas, had graduated from high school at sixteen and at eighteen is in the most prestigious chemistry program in the Continent, he could be studying for the cure of cancer right now.

Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne's only daughter and an extremely elusive person for the media, you're sure she'd much rather a virtual stranger wasn't snooping around in her family's home.

There are also two other people, a red-haired woman that looks to be around Dick Grayson's age and a blonde girl around nineteen.

And, of course, there's Bruce Wayne in the flesh. Billionaire, philanthrope, C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises, arguably the most important person in Gotham and certainly the richest person in New Jersey. One of his charities is always in sight every time you turn a corner on the street in Gotham Proper, his company's name is plastered on almost every single electronically device you can find, and his name is always in the mouth of the press, making headlines day in-day out.

Oh Gosh, you can already imagine it. 'Lowly peasants thinks she can date his son, Brucie Wayne obliterates her and her dynasty'.

Before you know it, your breathing has become laboured and you're standing pressed to Damian's side, trying to fuse with his shadow.

You have no idea how you're gonna hold a conversation with all of these people.

Damian, bless him, saves you. "If you all could quit ogling my beloved like imbeciles, we could go on with introductions." His chin is held up high, and he takes turns staring into each of his family members' eyes, as if daring them to object. With the way he's standing, his body almost covers you, giving you a blanket of security that allows you to relax.

The rest of the room's occupants regain their composure, and Mr. Wayne breaks out into a blinding smile, coming up to you.

"Pardon me! We just hadn't heard you coming down the hallway is all. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Mr. Wayne holds out his hand, and you shake it. His grip is gentle. "Come in, please, make yourself comfortable."

Damian guides you to a couch next to which is a window. The rays of sun catch in his dark hair, reflecting almost-blue. He looks at you, and as he does so you relax. Damian may rarely show it but he has an extremely expressive face, and you have learned to read it.

Right now you read sureness in his jaw, calmness in the set of his brow and something warm and reassuring in the slightest widening of his eyes, the one that happens specifically when e tilts his head downwards to fix his gaze better in yours.

"I must admit I've been waiting for this moment for a good while, I was very curious. Damian has talked a lot about you."

Your eyebrows raise. You start fidgeting with Damian's hand in your lap. "Oh, he-he has?" It comes out as a mumble. You'd beat yourself up over it in normal circumstances but as it stands, you're just glad you are talking at all.

This thought is overshadowed by an eruption of laughter from further inside the room.

"Oh yes he has, the brat has been talking our ears off all day for months! By how he talks, he thinks you've hung the moon and the stars in the night sky." A cackle follows the sentence. You're pretty sure your cheeks are on fire.

Next to you, you notice the tips of Damian's ears turn darker. "Quit your complaining, Todd. It is not my fault if everything you do is subpar compared to her every action."

"Da-Damian!" You whisper-yell next to him, "You can't just say that!"

"Oh, don't worry," Pipes up someone from a chair. You recognise him as Timothy Drake. "Seeing as you've put up with him for months, I think we all believe it. It takes the patience of a saint to do that." He says, a slight smirk on his face.

The rising of cackles in the air and the indignant squawk from Damian pull a little giggle from you, and you squeeze Damian's hand while Dick Grayson placates him.

Mr. Pennyworth, who had disappeared down the hallway after you had reached the sitting room, reappears at the entrance. 1679

“Masters, Misses, the lunch is ready. If you may follow me to the dining room…”

“Thank you Alfred.” Says Mr. Wayne, and after a curt nod from the butler everyone files out of the sitting room.

As you take your place next to Damian at the dining table, listening to Damian and Timothy bicker, you feel more at ease than you ever hoped of feeling while waiting on the front steps.

Your hand is warm in Damian’s still.

————————————

A/n: I wish I had been able to put more Damian/Reader interaction in this but in order for it to work in my vision of their eventual relationship I need them to be alone so unfortunately it couldn't happen for this pic :( I do have more Damian x Reader requests in my inbox tho so there's a high chance I'll be able to expand on it! Plus I'm considering making a list of head canons for Damian and Reader's relationship >:)

[silent-stories]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: The soft way you wake Eddie in the morning is very different from the way his father used to.

Warnings: fluff, Eddie's father being an ass

1977

Eddie's bedroom door slammed open and his father strode in, heading for the bed where Eddie had just woken up from the loud noise.

His dad already had a bottle of alcohol in his hand even though it was only seven in the morning.

"Wake up, asshole." He said kicking the bed, making Eddie jump, "It's eight o'clock and you're already late for school."

Eddie rubbed his eyes with a hand, yawning.

Al Munson, who evidently wasn't the very patient type, grabbed the mattress and basically tipped it over, knocking Eddie, who was thin and not very tall for his age at the time, to the floor.

"If you'd woken up earlier this wouldn't have been necessary." His father mumbled walking out of the room slamming the door behind him.

Of course, it was never his fault but always Eddie's. It was easier for him that way.

Eddie rolled onto his back with a grunt and stared at the ceiling of his room.

"Well, good morning to me."

1986

"Eddie."

He heard your soft voice calling his name and slowly opened his eyes.

"Hey, good morning. It's almost nine."

You were sitting on the edge of the bed next to him and you were wearing only one of his black Metallica t-shirts which was way too big for you. Your face was still slightly sleepy so you mustn't have woken up long before but still Eddie thought you were one of the most beautiful things he'd seen in his entire life.

Daylight was filtering through the window, lighting up Eddie's messy bedroom.

You reached out and moved a strand of dark hair from his face, your fingers gently caressed his skin.

Eddie still had to get used to that. To you waking him up in that sweet and peaceful way. Without haste, without yelling, without any kind of violence.

He still had to get used to the way you caressed his face or kissed his cheek to wake him up every time you did before him, when you spent the night at his trailer, and he still had to get used to the fact that there was no one left to kick him out of bed every morning, even though it had been years.

He sat up on the bed in front of you, the blanket slipping off his body revealing his bare chest and the tattoos covering his pale skin.

Seeing you in his shirt gave him a feeling of absolute peace, he felt like not only he felt at home and safe when he was with you but you did it too when you were with him.

"Do you wanna help me make breakfast?" You asked, a soft smile on your lips.

Eddie in response slowly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against him.

Not yet, that meant.

You giggled. "Are you okay Eds?"

He nodded as he rested his head on your shoulder and you ran your fingertips against his bare back. A shiver ran through Eddie's body but it was a good feeling.

Thank you for still being here with me, he wanted to say. Thank you for waking me up every morning like you do.

You softly ran your fingers up and down his spine for a few more moments, your gaze falling on the almost invisible freckles on his skin.

You gently brushed his hair away and planted a kiss on his bare shoulder, only realizing you'd tickled him when you heard a small, muffled laugh come from the crook of your neck where Eddie was resting his head.

Despite this he didn't ask you to stop when your lips found his shoulder again, leaving a trail of soft kisses.

During that quiet intimate moment the only sounds that could be heard in the room were your breaths and the sound of your kisses.

"I love you." He muttered as he gently pulled away from you, after some moments, and you cupped his face in your hands after tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

"My sweet, sleepy boy." You laughed before placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you too."

My.

Eddie still couldn't believe it.

You took his hand in yours and got out of bed as he did the same, Eddie was still shirtless and his bare feet met the cool but pleasant floor of the trailer.

"Pancakes?" He asked as you both made your way to the kitchen.

A smile appeared on your face. "Exactly what I was thinking about."

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat

[titania-sleeps]

Samyaza (Angel!Yandere x Nun!Reader)

i'm here to drop another Mikhael fic cause he misses you guys a lot

other works including Mikhael: mikhael introduction, coup de grace (your pov), coup de grace (his pov)

warning: nsfw, dom reader (implied afab bc pussy), manwhore :3, cunnilingus, amateur seduction from an angel, minors DNI pls

Mikhael waits in your desolate room. Winter comes, so you keep your window closed, but a mellow draft still flows into the room. You keep a single lily in a clear vase for him.

He sits on your bed, the bedsheets crinkling beneath his weight. He can feel the physical world respond to his metaphysical body, and he knows that he is not far from falling from grace. But he doesn't hate it, and instead relishes in the idea that he can become humanly yours. Perhaps the two of you can escape the convent and perform a marriage of your souls.

He doesn't linger on his thoughts for too long, glancing at the setting sun. The sun sets early and with the sun, you return earlier than usual. Fittingly so, as you seem to be the only light in his life.

An idea emerges in his mind, a devious smile crafted on his face. Were the Watchers to see him now, they would surely be proud of him.

He strips off the outer layer of his robes, leaving only his undergarments on. Pausing, he takes a look in your mirror, smiling softly at his own vessel. This body of his was nurtured by his love for you, his physical appendages brought forth in blood and flesh only by your existence. In a way, he was made only for you.

He hears your footsteps trudging down the hallway. He settles himself nicely on your bed in haste, making it just in time as the door opens.

"Welcome back, beloved."

You stare at him blankly. Then a whoosh.

You find yourself fallen on the bed, your body leering over Mikhael's. He blushes, but the sly smile on his face tells you everything.

"How bold..." he whispers with his peachy lips. His eyelashes flutter, though air and time are still, and snakes his arms around your waist. He tilts his neck teasingly, baring his collarbone to you. Welcoming you, even.

You raise an eyebrow. "Are you not a son of the holy Lord?" you ask, pushing away from him.

Pouting, he sits up and sidles closer to you. He presses against you precariously, letting his inner robe slip so his nipples peak through.

"And you, too, are a child of Him, yet why do I sense your arousal?" he quips back. He is a breath away from your face, his whispers fanning your lips. You notice his shallow breathing and the pink that dusts his face.

You peek into his topaz eyes. They are clouded in need and lust, a look unfitting for an angel. But his stare pierces into you, as divine revelations penetrate the minds of great prophets.

"Let us not entertain this for much longer," you respond promptly, backing away. A smile curves onto your face, both tempting and cocky.

He groans, pulling you closer. His nose nudges itself to your neck, breathing in your scent. Grabbing your hand, he places it on his bulge. Tongue darting out, he sneaks a taste of you.

"And if I want to?" mumbles Mikhael, clumsily bucking into your hand.

You retract your hand, an epiphany coming to you. Sitting up straight, you point at the floor. Confused but eager, he follows your hand and sits on the hardwood ground, head looking up.

You strip from your robe, only your under-gown remaining. You slip the skirt up, your legs crossed. Your fingers lithely lift up his chin, the moon reflected in his gaze. "Please me, and I might devour you in return."

He doesn't need to be told much more. He begins with a kiss on your toe, eyes closed, leaving a mark of obeisance and reverential adoration. Then, his eyelids lifting slowly, a careful kiss to your ankle, the anchor that grounds you. He trails up slowly; a kiss to your calf, a kiss to your knee. He leaves bites of love and limerence on your thighs. As he approaches your core, you open, granting him entrance.

"You're..." he exhales, staring at the wet folds of your pussy. His own cock throbs, the musky scent of sex wafting to his nose.

"I'm?" You spread your legs a little wider.

"Breathtaking," he finishes, his nose nudging against your opening. Cautiously, he kisses your outer fold. You shiver in response, instilling him with more confidence. He presses a kiss deeper, his tongue stretching out to sample your taste.

You leave a shaky exhale, almost frustrated by how slow he's taking it. You use one of your free feet to rest leisurely on his cock. He jolts in surprise, a surprised moan escaping his throat. The vibration of his moan has you suppressing your own moan.

"Feast," you demand, your toes sneaking beneath his robes and wrapping around his head. His muffled moans and frantic nods bring you a foreign joy.

His tongue darts in and out of your opening, hands gripped tightly on your thighs. He exits, mouth slick with your juices, and drags his tongue from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. His mouth gently places a kiss on your bud, and then his tongue comes to claim the lord of your pleasure. It wraps around your clit, drawing circles and spirals around it.

You moan, toes curling on his dick. Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling and pressing lightly. He continues his ministrations, moving a hand to press a finger to your dripping entrance.

"You're not doing bad for an angel," you say, feet stepping on his wet head. You massage his cock, pushing with little pressure. The feeling of your feet on his cock and his dick pressing against his stomach stirs him.

"It's simple when you taste divine," he mutters in between licks and suckling. You grind gently against his tongue, feeling yourself approaching climax.

"Hurry now," you breathily say, hands on his head gripping tight. With a tug or two to his hair, he quickens his pace. Oh, but you didn't want him to quicken; you wanted him to taste you fully.

You grab him and push him against your folds, urging his tongue to reach deep inside of you. His moans vibrate against you as he relents to you, submitting to your control. Your body is the bread that feeds him and your essence is the wine that quenches his thirst; his cock throbs dangerously as he feels your thighs wrap around his head, almost suffocating him.

You moan and thrust into his face, his tongue trying to keep up with you. Your hips stutter as you feel yourself closer and closer. Your head is thrown back as you cum, his face still pressed tightly against your pussy.

As you are cumming, his eyes turn up to stare at you, full of pure adoration and veneration. The moonlight stains your body with a holy glow, your sweat gleaming like dewdrops after a cleansing rain. The sight brings him to his completion as he moans and convulses in pleasure, his cock shooting globs of semen onto the floor.

He lets you ride out your climax before separating from you and looking up at you, his face wet with your juices. You admire your work on him, breaths still heavy. The two of you share a smile, a secret for only a god and their most devoted follower.

He leans down, placing another kiss to your feet. His heart and body are wholly yours, and with that, his faith. A perverse love turned holy, as his god—you—wills it.

loose references here and there, ty for reading!!

-> masterlist

[adragonprinceswhore]

Tell Me You Missed Me

Tom Bennett x Reader

Summary: Word around the street is that you went on a date with someone else? Tom Bennet, fresh of the navy vessel, is not happy to hear that.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, dirty talk, degradation, fingering, P in V, orgasm denial, excessive teasing

Word Count: 3000

A/N: From my old blog, a request by @humanpurposes! ILY Gee 🫶

———

The smooth tones of Duke Ellington echo through the narrow alley leading to your house. 

Tom knows what that means.

You’re alone.

Your parents despise jazz, leaving you no choice but to play the two records you’d worked all summer to afford in solitude. 

He grins to himself, stopping right by the front door to run two hands over his sailor suit, smoothing out any possible wrinkles. 

“Fuck, didn’t bring any flowers or nothin’”, Tom curses himself inwardly as he brings one hand up to knock on the crummy door of your family home. Impatient as always, he doesn’t wait for you to answer before he pushes the door open with one hand. 

“Oi, could you keep it down, miss?”, he half-shouts as he enters your house, grinning widely as his eyes immediately find you, seated at the dining table only a few paces from the entrance. 

Your eyes go wide as you take him in. 

He’s back. 

The cigarette that’s been dangling between your red-painted lips falls down to the table as your mouth opens in surprise. 

He’s alive. 

“Tom”, you breathe out, voice no louder than a whisper. 

When he left to join the Navy, you were sure that he’d never come back. Yet here he is, in your house, smiling just as brightly as before he left. The sparkle in his eye is there too. 

Just like you remember him. 

He steps forward, kicking the door closed behind him before taking two long strides towards you. He reaches down to pick up the still glowing cigarette on the table, taking a deep drag. 

“Take it you didn’t miss me then?”, he teases as he looks down at you, his broad-shouldered frame towering over your seat. 

“I didn’t think you’d come back”, you reply honestly, eyes still wide with disbelief as you look up at him. 

It was easier to assume that any young lad being sent away would never come back. Then the inevitable heartache wouldn’t hurt as much. 

“That why you went dancing with Mike Jones?”, he asks. The glimmer of mischief in his eyes seems to disappear as they narrow in accusation. 

“How’d you know about that?”, you answer, unable to shake the surprise from his sudden visit. Still wearing his uniform and hair neatly combed to the side, you’d guess he came straight from shore. 

“Word goes ‘round, y’know”, Tom states with a shrug, an attempted display of indifference, eyes trailing from your dumbfounded expression down your body. You suddenly feel like the form fitting everyday dress you’d thrown on in a haste earlier today was far too revealing, making heat crawl up your chest, neck and onto your cheeks. 

“Well, I’m here now. Dance with me”, he requests, a large hand reaching for yours resting on the table. 

“Tom, I-“, you stutter as you pull your hands away from him. 

How long will he be back for? 

How has life been at sea?

Did he miss you? 

“H-, how long are you back for?”, you stand up as you ask, one of your hands coming up to briefly touch his cheek. 

To make sure it’s really him. 

That he’s real. 

His expression looks sterner, jaw tightening as he snatches the hand you touched his cheek with, pulling you closer to him. 

“Dance with me”, he repeats, this time as a demand. 

You let him lead you, the hand not holding yours settling comfortably on your waist as both of your bodies sway slightly to the fast tones coming from the gramophone. 

“Suddenly you’re a dancer?”, you inquire playfully as you look up at his face through your lashes. He isn’t really; his pace does not match the rhythm of the song in the slightest and he barely lifts his feet as he sways in place with you in his arms. 

“Apparently”, he answers with another shrug of his shoulders. Your eyes flicker down to take him in once more. You’ve never seen him this dapper before; uniform highlighting the broadness of his shoulders, blue collar matching his eyes, and not a hair out of place. 

“An awful one”, you continue to tease him as the hand you’ve placed on his shoulder squeezes him softly. 

He hums humourlessly at your jab, the hand placed on your waist slowly travelling down your side, squeezing your hip and stroking your thigh over the fabric of your dress. 

Just as you're about to grab his hand and tell him to behave, he moves it under your skirt in one swift, quick motion; letting his palm roam across the soft skin. 

“Tom!”, you yelp as you try to push him away, stepping back quickly so that his hand can’t slide up further. 

“You liked that stuff before”, he says indifferently, grip on your hand still tight so that you can’t back away further. “Or is it Mikey Jones that touches you like that now?”

His tone is much harsher than before; his attempts at remaining carefree failing as cracks start to appear in the nonchalant mask he’d put on. 

“Tom, I was lonely and didn’t think you’d come back.. He took me dancing once, nothing more”, you try to reassure him. 

There’s so much you want to know; to ask him. How’s life in the navy? Is he eating well? Can he sleep? Does he get seasick? Has he received your letters? 

But all Tom seems capable of is obsessing over the fact that you took pity on Mike Jones from down the street and let him take you out. 

It’s your turn to take command, stepping forward to rest both of your arms around his neck as you look up to meet his stern glare.  

“Did you get my letters?”, you attempt to change the subject, fingers playing with the short, sandy hairs at the base of his neck. 

He hums again, reluctant to properly answer you though he pulls you closer to hold you in his arms. 

“I thought about you all the time, Tommy”, you say before getting on your toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

He pulls you even closer, mouth meeting yours in a sudden, passionate kiss that almost takes your breath away. He presses his tongue between your lips, demanding entrance to deepen the kiss, practically bending you backwards as he devours you. 

The act is incredibly dizzying; it leaves you breathless, exhausted and in the need for more. 

This time, when his hand moves to squeeze the soft meat of your inner thigh, you don’t step back. Instead, you push your body closer to his; your soft curves pressing into his sturdy chest. 

His impatient fingers soon move inside the fabric of your underwear, stroking your folds experimentally before letting two fingers part them. 

“Already wet?”, he grins as the tip of his fingers finds your bundle of nerves, drawing quick circles. The calluses on his work-worn hands scratch slightly against your sensitive skin and the sting of pain somehow amplifies the pleasure he’s giving you. 

Tom remembers exactly which kind of touch you like; how to make you putty in his hands. His tall frame still looms over you as he speeds up the pace of his hand, eyes watching your reaction intently.  

Your legs tremble as pleasure fills your being, peak hurtling towards where you stand in Tom’s embrace. One strong arm around you, keeping you in place, as his fingers move in and out, palm repeatedly pushing at your pearl. If not for the hold he has on you, you’re sure you’d be on the floor by now, legs almost unable to stand by themselves. 

“This what you thought of?”, he asks, eyes narrowing when they meet yours, fingers continuously working you towards release. You're standing so close together that your noses touch, breathing in and exhaling each other's air. 

You moan in reply, holding onto his shoulders like they’re your only anchor in a sea of all-consuming pleasure. With the last bit of strength you have left, you tilt your head up to ask him for another kiss. To your surprise, he denies you by moving his head to the side, mischief once again dancing in his eyes. 

Just as you’re about to peak, Tom stills, hand inside your knickers but unmoving. You whine in protest, glassy eyes looking up at him pleadingly. 

“What do you want?”, he questions with a wink, clearly pleased at how incredibly fast he’d reduced you to a trembling mess. 

“Make me feel good Tommy”, you request breathlessly, sounding way more desperate than you’d like. His lips stretch out into a wide grin, revealing his dimples. 

“Don’t know what that means, love”, he retorts, amused voice matching the cheeky curve of his lips. 

His smug demeanour is entirely infuriating, knowing that he’s already got you wrapped around his finger. It was always like this with him; he’d offer you bliss but only on his conditions. 

“Please make me peak”, you mumble, humiliation making you feel even hotter. He knows how embarrassed you get from your sporadic trysts, preferring to revel in how good he makes you feel than to think about the true nature of your filthy encounters. Your lover’s different, however. 

Tom chuckles at your plea, lowering his face to place a wet kiss on your cheek. 

“Nah, you’re not gonna get off on my fingers”, he says contemplatively, pouting mockingly at your tearful expression. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you do that”, he concludes and you wince at his crude language. He was so crass sometimes, it sent anxious waves of embarrassment through your stomach. 

You wish he could be like the romantic lead in one of the American pictures screening in town, full of promises of eternal love while placing lingering kisses on his lover's hands. But your Tommy wasn’t. 

The ache between your legs makes you lose all composure, so when he leads you to the dinner table, seating you upon it, you don’t protest. 

He stands between your legs, the skirt of your dress bunched up around your waist as his hands move to drag your underwear down your legs. When you see him pocket them, you reach for his hand in a feeble attempt to take them back, but he just clicks his tongue as he swats your hand away. “These stay with me”, he grins as he pats the pocket of his trousers twice. 

He steps forward, standing so close to you your noses knock together, his lips ghosting over yours as his warm hands once again slide up your things. One of his fingers slips under the buckle of the garter belt you’re still wearing and playfully snaps the band against the meat of your inner thigh. 

Your lips part as you gasp at the sting and Tom takes the opportunity to kiss you, tongue coming out to lick your bottom lip slowly. His kisses before he left for the Navy were always hurried; quick and aggressive. But the way he kisses you tonight makes your knees weak; slow and sensual, one strong hand coming up to hold the back of your neck to secure you against him. It leaves you feeling dizzy; mind foggy from the want you feel for him. His lips travel from your mouth to your cheek, jaw, and neck, smearing saliva all over your heated skin. 

As his hands push your thighs further apart and he begins to undo his trousers, he whispers against your skin, “This the table you have tea at? With your mum and dad?” 

You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, so caught off guard you almost push him away. But you don’t.

“I don’t want to think about that now, Tom”, you reply sourly, though your voice sounds breathless, too filled with desire. 

“But I do. What would they say if they knew what their little girl was up to now? With the neighbourhood’s nuisance at that”, he says and you can feel him smile against the delicate skin of your neck. 

As you're trying to come up with a coherent reply, he starts to suck on the spot right below your ear and the retort at the tip of your tongue is replaced by the loud moan you let out. 

You feel him take a step backward, though his face stays hidden against your neck. You angle your hips slightly so that he can enter you easier, all you want is for him to finish what he started with his fingers. 

“Fucking her on their table”, he groans out as he pushes inside you in one swift motion. 

The sudden stretch and sense of fullness feel so overpowering you moan out again, longing for him to continue to work you towards the release you so desperately crave. 

As he snaps his hips against yours, his pelvis makes contact with your swollen pearl and you throw your head back in pleasure at the stimulation. 

Pushing your palms into the wooden surface underneath you, you bring your hips up slightly to meet each of Tom’s thrusts. He curses under his breath, gripping your hips tightly as he drags his length through your slick walls. 

It’s been so long. 

You’ve missed him so much. 

The sudden realisation that he's actually back, that you’re together again, paired with the familiar tightening as pleasure ascends inside of you, makes you clench down on him harshly, causing you both to moan in unison.

Tears of relief well up in the corners of your eyes as the climax you were previously robbed off seeks you out again. 

Tom continuously rolls his hips to meet yours, his length finding that spot inside you that makes you feel like you're floating. You wonder if all men are capable of this; of making young, sharp women into whining tarts. Or if it's just him. 

He once again slows his pace as your walls clamp down on him in a staggering rhythm, denying you the pleasure you so yearned for. 

“Tommy, please! I need release”, you sob, one frustrated tear falling down your flustered cheek. 

“You don’t need anything”, he scolds you, though he still has that cocksure smirk hiding behind the stern tone. “You just want a quick shag and for me to be on my way, s’that it?”

“No, no”, you shake your head in denial. 

“Then fuckin’ enjoy it”, he chides, ducking his head down to offer you another slow, breathstealing kiss. 

You want to enjoy it; enjoy being with him once again, but you can’t stop the ache between your thighs from consuming your senses.

Tom, knowing you better than you know yourself in this state, takes advantage of your dwindling gumption. 

“What do you want”, he asks again, one large, heated hand coming up to grab your chin. 

“I want you to make me peak”, you repeat, this time with a bit more confidence. You’ll play his silly little games, you don’t care about sounding vulgar anymore. 

Tom nods in understanding, feigning contemplation as he cocks his head at you. 

“You want me to fuck you?”, he clarifies and you immediately winch at his choice of words. 

Wasn’t he already?

You stay silent, shame, arousal and want making your inner monologue incoherent. 

“Tell me what you want. You want me to stretch out this tight cunt of yours?”, he inquires as he once again rolls his hips against you, causing his length to hit that spot that makes you weak. 

“Yes”, you whisper in defeat, nodding slightly in confirmation. The fingers holding your chin press into your skin harshly, “I can’t fuckin’ hear you”, Tom bites back. 

“Yes, I want you to fuck me”, you repeat, voice still low and filled with shame. He’s gotten what he wanted; he’s won once again. 

“Such an indecent little thing”, he muses as another boyish grin appears on his face. Feeling high on the rush of victory, Tom takes pity on your miserable state.

“Hold on to my shoulders”, he instructs as he picks up the pace once again. You follow his directive mindlessly, sweaty palms grabbing the fabric of his uniform harshly, surely ruining the crisp attire representing His Majesty's Servicemen. 

Tom’s lips find yours again, kissing you softly while the movement of his hips are anything but. He pushes you down onto the table, and you wrap your tired, shaking legs around his waist with the last strength you can muster. The new position allows him to enter you deeper as he consumes you fully, making the table underneath the two of you creak loudly with every slam of Tom’s hips. 

You feel the wetness between your thighs trail down your buttocks, dripping onto your family’s dining table. The thought makes you clench around Tom’s length again, aroused by the depravity he’s led you into. 

One of his hands moves down your stomach, lowering to swipe his thumb against your bundle of nerves. You whine at the brief contact, desperate for more. You’re so close now, you can feel your peak approaching again.

“Who’s the only bloke that gets to fuck you?”, he asks, thumb resting on your mound, waiting for your reply. 

“You, Tommy”, you answer instantly, voice whiny and shrill from despair. If he denies you release again you’ll surely combust from the tension restricted inside of you. 

“That’s what I thought”, he triumphs, thumb awarding your submission by granting your pearl stimulation. 

You peak within seconds, the tension inside of you erupting in an internal explosion of bliss, causing your hands to curl into fist, legs shake and breath get caught in your throat. Tom, seeing your face scrunch in pleasure as your walls tighten around him, climaxes with a loud grunt on top of you, body stretching taunt in pleasure before his arms give in, body sinking down to heavily rest on top of yours. 

You're still breathing heavily when he pushes himself up on both arms again to lock eyes with you. “Tell me you missed me”, he commands quietly, making it sound far less patronising than his previous demands.

You lift your head up to kiss him again. “I missed you”, you reassure him, smiling at his fleeting display of insecurity. 

How could you not? 

———

Thank you for reading! 🩵

[sashiavi]

•·····🍑······• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓣𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽𝔂 𝓣𝔀𝓸 ⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•······🍑·····•

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 2023

#22•𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚡•#22

𝙰𝚕𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚖 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙺𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚑 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ⁴ᵏ

He knew this was a bad idea, a horrible idea. A potentially illegal idea? Don't ask him, he wasn't a cop - He didn't particularly want to find out regardless. But. The warm huff of his girlfriend’s giggled breath on his hardening length. The flushed expression of the usually stoic man on his blaring phone screen. They almost make him forget about the passing headlights of cars and the dripping pipes puddling on the concrete of the graffitied alleyway. 

It all started, Kaveh muses, earlier that night.

The Bumbling bustle of the bar oddly soothes Kaveh's nerves, an all-familiar place with even more familiar people. [Name] and Kaveh went out on the town with Tighnari and Cyno, leaving Alhaitham back at their apartment. He mentioned he had some important thesis he had to work on - Kaveh thinks it was just an excuse to stay out of it. Alahitham was a homebody, a grumpy near agoraphobic man that could live the rest of his life in a hole - And he'd be happy, too. Kaveh and [Name] would probably join him, the pair never wandered far from the aforementioned man. He was their rock, or maybe a boulder, temperamental, shell cracking at every misadventure the pair strung him through. Sometimes though, Alhaitham came out with the sweetest affirmations and it sent Kaveh’s brain barreling down a never-ending flight of stairs.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Kaveh’s phone buzzes on the table, lighting up with a message from his other half.. Or third? If his heart were a pie chart, he’d have a special place for both of his partners. All good things come in threes - or something - Regardless, his boyfriend texted him. And his girlfriend answers.

The ever so punctuated Alhaitham lights up his phone screen with his demands. Kaveh swears his eyes hurt trying to read his texts. He was too inebriated for this, the words swirl into a muddly ball of squiggles. He ought to punch Alhaitham in the mouth.. With his mouth… Maybe later. 

“He’s no fun” [Name] pouts, swirling her deteriorating paper straw through her drink, mixing up the once rainbow assortment of liqueur into a muddy, watery red-brown. Kaveh watches his darling [Name] slump over the table, throwing her phone down, nearly knocking over his frozen margarita and whatever bizarre cocktail she decided to order herself. Tighnari gives a soft chuckle from across the table, eyes crunched with a sympathetic smile. 

“Knowing him he’s missing you just as much [Name], he’s just not one for places like this, Cyno is the same.” Tighnari’s voice manages to cut through the live band playing away at some classic folk rock song everyone and their father knew. Speaking of; Cyno was nowhere to be seen - Long gone off to the bathroom or the bar.. Archons knows, that man was an enigma. Kaveh wasn’t sure he even existed in the first place, was Cyno real?

The ping on Tighnari’s phone nearly scares him. He shall appear Kaveh half recites in his head with an outward snort. He watches Tighnari with sleepy eyes, cheek pressed into the palm of his hand. The aformentioned man opens his phone with his thumb. He widens his eyes comically, quickly pressing the off button on the side of the device, nearly dropping it onto the table in his haste. [Name] squints at him from the table top, lips pursed and an eyebrow cocked. Tighnari clears his throat.

“Ah- Cyno messaged- He’s waiting for me in the bathro- uh I m-mean the back.. Room.. door- the back door! Cyno’s ready to leave.. I’ll see you guys around? G-Get home safe!” Tighnari stumbles of of his stool, most definitely not making his way towards the exit of the building. Kaveh blinks, sipping his frozen marg that was not-so-frozen anymore - Alright then. He side eyes his girlfriend, giving her a look - Are you seeing this?

“They’re gonna fuck” [Name] falls into a pit full of giggles, wrapping her lips around her straw, drinking up the watery thing this place called a cocktail. At least someone said it. 

“I couldn't have said it more eloquently myself..” Kaveh says, sipping into the last ounce of liquid in his glass with a bubble of his straw. Mm tequila. Yuck.

“I’ll be back in a sec, Kaveyy~ Gotta go bathroom..” [Name] hops off of her stool and disappears into the crowd. Kaveh sighs, blinking his way back into the land of the sober. He nurtures her drink with the instinct of a mother pigeon, fending for her young in the big bad city. No harm shall come to this watered down mystery juice, not on his watch. He feels the burn of alcohol in his cheeks, the subtle sway of his body as he sits and stares. Much like going to the bathroom at a house party, stuck alone for a second to really take in just how drunk you feel. The horrible feeling is quick to dissipate when [Name] comes weaving through the crowd, back over to their little table. She had a quirk about her, a sly look in her eye, twitch on her lip.

“Welcome back,” Kaveh hands her, her drink. She graciously takes it with a sweet kiss to his cheek, staining his face with her lipstick. Kaveh gets awfully suspicious when she pulls out her phone, pressing her face to his own and snapping a cute selfie, sticky lipstick stain on full show. She pulls back with a giggle, grinning down at her screen nearly pressing it to her nose. Kaveh doesn't have to inquire, she’s quick to let him in on her mischief.

“‘Nari and Cyno gave me an idea~” [Name’s] eyes looked far too awake for the time of night. Kaveh cocks a brow, squinting at her phone screen as she swipes between her gallery pictures. He sees her in all her glory, somehow managing to look absolutely insatiable in the dingy bar bathroom. Tiny dress slipped half off, pretty lips parted with her tongue poking out just enough, a dangerous glint in her eyes. He sucks in a breath, he really shouldn't get so worked up - Like a greasy school boy that caught a glimpse of a teacher's underskirt. Not that he ever did that. He ignores how his pants grow a little tighter.

“You went to the bathroom to take nudes?” He reaches for a napkin to wipe his face. [Name] rolls her eyes, sipping the last of her drink.

“Lewds, Kaveh” She earnestly corrects him with a pout, rolling her eyes as if he should have known the difference. Seemed nude enough to him.

“What, you have a secret third partner you're not telling us about?” He teases her. [Name’s] pout grows into a playful scowl, gently shoving his shoulder.

“Yeah, and they’re way prettier than you~” She bites back with a smile, shaking her head and falling into a pit of giggles that Kaveh couldn't help but join in.

“Should I send them?” She leans back in, zooming in and out on the pictures she snapped.

“To your new plaything?” Kaveh smirks. [Name] groans dramatically.

“No- To ‘Haithem. ‘Wanna tease him..” She giggles and nods her head, eyes glinting in mischief. It could be fun, Kaveh muses. He could make a hobby out of getting on Alhaitham’s nerves - Respectfully of course, he still loved him after all. 

“Tease him? He won’t be happy when we get back.. Puppy” His voice drops low, eyebrow raised with a cheeky smirk. He notices her visibly shift, mouth turned in a downturned smile, eyes squinting back at him.

“All the better, no?” She comes back at him. Touche. “C’mon, lets go now~” She beckons under his chin, pressing her finger into his skin, lifting his head with a quick flick. If she asked him to get down on his knees and bark, he’d probably do it. Who’s the puppy now - It's Kaveh.

The pair leave the bar and stand on the sidewalk by the building, [Name] eagerly scrolls through her pictures, biting her lip in an attempt to conceal her grin. She asks for his opinion, and he opts for something a little more modest, with at least some of her clothes on for imaginative purposes. She rolls her eyes at him, saying Alhaitham couldn't picture the colour green let alone a human. The two come to a compromise, pick one each and send off the cute selfie with her lip stain on Kaveh’s cheek. 

Kaveh slips his hand in hers as they begin to make the walk home, not before letting Alhaitham know -  With a little treat attached.

Kaveh doesn't even have to press the call button, Alhaitham’s name pops up bright on his screen. [Name] giggles again, hanging off of Kaveh’s arm. He swipes the answer button, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Love” Kaveh, feigns innocence in his voice, flicking his eyes to the little minx next to him.

“Is [Name] with you?” Alhaitham’s voice is ever deadpan through the speaker, the man had a knack for indifference, but Kaveh could see through it every time.

“Of course-” Kaveh starts before being hastily cut off.

“Good. Put her on please.” He sounds tense. Not the angry I'm about to blow tense. The other tense. Still about to blow - Just in an all new fashion. Kaveh masks a laugh with a sigh, handing over the phone to his other-other half. Third? He hands his phone to [Name].

“Nawhhh ‘Haitham do you miss us?” She opens the call with a sweet voice, swinging Kaveh's arm as they walk the dusky city streets. Kaveh strains to hear Alhaitham's droning voice, crackling through the speaker pressed to his beloved's ear, muffled and illegible. He can only listen to [Name], hearing half of their conversation through her replies- not that she said anything other than; various versions of 'mmhm'.

"Uhuhh~ oh? really?... Yeah..?" Her tone of voice steadily becomes more sultry with every word she speaks. A tingle runs down Kaveh's tummy, right into his groin. Curse the effect this wretched witch - his beloved beautiful girlfriend - Had on his body. He intakes a deep breath of city air, trying to keep vigilant of their surroundings, half purposely ignoring their call to calm the ache in his pants.

“Just can’t wait until we get home, huh..?” [Name] continues, voice suddenly sobered up. For some reason it turns him on more, being half ignored between their heated ministrations. He can only imagine what Alhaitham could be saying, and it riles him up all the more. The anticipation of what's waiting for him at home doesn't help - He knows what Alhaitham is like. If they fuck around, they’ll definitely find out. The consequences will be laid out for them. Regardless of who starts it, Alhaitham ends it.

Kaveh is jolted out of his running thoughts by a tug on his arm. [Name] leads him on with a giggle, down a street or two, right into a secluded passage nestled between two apartment buildings. Kaveh reels his head together, coming to so quick he swears he gives himself whiplash. [Name] presses her glossy lips to his own, pashing him loud and wet right into the receiver of the phone. Kaveh’s head was reeling, crotch most definitely bulging at the seam of his pants. He hears a faint groan through the phone, just as [Name] bites down on his plump lips, eliciting his very own keening noise.

She pulls off of him, lips wet with a sticky string of saliva, still connecting their lips together. He watches it glisten under the dim street light, snapping and joining the slick gloss adorned on her lips. His girl bites at his neck, huffing little giggles as she sinks her teeth into his milky flesh. Gods he can barely keep quiet, whimpering softly, fluttering his pretty carmine eyes closed. There's a scuffle over the line, a sound of fabric shifting through the speaker of the phone.

“Kaveh” There's a sweet whisper in his ear, sending the most delicious shiver down his spine, nearly making his knees weak. He finds the voice, his darling girlfriend, eyes full and swimming with something he was all too familiar with. There's a short beep and a phone is stuffed into his hands, video call on, camera faced to the ground. Alhaitham’s face is on the screen, brows scrunched up, eyes searching the dark picture of the video.

“Make sure I look pretty” [Name] bites her lip with a giggle, trying to mask her cheeky smile. Gods didn't she always, it was near impossible for her not to be. She lowers herself to the dirty concrete floor of the alleyway, hands already easing into the loops of Kaveh’s pants. He's hyper aware of their surroundings - distant chatterings of drunk party goers, the beaming lights of a taxi driving by. His eyes strain at the bright phone screen, nearly fumbling to keep the video steady.

“Watch him.. Make sure he touches himself~” [Name] purs against the bulge in his pants. Alhaitham watches closely as she fumbles with Kaveh’s button, unzipping his pants. She hooks her fingers into his waistband, clenching her palms into the fabric as she pulls them down his frame. Kaveh hisses, feeling the hot pressure of his trousers become replaced by a cool spike of air. [Name] fingers into his briefs on her way down, revealing the soft skin of his groin to the video. With a giggle she fully releases him, his pretty cock slaps into his tummy with a soft noise, leaving a sticky bead of pearlescent pre on his dress shirt. He hears a crackled moan through the phone speaker and his eyes are on Alhaitham. The man bites at his lip, squeezing the base of his thick length, face slowly being overconsumed by a warm red blush.

Kaveh can't decide where to look - Past the phone and down at his pretty girl? Or into the video feed on Alhaitham’s shaky camera angle. He fails to decide when he feels a hot huff of breath on his cock. [Name] kisses at his flushed pink tip, smearing the last of her sticky lip gloss all over his velvety head. Kaveh’s mouth falls open, eyes squinting down at the pretty girl below him. His grip on the side of the phone tightens as he captures her licking her tongue flat on the underside of his length, sending a hot pulse right into Kaveh’s achy cock. He bites back a soft moan, eyes already getting bleary and teary. Gods he was sensitive, and didn't she know it. He eyes Alhaitham’s expression, his lips parted ever so slightly, teeth biting into the side of his cheek. He watches as the usually stoic man breaks ever so delicately. It's something Kaveh had come to absolutely relish.

Kaveh nearly cries, his sensitive tip suddenly engulfed by the pretty girl on her knees, kissing at the back of her eager throat. She swallows around him, gagging hot over his pretty cock, forcing fresh tears to bubble in her eyes. Gods she looked almost pornographic. Mascara already beginning to turn into a black liquid mess under her eyes, threatening to stream down her cheeks. She drools over his cock, taking him back and forth, always swallowing his flushed tip down her warm throat. She eyes the phone camera, raising a brow she pulls off of his length, blowing a cheeky kiss towards Alhaitham. 

“Wish you were here~” She mockingly pouts at the man on the phone, eagerly taking Kaveh back down her throat. Kaveh keens out loud, moaning high from his throat with his head tilted back into the rough, graffitied brick wall. Gods she was rough, rougher than she ever was with him, was she teasing them? Showing Alhaitham exactly what he was missing out on? Was this how she took his cock? Rough and dirty and eager - Completely unlike the soft, doting way she wraps her lips around his own cock. Alhaitham crunches his brows, front teeth clenched with his lips parted in a scowl, Kaveh watches him stroke his thick length, the flushed velvet tip barely coming into the frame of the video.

“Makin’ a mess of yourselves in public huh? Trying to tease me? Better not come back here… If you know what's good for you..” Alhaitham’s voice babbles through the phone, playing along with [Name’s] little game. They all knew exactly what would transpire the second they walked through the door. It only eggs [Name] on further. It's her turn to moan, garbling around Kaveh’s long, pretty length as she takes him. She makes a show of sinking down on Kaveh, kissing at the base of his length, pretty eyes gazing up into the camera. Her mascara was running, pooling down her cheeks as she looked up at Alhaitham, purposely going out of her way to show him up. There's that feeling again, the burn in his tummy as he’s caught between their teasing, their little toy to rile each other up.

Gods it's nearly too much, Alhaitham’s eager shake of his shoulder as he jerks himself off, on show for only Kaveh to see. His cock aches and tenses as [Name] takes him down, rocking her whole body into him, suckling at him sweetly before fucking him with her throat. He cant take his eyes off of them, albeit blurred form the little pin pricking tears that well up in the corners of them. He stares through the phone screen, through the little square on the phone, eyes darting between [Name] and Alhaitham.

“[Name]... Haitham- [Na-].. Won't last..!” Kaveh’s hand wobbles, he was quickly certainly becoming the worst cinematographer in the world. [Name] rakes her palms over his cool, milky skin, caressing him with some ounce of her usual softness she leaves for him. A hot shiver runs straight into his groin, he can't help but thrust his hips forward, spearing his tip down her eager throat. She keens around him, swallowing hard on him, taking him deeper and faster his brain could barely keep up. 

“Gonna come? Poor baby's gonna come..? Look at what you've done [Name].. Dragging poor Kaveh into your little game..” Alhaitham’s voice mocks them through the phone. That's right.. Poor Kaveh.. All caught up between their silly game. His eyes work double time trying to focus on the two, Alhaitham’s looney expression, slightly pixelated from the horrendous phone reception in the small walls of the corridor. [Name’s] eager expression, lips wrapped around his cock, lead and wet and slobbery. He throws his head back, he couldn't bear to watch them, lest he make a mess of himself. 

He feels a hand on him, cupping at his balls, tender and ticklish - He feels himself tense, embarrassed at the man watching and hearing him through the phone, coming close from the pretty girl drooling over his cock. Gods, his brain was running overtime, absolutely reeling at everything it could. The flickering light above them, the headlights that stopped for far too long for his liking, the dripping pipe to his right. The warm engulf of his pretty girlfriend’s mouth around his aching cock, the usually aloof man in his phone, staring right at his groin with his own cock in his hand.

Kaveh’s cheeks burn, his balls ache and cock tenses hard. Gods, he was done for, unable to reel in the spike in his groin. His free hand comes down to his girlfriend’s hair, threading through the strands in an attempt to have her slow down. She manages to giggle, pushing past his attempt and suckling ever so sweetly against his hot tip. Kaveh whines and keens out loud, hiccupping in hot embarrassment, eyes finally allowing the warm tears to streak down his cheeks. He thrusts, he can't help it, giving in to [Name’s] pleasure, taking her mouth with his cock as Alhaitham watches through the camera. God he was sure he would never live this down, but he couldn't care - Not when his sweet girlfriend looks so pretty on his cock, not when Alhaitham chants through the speakers, commanding him to let go, to come for him.

Kaveh throws his head back, knocking his skull into the hard wall. He moans with an open mouth, spit hot on his tongue as his cock twitches hard. He can barely make out a short ‘Cumming-!’ before his sticky mess coasts [Name’s] tongue. He cums thick, milky ropes, whimpering as she suckles sweetly on him, edging all of his sweet, sticky cum out of him. Her tongue rolls over his achy slit, lapping up the pebbling spurts of cum that pulse from his cock.

[Name] makes a cheeky show of lapping at his pretty cockhead, tongue coated in his milky cum, smearing it all over himself. She sticks her tongue out for the camera, for Alhaitham to see, hot and milky, nearly dribbling off of her. She giggles and suckles at his swollen tip, swallowing around his overstimulated cock, earning a hot whine from his throat. [Name] stands from the dirty concrete, knees flushed and covered in a mystery dust. She snatches the phone from Kaveh, pulling him into a filthy, spitty kiss, swapping his creamy mess between them. She makes sure Alhaitham’s watching, peering her eyes to the side, seeing Kaveh’s fucked out, flushed face in the corner square as she kisses into him. Kaveh knew he surely looked a mess, lips swollen and teeth bitten, nose red with blush, eyelashes wet and stuck together. He can't bear to look.

Alhaitham practically growls, surely cumming in his own palm as he watches them swap Kaveh’s sweet, salty mess. He babbles, telling them that they’re filthy, they're in for it, pretty little things couldn't even keep to themselves. No wonder, he can barely keep himself from them regardless. [Name] pulls away first, nipping at Kaveh’s nose before turning to the man on call.

“Muah! Love you Haitham~ See you soon” She cheekily bites her lip, hastily shutting off the video call before the man could even get a word in. she crouches down, helping Kaveh re-dress himself. Oh the shame, he cannot bear to leave the sanctuary that is the dusty alleyway. His tummy flips at the idea of coming home to Alhaitham, maybe he could worm his way out? He was a victim - Just a bystander! The phone buzzes again, and [Name] giggles, shutting off the ringer and taking Kaveh’s hand into her own.

“C’mon~ Haitham is waiting~” She plants a hot kiss to his lips before dragging through the street once again.

“I don't know if I wanna ever see him again after that..” Kaveh pouts dramatically, heart pulsing in anticipation as [Name] punches in their building code. Here goes nothing, he supposes.

Hi, hello, welcome to November 😔

We're truly holding on by a thread here girlies-

Lmk if you enjoyed! Idk how I feel about this one- also idk if I regret making those texts- sksksjsh tumblr wasn't formatting them in like wOrd form how I wanted so I, for some reason created my own lmaoo

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Thank You For Reading! I Really Appreciate Comments! Let Me Know Of Any Mistakes or Tell Me If You Enjoyed! I Love Responding To Everyone ♡

♡KinkTober Taglist♡

@heath-sama @yejiswifex @hunnibunnix @bleh09 @madsw9 @py-schi @wizzardcatwithastick @shiningpaint-marbleheart @cherrytomato2 @i-am-silver @your-tears-taste-sweeter @kqzutcra @themusingsofmany @kaijubxnny @tericula @omletteattack @maryeehawe @pomeiu @the-massive-simp @himenoakuma @medieval-raccoon @succub-suki @mayberaspberrywrites @yannvi @sleepyisgone12 @pvbbyb0y @fururonin @tttynat

ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵉ⁻ᵘᵖˡᵒᵃᵈ ʷᶦᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ᵖᵉʳᵐᶦˢˢᶦᵒⁿ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

[srgntjamesbuckybarnes]

The List (2)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: Violence

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Not Beta’d. Thank you all for expressing interest in this one-shot and turning it into a mini-series. I wasn’t expecting this much excitement over mafia Bucky. I have read and appreciate each of your comments. I am happy to continue this fic as long as people are interested. (I have tagged anyone who left a comment. Please message me or leave a comment to be added or removed from the taglist.)

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Every minute spent in Tony’s office felt like hours. Unlike the rest of the building, his office lacked windows. The perfect place to conduct business or in this case, hide. Y/N wrapped her hands around her bare arms, her heels echoing against the marble floor as she paced back and forth. She was sure Bucky would keep her trapped here, safe. It was the logical thing to do.

Bucky’s suit jacket was slumped over the back of Tony’s chair. Discarded in his haste to prepare to fight. Tony had been rambling on about this being a bad idea, but Bucky drowned him out. Feeding his cufflinks into the pockets of his dress pants, he then rolled each black sleeve up his forearm.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Everyone in the room froze, eyeing one another. In one motion, Bucky reached behind him into the waistband of his pants pulling a gun on Tony. The billionaire leaped out of his seat with his hands raised in surrender. The chair clattered to the ground behind him. Without a word, Bucky tilted the tip of the gun towards the door in a silent command; open it.

Tony straightened his bow tie, slowly approaching the door. Bucky followed him, using his free hand to pull Y/N behind him. With Tony’s hand on the handle, Bucky and Y/N waited with their backs pressed against the wall. A slight nod from Bucky and Tony was opening the door.

Hinges creaked, the door shielding Tony from the other two. Bucky remained glued to the crack between the door and the wall. His finger twitched over the trigger of the gun, waiting for the pin to drop, for anything to go wrong.

“Peter? What the hell are you doing here kid?” Tony barked.

Before Peter could respond, Bucky slammed the door all the way open tucking his gun back into his pants.

Like a deer in headlights, Peter stared wide-eyed at both men. Behind him stood Steve and Sam, each with their eyes trained on the hall. Not wasting another second, Bucky grabbed the kid by the shoulder, dragging him into the room. Steve and Sam entered, shutting the door behind them.

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Barnes-” Peter stammered.

Bucky ran a hand down his face. Now was not the time for this. “The kid is with me,” Bucky offered, turning to his other men.

“Kid,” Tony eyed the gun dangling from Peter’s hand. “I’m disappointed in you. If you wanted to turn to a life of violence, I could have at least gotten you into a safer mob.” Feeling several intense glares on him. Tony cleared his throat brushing his palms down the front of his suit. “I didn’t want to be a part of this but I’ll help, for the kid’s sake.” Tony addressed Bucky. “He’s like a son to me.”

Bucky sent him a single nod. “How are we looking on the outside?”

“Perimeter is secure. We have men stationed at every exit. Few men a couple of miles out,” Sam answered, shifting a machine gun in his hands.

“How did you get that in here?” Y/N gawked from behind Bucky.

Sam smirked.

“We’re all on the list. Y/N and I are active but if any of you are caught, they won't hesitate to take you out earlier.” Bucky paced around the room, pulling his handgun out of his pants once again. “We don’t know how many people are coming for us, but nobody leaves until it's over. Only rule,” he smirked, “don’t die.” He came to a halt in front of Y/N, the handle of the gun extended toward her.

Y/N’s eyes widened. This is not what she had in mind when she asked Bucky for protection. “Absolutely not.” She pushed his hand away lightly. “I don’t know how-”

“To use a gun?” Bucky smirked. “I know you do doll. Don’t tell me now that you didn’t know what you were doing when you pulled a gun on me.” He shoved the gun into her chest. “Better to be caught with a gun than defenseless, even if you don’t use it.”

Y/N growled, her manicured nails wrapping around the gun. “I should have shot you.”

The corners of Bucky’s eyes wrinkled, amusement dancing in his cerulean eyes. “You should have.” Stepping up to Steve, Bucky was handed a much larger gun. “Sam, Steve. You two head West. Tony and Peter, you go East.” He didn’t need to tell Tony to look after Peter, he knew Tony would. Turning to Y/N Bucky announced, “Y/N, you’re with me. We’ll go North.”

“What? You mean I’m not going to be staying here where it’s safe?” Her voice grew higher with each word.

“I’m needed out there. I can’t keep my eyes on you here and out there. You’re safer with me.”

“Buck?” Steve questioned. It was a simple question. One Bucky was familiar with.

Bucky waved his hand over his shoulder. “Go. We're wasting time. We’ll be alright.”

The men filtered out of the room, the door clicking behind them. Bucky dropped his gun on Tony’s desk before stalking toward Y/N. He crouched down in front of her, his hands skimming the skirt of her dress.

“Bucky, what are you-” Rip. “Hey!”

Bucky ignored her, continuing to tear her dress just above her knee. In a matter of seconds, her gown had become a cocktail dress. Rip. The silk now had a slit running up her thigh. Y/N braced her hand without the gun on Bucky’s shoulder to steady herself in her heels.

“I really liked this dress,” Y/N whined.

Bucky grinned at her, “I really liked it too but a dress like this was designed to slow beautiful women like you down.” He tapped the outside of her heel. “These too. Lose ‘em.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “These shoes cost a small fortune and besides I’ll be barefoot if I take them off.”

Shaking his head, Bucky placed his palm on her stomach, shoving her back until she stumbled onto Tony’s desk. Y/N’s hand left his shoulder to grasp at the desk. In that small amount of time. Bucky had slipped the heels from her feet chucking them blindly behind him. He could see the irritation cross her face, a smart comment on the tip of her tongue.

Bucky stood up, his callous fingers curling around her knees. Any comment that was threatening to spill from her lips was caught in her throat. Bucky leaned forward, capturing her lips on his own. She had been lost in the kiss much like he had been earlier, chasing his lips when he pulled away. Bucky’s hand cradled the side of her face, keeping her at a distance.

“You asked me to protect you. This is life or death, Y/N.” His eyes darted between hers. “You step out of this room with me and you’re in my world. Not whatever game of house we were playing before. When we leave this room, you listen to me. You don’t argue with me, you do as you’re told. Understand?”

Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest as she stared back at Bucky. This was real. The severity of the situation crept back into the foreground of her mind. She wished the two of them could stay hidden in Tony’s office forever. In their brief moment alone, she had forgotten about the hit list, about the people coming to assassinate them, even her fiancé.

Y/N nodded but Bucky shook his head. “I need you to say it.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Y/N whispered, “I understand.” 

“Good girl,” Bucky muttered, his lips pressed to her forehead. “Let's go.” He pulled her left hand, yanking her off of the desk.

The light caught on Y/N’s ring making her hesitate. “Wait,” Y/N croaked, snatching her hand back. Bucky picked his machine gun up, eyeing his ex-wife as she slid the engagement ring from her finger, placing it on Tony’s desk.

“You sure?”

Y/N had to suppress a laugh at the question. One man was trying to kill her, the other trying to protect her. She liked her options better with the man trying to save her life. “Yeah,” she intertwined their fingers. “I’m sure.”

The couple walked out; guns raised. The faint sound of music and chatter could be heard the second Bucky opened the door. Innocent lives temporarily, living ignorantly in bliss. Inching along the hall with their backs against the wall, Bucky led the two straight into the lion’s den.

CRACK.

A stray bullet pierced one of the glass windows, lodging itself into the wall inches beside Bucky’s head. With a roar, Bucky shoved Y/N back behind the wall. Finger on the trigger, he sent a round in the direction the bullet came from, effectively shattering the glass. Bodies dropped like flies, seeking cover from the glass. It wasn’t until one of the guests pulled a gun, firing it in Bucky’s direction, that chaos erupted. A bullet from the west hit the guest before anyone could blink. Screams pierced the night sky at the sight of the dead body. Everyone began pushing and shoving one another in an attempt to escape.

With a hand on her shoulder, Bucky shoved Y/N into a crouched position. “Stay here. Don’t move.” He glared down at her, daring her to disobey him. While she had given him her word that she would listen to him, he knew better. He knew her better. She would do what she thought was best when it came down to it. When she didn’t move, Bucky cocked his gun. “I’ll be right back.”

Y/N watched Bucky’s back disappear into the stampede of people. Clutching the gun to her chest, Y/N prayed she wouldn’t have to use it. Bucky was involved in a lot of illegal activity but despite his sinful lifestyle, he remained a man of his word. If he said he would be right back, Y/N would believe him. Bucky would be right back.

As the crowd dispersed, it became easier to find Bucky. Y/N had caught his figure several times, averting her gaze every time he pulled the trigger of his gun. If it was becoming easier for her to spot Bucky, then surely others were able to spot him just as easily. He was a giant target standing in the middle of an empty room. Y/N’s fingers twitched around the cool metal in her hand. Two targets would be harder to follow.

Y/N braced a hand along the wall, pushing herself to stand as close as possible to it to remain hidden. That was as far as she got before Bucky was stomping back in her direction, shoving her back behind the wall. “No!” He snarled. He towered over her obstructing her view beyond the hall. Though she couldn’t see the chaos, she could still hear the guns firing along with the wail of sirens in the distance. The police were on their way. “When I said don’t move, I meant it Y/N,” he growled. He also meant it when he said she was safe with him. He had known the exact moment she moved. The sirens grew louder.

“Bucky, we have to go,” Y/N pleaded.

Click.

Bucky’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t need to turn around to know what that sound was. It was one he was familiar with and in another scenario, it would have been his gun making that noise.

“Don’t move,” a voice grumbled. Y/N’s eyes shifted behind Bucky landing on a man with his gun pointed at the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky watched as the color drained from her face. “Drop your gun.” Bucky kept his eyes trained on Y/N’s as he raised his hands. Just because he was about to die didn’t mean she had to. He promised to protect her and as a man of his word, he would do just that. Turning the safety on, Bucky bent over placing the gun gently on the floor by his feet. “Kick it away,” the voice grew louder. Bucky could feel the barrel of the gun nudge the back of his skull.

Y/N’s heart thrashed against her chest like a trapped wild animal. She could hear the metal scrape along the tile the second Bucky’s shoe kicked it. He was defenseless.

“Good. Now you, princess.”

Y/N snarled at the name, but the man just shoved the gun further into the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky grunted; his head shoved forward from the pressure. Y/N glanced at Bucky for help. He told her to listen to him, that he would protect her. She wanted nothing more than for him to tell her what to do right now, to tell her how to get them out of it. She would do it. Instead, she was greeted with his pleading eyes. He wanted her to comply. He’d be dead in seconds if she did that. Y/N bit her lip, shaking her head slightly. A silent apology for disobeying him.

“Drop the gun,” the man hissed.

With shaky hands, Y/N raised the gun aiming it at the man. She never shot a man before and she wasn’t planning on starting today. Bucky’s words danced around in her head, better to be caught with a gun than defenseless, even if you don’t use it.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. “Doll, what are you doing?”

Y/N ignored him, keeping her focus on the man behind Bucky. The sirens grew louder. If she could keep the man in a standoff until the police arrived, they would live but they would all be arrested. Her ex-fiancé was still out there, they couldn’t be trapped. He would just hire someone to take them out from the inside.

The man grew impatient, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s neck and shouting for her to lower her weapon. Y/N hesitated hearing Bucky grunt once again. His eyes pleaded once more but for what, Y/N didn’t know. “Do it,” Bucky mouthed. His right arm crossed his chest shielding his vital organs. Y/N eyes widened in horror. There was no way he was asking her to shoot him, but his arm formed a target just by his shoulder. Her eyes traced his lips as he mouthed, I trust you.

The dual sirens blaring directly outside sealed their fate. The police and ambulance arrived. Medical assistance was just outside. She hadn’t planned on shooting a man, but plans were made to be scrapped. Pinching her eyes shut, Y/N pulled the trigger. She stumbled from the kickback of the gun, her ears ringing.

A hand gripped her shoulder, pulling the gun from her grasp. Y/N eyes snapped open, breathing a sigh of relief when steel blue eyes met her own. She did it, Bucky was alive. Her eyes floated to the hand pressed to his shoulder, crimson pooling between his fingers. Oh god.

“Y/N, are you with me?” Bucky questioned, waving the gun in front of her face.

Y/N glanced at the man on the ground behind him. A bullet wound in the middle of his chest. He was dead. She killed a man. Her hands began trembling. “Hey, look at me,” Bucky grunted, his bloodied hand cradling her head. Bucky crashed his lips against hers before nestling his forehead against her own. “You did good, Y/N. I need you to listen to me. Exit out the South wing. Find Steve and get the hell out of here.”

“What about you?” Y/N wrapped her hand around his wrist. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Bucky kissed her once again before pushing her in the opposite direction. “If I don’t go now, they'll just show up on my doorstep. I’ll be out soon, promise. Now go.”

“I’ll visit you.”

Bucky smirked. “I’m counting on it.”

When Y/N was gone, Bucky groaned, plunging to his knees. He used his shirt to wipe her fingerprints from the gun before chucking it. They weren’t out of the woods yet. Y/N’s ex-fiancé was still out there. Bucky still had a job to do, he still had to protect Y/N. At the sound of footsteps rushing toward him, Bucky clasped his hands behind his head.

Flickering lights blinded Y/N as she fled the building. It had been Steve who found her first. He had whistled from the bushes the second Y/N stepped foot out of the building. Y/N winced as twigs and rocks pierced her bare feet. The second she met the threshold of bushes, Steve pulled her down, hiding her from the police.

“Where’s Bucky?”

Y/N eyed the front door as men began hollering. Guns raised, pointing at a figure exiting the building in handcuffs. Bucky. “He turned himself in,” Y/N whispered, watching as Bucky was led over to the ambulance followed by a series of cameras tracking his every move. A hand on her shoulder startled her. It was just Tony. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him out.”

Y/N nodded facing Steve. “In the meantime, we need to find Loki before he finds Bucky.”

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@vicmc624 @winterslove1917 @unaxv @hangmanscoming @globetrotter28 @athenabarnes @shara-ne @mal-adaptive-dreams @jvanilly @d3m0n8ch1ld @ppbhquinn @alysianc @firstcashheroathlete @malum-forev @missvelvetsstuff @animegirlgeeky @blue786sworld @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @alessandraavengers @ozwriterchick @nerdgirljen @emily-roberts @pandabearrrrrrr @venting402 @barewithme02 @introverbatim @buckybarnessimpp @mega-kittyglitter-1 @a-poor-gryffindork @toriluvsfics @samahenoyrhye @motivation-idontknowher @pics-and-fanfics @po55um @devil1112 @keeperofsecrets6411 @natasha-died-4-our-sins @marvel-marauder16 @sugamilkteaxkookiesxcream @mcu21lover19 @imgaybutimstraight @buckysbarne @playboystark @sarge-and-caps-princess @eviltinkerbell14 @quethekillerqueen @barewithme02 @buuuuuuucky @reader-without-a-story

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn in BG3: Chapter 15

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 15: Withers has arrived at the camp and you finally look into the second bag you've been carrying around.

Word count: 1.5K (a little shorter but packed with fun :D )

A/N: hehehe

He has to know.  No way in this universe or your own would Withers not know that you remember your past life.  The whole plot of him in the game revolves around soul counting—he’s the freaking god of the dead!  He must know. 

But…just because you remember who you were doesn’t mean that somehow changes your soul…it’s not like you’re swapping a shirt out for a different colour.

The thumb of your right hand begins to press into the palm of your left, a residual tingle from being shot with the arrow.  Tav has asked who Withers is, and he explains that he’s there to help, in his own confusing way.  He doesn’t mention the hirelings, but says that should anyone die, he’s available.  

“So if we die you’re just going to bring us back?” Shadowheart asks incredulously.  

“Should it be so desired,” Withers answers. 

Tav leans towards Withers, unperturbed by the talking skeleton.  He shifts left and right before asking, “Does your head come off?”

Withers squints at him.  “No.”

“Have you tried?”

“No.”

Wyll cuts in.  “Perhaps there’s a better line of questioning for now, Tav.”

Tav shrugs and asks about the price of resurrecting the dead, and why Withers would be willing to do so.  

It is what it is, is basically his answer.  

With that, he’s accepted into the camp.  Everyone returns to their tent, and you’ve all but forgotten about what you were doing before Withers arrived.  

Perhaps because of what you’ve done in the past they’re willing to leave you alone with the sudden visitor.  Tav is last to retreat to his tent.

“So…”  You aren’t sure how to go about this.  Like, hey I know who you really are and am I your favourite?  Instead you wiggle your index fingers between you and him and ask, “Am I your chosen?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.  Nor does he answer with a simple yes or no.  “Thou is who thou needs to be.”

You frown.  “But not who I was?”

“A soul is a soul, no matter the shape.”

“Okay, but–why am I here?  Why am I me?”

Withers only watches you.  

Of course, no easy answers.  You flex your fingers, a jolt of frustration flowing through you.  In the game the gods just came out and said the chosen were their chosen.  Did this mean you weren’t his chosen, or he was just so old that he didn’t behave like the other gods?

“Did you bring me here?” you questioned.

To that, he blinks.  If he breathed or did anything human you swore he would have sighed.  “A soul can grow weary, even when on the correct path,” he says.  

Your arms cross, thinking back to how you’d felt in the tent earlier.  That hollow expanse in your chest expands until you have to rub over your heart.  

“Rebirth,” Withers says, “is necessary on occasion.”

You meet his gaze.  “So why don’t I remember anything?”

“Give and take.”

Remember who you were, forget who you are.  Or maybe it’s the other way around.  Either way, he wasn’t going to tell you the whole story.  Your head aches with the possibilities.

“Thou hast questions,” Withers says when you don’t speak.  “Perhaps thou should consider all of thou’s belongings.”

Your eyebrows rise at his words.  You’d been avoiding looking into the second bag.  At first only because you wanted to remain hopeful it would help you, but now because it might give away your connection to the dead three.  Of course, Withers has just confirmed you aren’t with them so…what’s stopping you from running to your tent and ripping open the bag?

The fact that Withers is watching you with what could only be described as sadness.  You keep his gaze as if you could will him to do what you wanted like the redcaps, but he remains silent.  For some reason you find yourself wanting to apologize to him.

Instead you  take a step back, then another, and another, until you turn and hurry into your tent.

In the dim light you find your bag and hold it with both hands.  You couldn’t put it off any longer.

With a deep breath you squeeze your eyes shut and open the bag.  Still holding that breath you peek one eye open and peek down, only to put the air out between your lips. 

Crystals.  There are five crystals in your bag, each one blue, and each one more faded than the last.  The palest is more teal than blue, and it takes a moment for you to realize what they are.

“Memory crystals,” you murmur.  You pull them out of the bag and arrange them on the floor of your tent by how deeply they’re coloured.  “Give and take.”

Maybe the past you knew what was going to happen and each one of these held a clue for you to decipher?  What Withers said…a soul can grow weary even when on the correct path.  Had you…gotten tired of your life?  You consider the gold, your expensive clothing and unusual power over the dead.  What could have been so bad that you were willing to just—go away? 

Tears well in your eyes.  You—they, the person you no longer are—wanted to die…?  Does it count as death if your memories are replaced with someone else’s?  It’s still your body, all that’s changed are the memories.  

Are you who you remember from Earth, or who you were in Faerun?  With careful hands you pick up the darkest shard.  You barely have to focus on feeling the magic before images flood your vision.

And you see Baldurs’s Gate 3.  The loading screen, to be exact.  It feels blurry, like a dream but you can feel the excitement in your body.  You look down at the controller in your hands, moving on their own as you select a new game and debate on playing an origin character or one of your own creation.  You drop the crystal, the memory lingering, along with a thought that is not yours:

I’m just a character from a story?  Not even in the story.  I’m not even there.

You choke on a sob.

Faerun you remembered Earth you.  Maybe they hadn’t gotten all your memories, but they realized they were living in a video game–one that they weren’t even a part of originally.  You remembered who you were—are—“Damn it!  This is too confusing.”

You fall back on your bedroll, hands over your eyes as you try not to cry too loudly.  You whisper, “A soul is a soul, no matter the shape.  A soul is a soul, no matter the shape.”

If that were true, then everything you’ve felt since waking up here might not be what you would normally feel.  Either version of you.  

Light interrupts your mumbling as the front of your tent opens.  You don’t bother to check who it is, you can feel him in the air around you.  A bony but warm hand lays over yours.  

“They had lived too long for a human,” Withers says, “an old soul that was lost in the right direction.”

“I did, you mean.  I lived too long.”  

Withers moves his hand and you sit up to find him kneeling beside you.  He nods.  “Thou chose to forget, and to remember.  The self remains the same.”

“I am not the same,” you hiss, anger swelling over the sadness.

Withers’s eyes fall to the palest crystal.  You follow his gaze, immediately regretful for your tone.  You reach out and touch the crystal.  Once you pull it to your chest you find yourself looking at Astarion.  It’s obviously him, by his white hair alone, but he’s so much taller than you.  His back faces you and you stumble towards him, your much smaller hand reaching out to grab onto his pants leg.

I can save him, you thought.  Yes, you wanted to help him.  Just one little warning and he’d never become a vampire slave.  Your hand pulls on his pant leg. 

The world around you both is too blurry to see where you are, but you hear string instruments and jovial laughter.  It takes a second tug on Astarion’s pants to get his attention and when he looks down at you. Silver eyes are looking at you and your little body is frozen. 

Astarion’s brows arch, the corner of his lips turn down with a bit of disgust.

“Don’t pwosecute the Guh,” you say.  God, being a child is so annoying.  Why are R’s so hard to pronounce for toddlers?

Astarion lets out a fake laugh, as does whoever he is with.

“It seems the young master wants to be a magistrate,” he says.  There’s more laughter around you as you're picked up by two arms behind you, and you’re at least eye level with the elf as you’re being taken away.

“They’ll kill you,” you shout, “dont—”

“Now, now,” a familiar voice interrupts.  It scares you silent.  “I thought we agreed there would be no spoilers?”

You’re set in a more comfortable position as a child should be held, but it’s far from the comforting hold of a parent.  Your head turns, the world beyond his dark eyes still blurry in the memory.  But he’s taking you away from the party.

“That’s not the deal, Waphael.”  The mispronunciation takes away any authority you could have had. As does the higher pitch of your voice.

The devil just laughs as he takes you away, and the memory ends.

A/N: Apologies for the slight cliff hanger, also, let's pretend the memory crystal things give more information than just flashes of images >.>

TAGLIST:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat @jeneralmischief @notsaelty @runaway-17 @aoirohi @tinswhimsy @xxgrimripp3rxx @kemonocat-blog @thetiredtoad0-0 @sleepydang @iwannabealocalcryptid @troutberryspoon @betwixttheweave @the-pale-elfs-love @kindadolly @bitchyzombienacho @game-savvy @hardbarbarianfox @secr3tlover @stranger-owl @alice4wonderland2812 @donat-senpai @rainbowangel @3dragonstar @starry-crossed @grace-writes-shit

[bromfieldhall]

Caught In The Act

Colin catches Penelope doing something he thinks she shouldn't - especially when she's a fair few months pregnant..

Rating: General

Part of Love and Life Collection

Look out for a little nod to fellow CS fans in this one

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

“Penelope…what are you doing?”

The red-haired woman froze at the sound of her husband’s low, clipped voice and closed her eyes briefly in dismay.

Of all the rotten luck.

She had thought that he would be out with his brothers for a while yet.

They were staying at Aubrey Hall for a couple of weeks as Anthony and Kate had returned earlier than planned with their newborn, Edmund. The men had ventured out for the evening to wet the baby’s head and she’d not been able to sleep without Colin by her side.

Rather than staring at a blank ceiling, she had decided to read for a while, hence why she’d crept down the stairs in her nightwear to look for a book in the well-stocked library.

Slowly, she dropped her arm and straightened up, then twisted slightly to look down at her husband. He was staring back up at her and, to the casual observer, they would think that he was perfectly calm and at ease.

But Penelope knew better.

The thumb and forefinger on his left hand were furiously rubbing together in agitation. It was the only movement of his otherwise rigid posture. His normally full lips were tightly pressed into a thin line, but it was his eyes that were the real giveaway. Instead of the usual warmth that she had more than once waxed lyrical about, they were dark and stormy - with just a hint of fear.

“Colin! I did not think you’d be back so soon,” she said, pasting a bright smile on her face.

“Clearly,” he retorted brusquely.

He dared not say more in case he wouldn’t be able to stop the flow of words. He still hadn’t quite got over the shock of seeing his pregnant wife halfway up the library ladder, reaching out precariously just to grab a blasted book. He swore his heart had stopped for a moment only for it to jump start into a rhythm that would rival the beat of the most energetic jig.

Penelope cleared her throat a little and tried again. If she acted as though nothing were remiss, hopefully they would not have the confrontation she knew was coming.

“I was just looking for something to read while I waited up for you.”

“And you could not find anything nearer the ground?” he questioned dryly.

The guilt she had been feeling quickly turned to annoyance at his words. That was nothing, however, to the irritation that heated her blood when Colin suddenly held out his hand to her with long suffering sigh and expectant look.

As though she were incapable of getting down from the ladder all by herself!

With a huff of frustration, she turned back to the shelves and quickly grabbed the novel she’d been after. Then, before he even had time to register what she’d done, she moved down a couple of rungs and shoved the book into his outstretched hand.

Ignoring his splutter of indignation, she continued her descent grumbling all the while.

“For goodness sake, Colin, we have spoken of this. You agreed to not be so…you. I am pregnant, not incapacitated…”

Unfortunately for her, she missed the last but one rung in her haste to get down and let out a little shriek of surprise as she slipped.

Colin immediately dropped the book and grabbed her firmly by the waist. Lifting her down, he set her on her feet none too gently then spun her around to face him.

If she had thought his eyes were stormy before, they were swirling like a positive tempest now. For a moment his grip tightened on her and she hoped he might pull her into his embrace, but he didn’t. Instead, he let her go and took a step back, leaving her feeling bereft and a little shaken still from her slip. Without a word, he bent down and picked up the book then held it out to her.

“Colin…” she began imploringly.

“Not now, Penelope,” he cut in curtly, then pressed the novel into her hands. “I am tired and off to bed. Enjoy your book.”

She stared after him as he turned on his heel and walked out of the library, then let out a shaky sigh. Really, all this was of her own making. Be careful what you wish for, they say, and they, whoever they were, were right.

Ever since she had found out that she was expecting, Colin had seen to her every need. Indeed, he had been so attentive of her, that it had begun to feel a little stifling. She was very well able to look after herself as she’d reminded her husband quite sternly one evening when he’d insisted on taking her arm just to help her into bed.

He'd looked so hurt by her words but she’d been too wrapped up in her own indignation to offer an apology. Instead, he’d offered his own and assured her that he would be more mindful in the future.

That had been five days ago and he’d been true to his word.

Of course, he had still been there for her when she needed him, but she could tell he was restraining himself at times. That fact had then fuelled her guilt for asking it of him which, in turn, had made her irritable and prone to snap.

It was rapidly evolving into a vicious circle that she had hoped the unexpected time away from home would ease somehow.

And it had to a degree – until tonight.

But, Lord, he was angry with her now and rightly so. All because she wanted to prove a point. In truth, she’d given herself quite a fright when she’d missed her footing and Colin had obviously had one too. It was no wonder that he had walked away.

Placing a hand over her slightly swollen stomach, she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

First, she needed to apologise, then they needed to talk.

The room was dim when she entered quietly. The only light came from candles on each of the small bedside tables left burning for her to see her way. Her heart warmed to know that even in his ire, he still thought of her wellbeing.

She quickly took off her robe then dropped it and the book onto a chair before slipping into bed next to her husband. He was on his side, turned away from her, but she moved closer and propped herself up on her elbow to try and see his face in the warm glow of the flickering candlelight. His eyes were closed, breathing even and yet it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since he’d left her downstairs.

It was quick even for him to have succumbed to slumber.

“Colin?” she murmured softly.

Silence.

“Colin?” she tried again, a little louder.

Still nothing.

She reached out and touched his shirt clad arm, giving him a slight shake.

“Colin.”

“I am asleep,” he finally muttered grumpily without opening his eyes.

Despite herself, Penelope couldn’t help a rueful smile.

“Colin, please, I wish to talk.”

Her husband sighed and opened his eyes, turning his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder.

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?” he asked with a hint of frustration.

Penelope inched back a little and tugged insistently on his arm, hoping that he would roll onto his back where she could see him better. He went with her urging easily, which she took as a good sign, even though it was clear from his tone that he was still irked from what happened in the library.

“No. I wish to apologise,” she told him in a rush. “It was foolish of me to climb the ladder as I did and even more foolish of me to not take your hand when you offered. I-It…When I slipped, I…”

She stopped and shook her head, unable to finish her thought but Colin could tell from the glint of tears in her eyes that it had scared her as much as him.

Suddenly, all his indignation melted away. He hated seeing her upset, even if it had been bought on by her own stubbornness.

“Come here,” he murmured, lifting his arm in invitation. She immediately cuddled up to him and laid her head on his shoulder, hand coming to rest on his chest. He ran his hand up and down her back soothingly and felt her slowly relax against him.

“I do not wish for us to continue like this,” she told him softly after a few moments of quiet.

Raising her head to look at him, he could still see the tears glistening, threatening to fall.

“Neither do I, Pen,” he assured her earnestly, staring deep onto her eyes so she knew it to be true. A lone tear escaped and he gently brushed it away with his thumb before it had a chance to roll very far down her cheek. “Perhaps we should consider a compromise, yes?” he suggested, giving her a small, encouraging nod. He started to smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I shall limit the amount of times I ask if you are well to only…say…ten a day if you agree to stay with your feet firmly on the ground until the baby is born.”

Penelope let out a laugh and sniffed as she wiped at her eyes.

“Maybe six times?” she countered hopefully.

“Eight and we have an agreement,” he told her with a grin.

She laughed again and nodded.

“Deal.”

“I believe it’s not truly binding until we have sealed it in some way,” he remarked, quirking a brow and tapping a finger on his bottom lip.

He gave her his best charming smile by way of further encouragement but Penelope was already moving in to capture his lips with a little giggle.

It was a gentle kiss at first, but then it deepened as Colin’s hand came up to cup the back of her head, his other arm snaking around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

Suddenly, Penelope broke away and pulled back from him with a gasp, her eyes wide.

“What is it?” Colin asked urgently. “Do you need a chamber pot?”

Although she hadn’t really suffered with sickness much due to her pregnancy, there had been the odd time it had reared its wretched head and he assumed this was one.

He went to get out of bed, but stilled when Penelope grabbed his hand and placed it palm down on her stomach.

“I think the baby moved,” she told him emotionally, her voice barely above a whisper. She stared at him, her expression one of joy and wonder, then moved his hand slightly to the left. “There…can you feel it?”

He couldn’t. It was likely still too early but that didn’t stop the indescribable happiness he felt knowing their child was growing well.

“No, but I’m sure it will only be a matter of time,” he replied, his voice as quiet as hers. It was if any louder and it might break the spell of the precious moment. She moved his hand again, wanting him to share what was happening even if he couldn’t physically experience it for himself yet. “What does it feel like?”

“Butterflies,” Penelope replied with a brilliant smile, then leaned in to give him a brief kiss before adding softly, “and our love.”

Love indeed, he thought happily and it was their love that would always see them through, even if they were at times at odds.

He claimed a kiss. Then another. And another. Soon the air was filled soft moans and whispered endearments as their bodies came together and they headed for completion.

Once spent, Colin blew out the candles then settled down behind his wife and drew her back against him, hand splayed over her stomach.

“Are you well, Pen?” he muttered sleepily into her hair.

“Very well,” she replied, smiling to herself in the darkness.

He really couldn’t help himself and she suddenly realised that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [23] - Peonies

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Every marriage has its first argument.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, slow burn.

Word Count: 3500

Series Masterlist

There had been multiple moments in your life where you actually saw red because of anger but this?

This was something else.

You more or less threw yourself out of the carriage the moment it came to a stop in front of the Bridgerton House, Lottie rushing after you as you started climbing the marble stairs.

“Y/N, this is exactly why I left because I was very angry as well,” she said in a haste, trying to keep up with your fast steps. “I think perhaps you should take a breath and calm down—”

“I don’t need to calm down,” you said through your teeth and she heaved a sigh.

“Judging by the look of your face I’d disagree.”

“What look is that?”

“Bloodshed?” Lottie said as you walked through the front door, then turned to her.

“Where is he?”

“Maybe you could—”

“Lottie,” you said. “Where is he?”

She licked her lips and took a look at the foyer you were standing in, then pointed at a closed door at the end of it.

“Tony’s study I think.”

“Wonderful,” you said as you made your way to the door, then slammed it open with such force that it hit the wall behind it, the chatter inside the room coming to a stop at once. Benedict was leaning against the desk but as soon as he saw you, a look of realization dawned on his face while Colin sat up straighter and Anthony stole a look at Benedict.

“Hello gentlemen,” you said, leaning sideways to the doorframe. “I’m not interrupting yet another life-and-death situation, am I?”

“…Uh oh,” Colin said, grinning slightly as he looked from you to Benedict. “You’re in more trouble now than a couple of hours ago Ben.”

“Leave the room,” you said and Colin downed his drink, then stood up, making Benedict frown.

“Colin!”

“I’m not putting witnessing manslaughter back in my plans today,” he called out as he walked past you and you snapped your fingers at Anthony.

“You too. Leave.”

“This is my study,” Anthony said, his voice full of disbelief and you opened your mouth to retort but before you could say anything, Lottie’s head popped around the doorframe.

“Tony?”

The look on Anthony’s face changed the moment he saw her. “Charlotte.”

“Could I have a moment with you?”

“No—”

“Yes,” Anthony cut Benedict off, making his eyes widen.

“Anthony, don’t you dare.”

“This is a marital dispute, I have no place here.”

“I risked my life for you earlier today, now is the perfect time to pay back that favor—”

“You’ll be fine,” Anthony said and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. You crossed your arms as you leaned back to the wall, your eyes narrowing into a death glare.

“Good morning Benedict.”

The eerie calmness of your voice seemed to make him shift his weight.

“Good morning,” he said. “How—how are you?”

You arched a brow, not even answering that.

“I almost forgot how murderous you can look when you want to—I was joking by the way,” he added, motioning at the door where Anthony had just left. “About risking my life earlier.”

“Oh,” you said, feigning cluelessness. “You weren’t at a duel then?”

“…I was.”

“So you were risking your life,” you pointed out and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“It actually depends on how you look at it—”

“I’m looking at it as your wife!” you snapped. “Have you gone insane? Is that it? Are you insane?”

“Anthony needed me.”

“Oh well,” you said, throwing up your hands. “Then that changes things.”

“Does it?”

“No!” you exclaimed. “What were you thinking?!”

“Well—”

“After I specifically asked you not to die? Hm?”

“In my defense—”

“You go off to a duel and not even bother to tell me about it?”

“Can I speak?”

“No!” you pointed at him. “No you cannot!”

He held up his hands, repressing a small smile.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll just stand here and wait for you to finish yelling at me then.”

“That’s the least you could do,” you shot back and he leaned back to the desk, crossing his arms. You shook your head, pacing in the room.

“I cannot believe you went off to a duel,” you said. “And kept it from me.”

“It wasn’t that dangerous.”

“If I’m not here tomorrow morning,” you mimicked his deep voice. “You knew exactly how dangerous it was.”

“Everyone is alright, me included.”

“For now,” you growled. “May I remind you that I have a knife that you gifted me? Has that escaped your notice while you were so ready to die in a duel?”

“Well it would kind of go against the idea if you threatened me with a knife because you are worried about my wellbeing.”

“I didn’t say I was worried about your wellbeing,” you defended yourself almost immediately and Benedict bit back a smile.

“No,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. “Obviously not. I don’t know what made me think that.”

“You should have told me,” you insisted and he heaved a sigh.

“You would have told me to stay.”

“Of course I would have!”

“That’s why I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “Y/N, if you told me to stay…”

A silence fell upon you, your heart skipping a beat at the implication but you tried to focus.

“I could’ve been your second.”

“Seconds don’t have seconds.”

“Well this time they’d have to make an exception because I don’t want to risk my life for goddamn Anthony of all people!”

“But you’d risk it for me?” he asked with a knowing smile and you pulled back slightly, then scoffed.

“I don’t have to answer any of your questions,” you said in a haste, shrugging your shoulders. “That, and—and I take my apology from earlier back.”

He blinked a couple of times. “Why?”

“I’m not going to waste my apologies if you’re going to end up dead in a ditch!” you snapped and motioned at him. “I’m going home, try not to die will you?”

“Y/N…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you said and pulled the door open, then turned to him when he took a step. “No. Don’t come after me.”

With that, you left the room and passed by the foyer, then walked out of the house to approach the carriage by the stone road.

“Where to ma’am?”

“Back home,” you said as you got in the carriage. “Thank you.”

                                                  *

You made yourself busy for the whole day until the evening, and apparently Benedict had decided to give you your space to at least calm down a little. You weren’t in the mood to have dinner, so you retrieved to your bedroom to lose yourself in a botany book and you managed to do so until a knock on the door made you lift your head from the book.

“Yes?”

The door opened and Benedict peeked his head in, making you narrow your eyes.

“May I come in?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “If you must.”

He stepped inside, the bouquet of tuberoses in his arms capturing your attention in a second but you managed to control your expression, raising your brows.

“For you,” he said, approaching the bed to give you the bouquet and you took it from him, reminding yourself that you were still angry at him.

“Thank you,” you said. “I can put them on your grave if you end up dead like you’re trying to.”

“…And I’m sorry?”

“Your apology is heard but not accepted,” you said, putting the bouquet in your lap, enjoying the lovely scent as you grabbed your book again and Benedict rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight.

“If it makes you feel any better I am already being punished by the universe.”

You lifted your eyes from the page again. “Hm?”

“You will not believe what happened,” Benedict said. “And it will come as a shock—”

“Even more of a shock than you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Let’s just take that off the table for a moment because trust me, you want to hear this,” Benedict said. “Anthony and Charlie—”

“Are in love.”

“Are in lo—wait what?” he asked, his jaw dropping as you turned the page absentmindedly. “Did you know?”

“Yes.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“Could’ve been worse,” you said, fixing your gaze on the page. “I could have gone off to a duel and not tell you.”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Are you going to live is the better question here.”

“Y/N.”

“Benedict,” you said with the same tone and he let out a breath.

“How long have you known?” he insisted. “Anthony says he’s been in love with her for years! And he didn’t tell me, and Charlie didn’t tell me and she tells me everything and now my wife—”

“Whom you almost left as a widow.”

“Has kept it from me?” he finished his question as if you hadn’t interrupted him while you hummed, still playing with the petals of the bouquet.

“I’m not to blame if you and all your family are blind,” you said. “It’s not like they were being subtle.”

“They were!” he said. “And—I don’t know how I feel about this. A bit betrayed to be honest.”

“Wonderful, we can form a club together,” you stated. “Like gardening. Only with more backstabbing, which you’re quite familiar with.”

“Anthony and Charlie though?” he asked, shaking his head as he started pacing in the room. “Why would they not tell me?”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to criticize people not sharing things with you.”

“One of them is my best friend, the other one is my brother,” he insisted, then made a face. “Oh God, it just feels wrong. She’s like a sister to me.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Not a sister to Anthony though.”

“Y/N!”

“Am I lying?” you asked and he ran a hand over his face.

“They wouldn’t get married, would they?”

“Of course not,” you deadpanned. “Because who would want to get married after loving someone for years and keeping it a secret, believing it’s impossible only to finally find out they return those feelings?”

“I think I need a moment,” he said as he sat down on the side of the bed while you raised your brows. “So all these years he has loved her but thought me and her would end up married?”

“Oh don’t worry,” you mused. “I have a feeling they’ll make up for the lost time once they—”

He recoiled, grimacing. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

“I will finish whatever sentence I want because I’m angry at you,” you hissed through your teeth, leaning in to stress your words, “And you can sit there and think about how your brother and your best friend are going to get married and consummate soon enough, day and night!”

He let out a noise of disgust and you ignored him, returning back to your book, playing with the bouquet in your lap nonchalantly. He stole a look at you, and licked his lips.

“Y/N?”

You raised your glances to shoot him a glare and he took a deep breath.

“Do you want to go to a party tonight?”

“No.”

“We could go see that new garden tomorrow if you—”

“No.”

“Or maybe we could go to this knife shop—”

“No,” you said, looking up from the book again. “I don’t want it.”

His eyes searched yours. “I know you’re angry but I assure you, I wasn’t in that big of a danger.”

You scoffed a bitter laugh. “That would’ve been very convincing if someone from my family didn’t actually get killed in a duel years and years ago so whatever lie you’re selling, I’m not buying it.”

He pulled back slightly. “Who?”

“Does it matter?” you asked back and he swallowed thickly.

“I didn’t know.”

“No you didn’t,” you muttered, turning a page and Benedict ran a hand through his hair.

“Can we—”

“Thank you for the flowers Benedict,” you cut him off, that familiar burning behind your eyes coming back so you quickly blinked back the tears, keeping your gaze on the page. “But I think I’d like to be alone now.”

“…Of course,” he said after a beat and stood up to walk to the door connecting your room with his. “Goodnight.”

You didn’t reply, still looking at the page without even paying attention to the words printed on it, and Benedict left the room, closing the door behind him. You let out a breath, ignoring the way your eyes were still burning with tears and hugged the flower bouquet tighter to bury your face into it, inhaling the pleasant scent.

                                                      *

The next morning you decided to go outside, not only to meet Lottie but also to congratulate Daphne on her engagement. Josie had sent a reply to your letter, saying she and Bess and Andrew would join you in the park later on, and it gave you enough time to get the details from Daphne.

Although, something told you she was holding back a couple of details from you since Lottie was there.

“And mama is taking me to the modiste tomorrow—enough about me, I cannot believe you didn’t tell me that you had feelings for Anthony!” Daphne told Lottie and she gave her a shy smile.

“I honestly didn’t think Tony would ever return my feelings.”

“We’ve been blind all these years, thinking you would marry Benedict…” Daphne said and stole a look at you. “No offense, Y/N.”

“None taken,” you said. “Perhaps if Lottie married Benedict, he would have thought twice before going to a duel.”

“Oh don’t say that!” Daphne said and heaved a sigh. “I tried to stop them, I swear.”

“And you did,” Lottie said. “I don’t blame you at all Daph.”

“Mm hm, I’m blaming a specific someone who’s not you Daphne.”

“And I don’t know if I should say it but I’m kind of glad that duel almost happened,” Lottie said, making you and Daphne turn to shoot her a look of disbelief. “No I mean—obviously I’m still angry at Tony about it and I’m glad no one got hurt, but now albeit some complications along the way, Daphne is marrying the love of her life and I’m in a courtship with the love of my life which I thought was impossible! All’s well that ends well, as they say.”

“That’s one way to look at it I suppose,” you muttered and Daphne pressed her lips together.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Love is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Or the most annoying,” you pointed out, making Daphne pull her brows together. “Because one moment someone says he loves you and the next minute he rushes off to a duel, very eager to leave you a widow.”

Daphne and Lottie exchanged glances.

“Y/N, is everything alright between you and Benedict?”

“Sure,” you deadpanned. “What makes you think otherwise?”

“Um—”

“You know what?” you said. “I’m thirsty, I’ll just go and get a lemonade from the vendor. Do you two want anything?”

“No thank you.”

“No I’m fine,” they both said and you got up from where you were sitting under the tree, then made your way through the park to approach the vendor’s cart and got in the line. After only a couple of minutes, it was your turn and you ordered a bottle of lemonade, but before you could take out some coins out of your reticule, you heard a familiar voice beside you.

“Hello Y/N,” Anthony said as he handed the coins to the vendor, then took the bottle from him and held it out for you. “Lovely to see you here.”

You gritted your teeth and eyed the bottle in his hand. “I can’t say I share the sentiment.”

“A word?” he asked and you grumbled under your breath, then took the bottle from him and started walking beside him.

“Is Benedict around?”

“How should I know?” you asked back and he pulled his brows together.

“You two live in the same house.”

“It’s a big house,” you pointed out and he raised his brows, nodding his head.

“I take it things are still not completely alright between you two?”

“Anthony, you know I love nothing more than talk to you about my marriage,” you snarked. “That being said, let’s not this time hm?”

“Well, you did kick my door down the other day.”

“You almost got my husband killed,” you replied, looking down at the lemonade bottle before shrugging your shoulders. “Perhaps it’s not a good idea to point fingers here.”

“Simon is an honorable man and the duel was going to be just us, his second wouldn’t have fired a shot at—”

“You seem to confuse me with someone who wants explanations from you.”

He heaved a sigh. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t put him in danger.”

“Clearly,” you said. “That’s why you made him your second at a duel. Only logical action to take when you want to keep somebody safe.”

“Are you able to hold an actual conversation without any sarcasm?”

“No,” you said with as much sarcasm as you could have in one word and he shot you a look.

“I wouldn’t have taken him there if I thought for one moment he’d be the one to get hurt instead of me.”

“Do you want me to tell you how a duel works, Anthony?” you growled at him. “Stray bullet, ambush, someone’s aiming being less than perfect…”

“And none of those happened.”

“Because Daphne stopped you,” you spat. “Not because of you or Simon thinking logically for a second. It’s thanks to Daphne.”

“I know that,” he said. “But Benedict is alright.”

“By luck,” you shot back and he took a deep breath.

“If you’re being like this because you worry about your situation in case of his death, he has you covered.”

Your head shot up, anger slowly spreading through your system as your jaw locked in its place.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He put it on your marriage settlement and his will before you two got married, you get everything in case of his death,” he said. “You’d be taken care of even if you became a widow, not to mention you have my family’s su—”

“You know,” you cut him off. “I leave every conversation with you completely convinced that I can’t like you any less, and every single time you somehow exceed my expectations.”

He shot you a look. “No one would blame you if it crossed your mind, Y/N.”

From a completely objective stance, he had a point there, what your financial situation along with your status would be if you were a widow was something you and every married woman in the ton were expected to worry about.

But somehow, you couldn’t even bring yourself to think about that, not when that scenario included Benedict’s death—

The pang in your chest was so sudden that it had you ball your hand into a fist, trying to focus on the reality.

“You think I care about money?” you asked him and he heaved a sigh.

“I think anyone in the ton would want to make sure they were safe,” he said. “It doesn’t make you a bad person if you are worried about that.”

A bitter laugh climbed up your throat and you shook your head slightly.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve looked into my family before Benedict and I got married,” you said. “So I shouldn’t have to tell you that the difference between everyone else in the ton and I is that I know how to survive without all this money and status and luxury just fine, I grew up without any of it.”

“That was before,” he pointed out and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Either way, that was never my priority no matter what you or anyone else thinks of me,” you pointed out. “Even before I got engaged, the only promise I was interested in when it came to marriage was that I would eventually be left alone.”

He tilted his head. “And yet, you are way too angry about this situation to enjoy the promise of being left alone.”

“Plans change.”

“I can see that,” he said and you swallowed thickly, biting at your tongue, trying to focus.

“You wanted to have a conversation without any sarcasm did you not?” you asked, locking eyes with him. “Here it is. The next time you put my family in danger, I will make sure you wish you died in that duel and even Lottie won’t be able to save you. Have I made myself clear?”

He looked almost impressed, a small, proud smile curling his lips before he bowed his head.

“Crystal.”

“Good,” you said and took a sip of your lemonade. “Well, I’d better go before the girls wonder where I am. Congratulations on your courtship by the way, don’t mess it up.”

With that you shot him a forced smile and whirled on your heels, then walked away from him, leaving him there quite dumbfounded.

Chapter 24

[drabblesandimagines]

reader comforts Clive after a nightmare?? I love ur writing sm <3

Thank you, anon! I've had this in my drafts for a while. Just some soft comfort, maybe a bit angsty! I hope you enjoy x

Compromises

Clive Rosfield x reader

You awaken from a dreamless sleep, too exhausted by the day’s activities to dream, to find the chambers in darkness and dawn still a few hours away. You nuzzle your face back down into your pillow and close your eyes, expecting sleep to reclaim you quickly, dismissing whatever woke you up in the first place when a heartbreaking whimper echoes around the room.

Clive.

You sit up then, wide awake - surprised you don’t rouse him from how you make the bed shake in your haste. Clive’s lying on his front, topless, a hand nestled under his cheek. His hair is more disheveled than usual, though you thought you would have awoken earlier if he’d been tossing and turning to such a degree. His brows are furrowed and his face twitches and a whimper of your name emits from his lips.

You’re struck by indecision – should you attempt to wake him, or is safer to let him wake himself? You wrack your brain, trying to remember if Tarja had ever shared any advice on the matter over the years spent together, moving cautiously to the edge of the bed to think.

There is no further time for deliberation as Clive wakes with a gasp, reaching out with one hand to your side of the mattress, hoping to find your slumbering form. When he can’t find the solace he so desperately craves, he pushes himself up, flustered – heart pounding, lungs heaving, eyes darting around - to find you sat nearer the edge of the bed, watching him carefully.

“Clive?” Your tone is cautious – not sure if he’s truly awake or still in the throes of his dream.

“Oh, thank the Founder,” he twists round and pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you, pressing his face into your hair. “You… You’re all right. It felt so real.”

“A nightmare?”

“Yes,” he says on the exhale, sounding breathless.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” You ask, cautiously.

“In a moment. I just…” He presses a long kiss against your crown, and you can feel his heart pounding through your cheek upon his chest. “I just need a moment, my darling.”

“Take as many as you need.”

You stay in that position for a while, your arms looped around him as best you can, sitting in the quiet as he keeps his chin upon your crown, trying to steady his breaths.

“It was…” He swallows. “I dreamt that Barnabas… He… He had you in fetters.” An arm drops from around you, seeking your hand instead to press a kiss to the pulse point of your wrist. “He’d… He’d taken you.” His other hand begins to rub up and down your back, attempting to ground himself once more with your presence, the warmth of your body. “His sword at your throat. And I was close, I could see you, and he demanded for Ifrit to show. But… he wouldn’t come to me, no matter how much I willed him to. And you were screaming my name, begging me for my aid – and I… Founder, I…”

His voice breaks and you pull back at once, wrapping your arm around his head to pull him down against your own chest, pressing the side of his face against your heart in the hopes that hearing its beat would bring him a semblance of comfort. Warm tears soon soak into the fabric of your nightgown, Clive’s frame wracking with soft sobs.

You can say it wasn’t real, that it wouldn’t happen… But there’s no denying the way Barnabas Tharmr’s eyes had flitted between you and Jill in Kanver - moments after he’d sliced a building in two, moments before Clive had barely escaped with his life, followed by a chase across the sea to rescue Jill from the bowels of his ship.

How Odin had taunted that he’d taken the wrong treasure with the way Clive screamed when the Enterprise was attacked.

You know what you need to say because he would never ask you to, so his subconscious has done it instead - but the words don’t come immediately. You settle for rubbing your palm in wide circles on his back, press kisses to his crown – try to give him any semblance of the comfort he gives you when you’re wrapped up in his arms, feeling the world is too much.

There’s a soft hiccup, a loud sniff as he lifts his head from your chest, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

He looks beautiful.

You chase his retreat and place a hand on his scarred cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He places his hand over yours, kissing you back in return, though not with his usual vigor - tinged with salt.

You’ll do this for him, no matter how much the idea hurts.

“I’ll stay.” You whisper.

There’s a pause. “What?”

You lean your forehead against his, wet your lips with your tongue even though they’re not dry.

“I won’t go to Ash. I’ll stay.”

He kisses you, fiercely.

“Thank you.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[apenitentialprayer]

In Christ, YHWH Himself Becomes the Accursed One, by Christopher Powers.

According to the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, nothing good happens to Jesus once he is put on the cross. All the signs are against him. He has been mocked, and the mockers have asked for a sign that he is the Son of God. Well, the sign has been given. Here is the sign that Jesus is the Son of God: darkness. God has pulled back.

Reader, do not miss the point. Everything turns against Jesus: the cosmos, the political world, his compatriots, his fellow religionists, his chosen companions, nature itself. There is no mercy. There is no grace. There is not even a fragrant breeze.

And have you ever thought about this? There is no silence.

One might hope to come to one's death in peace, to have a calmness and quiet about you within which you could compose yourself to face your end. Jesus had no peace. Not only did he have the pain from the nails and the agony of suffocation; he had the horror of screams. A crucifixion scene is a scene of screaming. Raymond Brown says that crucifixions were "particularly gruesome" because of "the screams of rage and pain, the wild curses and the outbreaks of nameless despair of the unhappy victims." There was screaming around Jesus for hours from the others, only a fragment of which is recorded in the Gospels (their taunting of Jesus). And finally, in the end, Jesus himself screamed.

Yes, Jesus screamed out in the midst of his pain, not in rage, not in a curse, but in a loud cry. The Word of God incarnate does not merely speak; it is a screamed-out question, and it is his death cry. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? What does it mean?

It means, I think, the obvious thing: that Jesus died in the worst way possible, that he died in unimaginable pain, and that his physical pain was accompanied by the mental and emotional pain of being abandoned by God. He entered into our human condition; he came down from heaven and was begotten by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary and was made man. And then he went down further. He entered into the saddest and lowest human conditions; he entered into griefs and degradations and betrayals and tortures. He entered into them, he went down, and then he went down further. Jesus plumbed the absolute and literal depths of what it is to be human. He wept, sometimes with us and sometimes over us. He visited our tombs. And —it sounds trite but it's literally true— he shared our pain.

This, to be honest, is good news for us. There are no depths to which we may have to descend that Jesus has not already descended. However bad your life gets, Jesus will be with you. He can be with you, because he has gone down even further.

[... A]ll of us know that we have untested limits. For Jesus there were no untested limits. And with trembling in our bones we can voice the sacred truth, that it is . . . good . . . that Jesus was so completely tested. For when Jesus screamed, it was, as I said, not in anger, not in rage, but in: a prayer. Although screamed out, the words My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? are a prayer.

Jesus feels nothing but abandonment from God, and yet nonetheless he prays to God. He no longer feels any intimacy with God — less than twenty-four hours earlier he was praying to his "Father" that he be spared of all this; now he cannot pray to his Father, but he can still pray like any human being can pray, to "God," to indeed "my God." He screams, yes, he cries out, yes, but it is a question that he cries, and a question rests upon a relationship, on the reality of one to whom a question is addressed. Jesus goes all the way down to the very bottom of human existence, and even at the bottom, even in the midst of all the pain in the universe, even in the absence of any sign at all that he has a divine Father, even there at the bottom a human being can still pray to God, can still ask, if nothing else, why this God, to whom he is speaking, why this God has forsaken him.

We find God by going down this road, down the road that goes down. Leonard Cohen, in his song "Suzanne" (which Susan used to sing to me), saw deeply, if not perfectly, when he said Jesus realized "only drowning men could see him." Jesus saw this from the cross (I think this is what Cohen means by "his lonely wooden tower"), where, Cohen says, he was "forsaken, almost human."

No, that last modifier is wrong: forsaken, fully human is the point. Yet it may be true that only drowning people can see Jesus. We who have suffered the depths can catch sight of him, I think, because Jesus was fully human all the way down: in the darkness, beyond the darkness, forsaken, fully human, he sank (as Cohen almost says) beneath God's wisdom like a stone.

Rev. Canon Victor Austin (Losing Susan: Brain Disease, The Priest's Wife, and the God Who Gives and Takes Away, pages 135-136, 137-138). Italics original.

There is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still.

Betsie ten Boom, as recorded by her sister.