#have you been in a meeting where nothing is pre planned not who prays not the songs sung not the sermon

[iiusia]

everyday i restrain myself

[milswrites]

Hobbies Part 3.

~Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst and sadness. Light injury (nothing too bad)

“Why is it whenever you come to my door you’re always dressed so strangely?”

Azriel has had four blissfully peaceful days since the training session with Y/N . He knew she would turn up again at some point, having promised she’d come back and make him try something new.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly looking forward to spending time with Y/N again, he just assumed it was due to the fact that life in the Day Court for him was awfully dull. At least he now knew where the training grounds were and found most of his time was now spent there. Still just himself for company, he had now adopted his regular pre-sabbatical training routine and he had even been on a few late night flights, the need to stretch his wings too much to deny.

Azriel would also be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting on Y/N’s arrival at his flat once more. A shadow constantly waiting by his front door, even when he was out of his flat, to ensure that he would always know when she was waiting outside to meet him.

That’s what lead him to where he was now.

He had been outside, busy at the training ground and focussed on practicing a very difficult drill with his daggers, when the small wisp of one of his shadows came flying into the arena causing him to immediately stop what he was doing.

‘She’s here’ it told him ‘she’s waiting for you’.

At once Azriel sheathed his daggers and took off flying. Speeding towards the direction of his flat. Not wanting Y/N to know he had left a shadow at the door, purely with the intention of alerting him of her presence, Azriel squeezed himself through his open window. A window which definitely had not been built with the intention of a large Illyrian male squeezing through it but Azriel would rather suffer through the embarrassment of having to contort his body and drag himself through, rather than be faced with Y/N’s teasing grin at the fact he had been expecting her and rushed back to greet her.

After managing to crawl through his window, landing on the floor with a bang he prayed she didn’t hear, Azriel rushed to the door hoping Y/N was still there and hadn’t left having waited too long for a response.

Taking in a deep breath to try and return his breathing to normal, Azriel opened the door. He was met yet again with Y/N standing there, grin on your face, in another totally ridiculous outfit.

“What do you mean strange?” Y/N whined dramatically, hand placed over her heart as if his words hurt. Of course this wasn’t the case as the smile on her face had transformed into a smirk, clearly she was expecting him to say that, “Clearly you’ve never seen Day Court riding attire before.”

“Riding?! Like horses?!”

“No Azriel, riding like dragons, yes of course we’re riding horses!”

Azriel was now sure Rhysand had sent Y/N to torture him as punishment for what he did. He had never been on a horse and had absolutely no no intention of ever being on one. The small trace of excitement he had at the prospect of Y/N returning to his flat with a new hobby for him to try had completely left his mind. Azriel now in a mood and frankly he was slightly scared by the prospect of him on a horse.

“What a shame, I actually have plans for today” he shrugged mock-sympathetic look on his face as he attempted to pull his door to before Y/N could convince him otherwise. Something he was certain she would be able to do with little more than a smile.

“Hold on batboy,” Y/N chuckled, hand reaching out to grab the door before he could close it, “I did something you like, you’re going to do something I like. Deals the deal.”

“We didn’t make a deal” Azriel tried to reason, eyes focussed down the hallway of the flat so to avoid looking into her wide, begging ones that were no doubt staring at him.

“Yes we did”

“No we didn’t”

“Yes we- oh for mother’s sake Azriel! I thought you Illyrians were meant to be honest males!”

At this Azriel couldn’t help but release a barking laugh, “Sweetheart I don’t know what you think you know about Illyrians but that is most definitely wrong.”

“Oh well just…please Azriel,” as she said this Y/N softly moved one of her hands to rest on Azriel’s arm that was holding onto the door, “it would mean a lot to me.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered to where her hand rested on him, jaw clenching as his felt his control slip.

“Isn’t there something else you want to do?”

There wasn’t. Azriel had given in and now he found himself face to face with an overly skittish horse, clearly not a fan of his large wings. Y/N was already up on her horse, beaming down at Azriel as she waited patiently for him to mount.

Tentatively, he took a step towards the horse Y/N had selected for him to ride, pulling his wings in hoping that it would be less intimidating, the animal immediately shuffled backwards nervously.

“Y/N I don’t think this is a good idea” Azriel said turning towards the woman who was clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Giggling, she hopped off of her horse before walking over to Azriel and grabbing his hand. Not expecting this, Azriel flinched and yanked his hand away from her grip turning his head away from her, not wanting to see her disgust as she took in the mangled state of his hands.

“What are you doing?” He tried to snap at her but the words came out more unsure and shaky.

“Azriel”, Y/N spoke, drawing his eyes back to her kind face, “it’s ok, look.” With that Y/N took his hand again, her hold light as if giving him the chance to pull away again if he wanted to. Trusting her, Azriel exhaled and watched as she brought his scarred hand to his horses side moving it up and down in a gentle stroke, action calming the anxious mare.

Y/N’s hand lingered over his for a while, caught in the moment before she pulled away. Slow enough that Azriel was reassured it was not because of the marred skin of his hands. The back of his hand still tingling from where she had touched him.

“See?” She spoke softly, eyes slightly glazed. Azriel could have sworn he saw her shake her head a little, bringing herself back from wherever her mind had wandered to, before she took a step back away from his body, creating distance between them.

“Do you need help getting on?”

Neglecting a verbal response, Azriel shook his head, hand still pressed to the side of the horse where she had placed it. He knew the logistics over getting on a horse he had just never tried to before. Awkwardly, he placed his foot in the stirrup before pushing himself up and bringing his other leg over so he was sat on the horse. He made sure to lift his wings and spread them out a little to avoid them touching the horses back in fear their unfamiliar presence may cause him to get bucked off.

Azriel was sure of two things. One, he looked like an absolute idiot on this horse and if Cassian could see him now he would never let Azriel live it down. And two, Y/N was enjoying his struggle and obvious distaste for animals a little too much.

As they plodded along a dirt path outside of the city, Azriel kept a miserable eye on Y/N who wasn’t afraid to let out a loud cackle every time he showed any sign of stiffness or discomfort.

“Hanging in all right bat boy?” She grinned as Azriel released a groan, no one ever told him how much riding a horse hurt your backside.

“Is this supposed to be enjoyable? This can’t actually be your hobby” he mumbled, shifting on the back of his horse to try and find some semblance of comfort for his rear.

“It’s not,” Y/N replied, “never actually been on a horse before either, I had to beg Helion to let me borrow these from his stable.”

Her comment made Azriel pull on the reins tightly until his horse came to a stop, Y/N still moving on ahead, “What do you mean you’ve never been on a horse? The whole reason I’m here is because you said we were going to do something you like!”

“Hm no I don’t recall saying that” Y/N turned her head over her shoulder, flashing Azriel a cheeky grin before facing forward once more. He huffed and did his best to get his horse moving again, this taking a few attempts, riding along until he was side by side with Y/N.

“So why are we doing this instead of dress shopping or gossiping over some tea?”

Y/N gasped playfully, “Dear me Azriel, you can’t truly believe my hobbies would be something as mundane as shopping or talking. I never took you for a gossip though, that’s good to know”

“Well you seem to do too much of that” Huffed Azriel under his breath.

“Besides, consider this payback”

“Payback?”

“For training the other day, can’t think I’m going to let you flip me onto the floor and get away with it”

And with that Y/N pulled off into a gallop down the dirt track, flying away from Azriel, her laugh hanging in the air, his heart fluttering at the sound. Competitive spirit stirring, and a weird need to impress Y/N, Azriel urged his horse to move faster in an attempt to outrace Y/N who already had a very large head start.

This wasn’t Azriel’s smartest idea as it wasn’t long before he felt the reins slip from his grasp and the next thing he knew he was falling off the back of his horse with a startled yelp. His body and wings scraping against the ground as he made contact, rolling to a stop, horse running off into the distance.

Groaning, Azriel just laid there, hands on his face in exasperation. The sound of hooves coming closer forced him to sit up, watching a panicked Y/N canter towards him, his horse in tow. She hopped off her own, worry evident in her face, and ran to Azriel.

“Cauldron are you ok?!!” She dropped to her knees, grabbing his face in the palm of her hands and scanning him over for injuries. Azriel brushed her off of him, embarrassed at the events that had transpired.

“If this is your idea of payback it definitely worked, think I ended up a lot worse off than you did though”

Y/N broke out into laughter, a sound so sweet and inviting that Azriel couldn’t help but join along. The two of them sat on the ground, dirt on their clothes, laughing hysterically until tears filled their eyes and they couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Let’s do something a little less high risk next time yeah?” Azriel says when his breath returns to normal, his smile had gone, it left with the last laugh that had escaped his mouth, but his cheeks still sweetly stung from the memory of it all the same.

“You mean you still want to keep hanging out with me?” Y/N was joking, but Azriel could still see the trace of insecurity in her eyes that she had blown her shot, that Azriel wouldn’t want to see her anymore after forcing him along on this disastrous trip. He wanted to comfort her, take her hand and tell her that he wasn’t going anywhere. But it was Azriel’s rogue emotions that brought him to this court in the first place and he wasn’t going to allow them to mess anything else up. Azriel called back his shadows that were swirling around them both playfully, thriving off of the joy they were previously emitting.

Clearing his throat and moving to his feet he answered, “I haven’t completely dismissed that as an option, can’t say I’ve particularly enjoyed anything we’ve done.”

His words had hurt Y/N, Azriel could tell that much, he noticed how her smile had wavered, how her eyebrows knitted together and the spark he so admired in Y/N’s eyes had dimmed. Guilt crawled into Azriel’s chest but he knew it was probably for the best, he’d entertain her visits and activities but he couldn’t allow himself to grow any closer. He knew he wouldn’t be here forever, sure that any week now Rhysand would return calling him back to his duties at the night court and he would go, leaving Y/N behind.

So Azriel looked down at Y/N who was still sat on the floor before, hurt on her face and he turned back to his horse, grabbing the reins and climbing on, “come on, let’s head back.” Y/N nodded, wordlessly picking herself up from the floor, she brushed the dirt from her clothes and hopped onto her horse.

They rode in silence, Azriel wanting nothing more in this moment than for her to start one of her conversations that he once found so unbearably annoying. Even praying that she would start her melodic humming, a sign that he hadn’t hurt her feelings too much. But Y/N didn’t make a sound.

Sighing to himself over the fact that he had found himself caring so much about this woman he barely knew in the space of such a small time, Azriel broke the silence, wanting to reduce the rift he had so suddenly opened between them. “So what do you actually enjoy doing. If not torturing the male species”He lamely attempted a pathetic excuse for a joke, recalling when the atmosphere around them both was lighter and more playful, wishing for it to return.

Without looking at him, Y/N replied quietly, “I don’t get much free time. But when I do I like to bake or sow, I enjoy making dresses.”

In an attempt to make her smile Azriel spoke, “someone who meant a lot to me used to sow, she must have made hundreds of the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen. She made one our high lady wore once, it looked like she had sown together pure starlight.” He glanced to his side where Y/N was riding, a wistful smile creeping onto her lips as if she wished she could create something just as magical.

“I don’t think I’ve ever made anything quite like that”

“I’m sure you’re great. Maybe one day you’ll even make something for me?” It may have been a bit presumptuous of Azriel to say, but at the sight of her usual smile finally on her face he was glad he said it. And Azriel quite liked it, the idea of wearing something made by her.

“A dress?” She teased, the stiff atmosphere around them had blown away with the gentle breeze, a comfortable warmth taking its place.

“I would make a dress work if that’s what you made me. You’ve already put me through enough torture I’m sure I could endure a little bit more.”

Y/N snorted, hand flying to her mouth in an attempt to cover the sound but Azriel caught it and swore to himself he would do everything in his power to make sure he was never the reason for Y/N losing her smile again. As they continued along the path that led back to the city, dirt on their clothes and contentment on their faces. Azriel couldn’t wait for what she had planned next… as long as it didn’t actually involve him having to wear a dress.

Part 4

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Notes: I don’t know much about horses so please don’t come for me if I’ve said something wrong <3

Taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @minnieoo @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove

(I’m so sorry I couldn’t get some of them to work, and I’m even more sorry if it’s just my awful spelling)

[ashecampos]

RADIO SILENCE

wandaxreader (relationship) yelenaxreader + natxreader (siblings)

reader uses they/them pronouns

Warnings - angst angst and a sprinkle of angst

another silly little one shot no one asked for. For this one I took inspiration from that one episode of b99 where Rosa is on duty at an active shooting. Pre warning I did write this at 4am, my body was running on nicotine and coffee so please forgive me if this is bad <3

🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫

Wanda’s pov - 9am - Avengers Tower

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I stare at the clock as it slowly but surely moves, both arms moving but never seeming to meet each other, I look back to the time it displays, a tired yawn escapes my body. The meeting has only been going on for 20 minutes. Thing is I wouldn’t have been this tired if Y/N wasn’t put on early morning patrol duty. It’s normally the younger avengers who get forced to patrol the streets of NewYork on the mornings as all they have to do is stop a few robbers or help some old grandmother across the busy streets and even if there happened to be an avengers level threat they had their radio to call for backup. It was supposed to be Peter on duty today. But the little pesky bug boy decided he would much rather see to his aunt and her boyfriends anniversary plans than do what he is being payed for. The rest of the young avengers are at school, on Y/N’s request of course.

“Hey Sabrina you listening?” Tony interrupts my train of thought, I look up and see him and a few other staring at me “yeah sorry” I say with a gentle smile as they carry on their meeting.

Where was I? Oh yes my partner. My stupid adorable partner. They being the trouper that they are told Peter that they would happily take his shift on patrol, in which meaning them waking up at 4:30am, also meaning they woke me up as they being the clumsy person they are tripped over their own suit in their tired state, making suck a racket. Anyway that lead me to where we are now. Tired. Groggy and in a meeting. Thanks y/n.

After another half an hour of listening to absolutely everything. Sorry nothing of what Tony just rambled on about, Fury came rushing in with Maria. They looked broken. “Rogers, radio stat” Fury demanded as he pointed at the star spangled man. Steve being the perfect solider he is, he turned on and placed his radio on the desk for everyone to hear.

the small box crackles and squeals before a voice comes on “BREAKING NEWS!. I’m NewYork a shooting has occurred, all we know as yet is that the shooter is active and still on the scene. The shooting started at around 8am and is taking place at the american museum of natural history. The shooter is said to be armed with space tech. Anyone near the museum must evacuate and stay as far away as possible.” the radio then crackles and goes silent again. “and where is this museum?” Clint asks “upper west side” Bruce says without missing a beat. Looking around the room to see what the game plan is I see Nat’s face go sickeningly pale. “upper west side?” She asks, her voice cracking a little. I look at my future sister in law and it hits me. Yelena and Y/N. They both took their duty on upper west side an hour ago due to some reports of a commotion in some boring museum.

Fiddling with one of the radios, Clint manages to get connected to a police hotline, we can now hear if there is any updates on what shield agents are in the building. “Okay now agents of the shield facility I need anyone who is still standing to read their badge numbers” an officer says with a hint of boredom in his voice. Nat comes over to sit closer to me, everyone’s attention now glued to the tiny radio on the table. This meeting not being so boring anymore. “Agent104” some man says “agent233” another woman says, the list goes on for a few minutes until we hear a Russian accent, me and Nat lean forward in our chairs praying for either yelena or y/n or even just one of the twins. To everyone’s relief it was yelenas voice coming through “agents 443 and 444” she said. A big sigh is released as the twins are alive. But for how long? “We will be asking for hourly updates agents. If anyone is to come into contact with the shooter, do not touch the gun” the officer on the other end says with a hint of urgency.

Nat stands up first “we need to go help them” she pleas. “Negative, we stay here as ordered” Fury says as he leaves the room. Shaking her head Nat goes to the doorway and gets agitated “no Nick, both of my siblings are in there. You don’t tell me to follow orders” she snaps a little “Actually Romanoff, we need to stay here in case of an emergency, the avengers tower is open to the public who are in need of medical assistance.” Fury counteracts with his statement, he does have a point, however my partner and their sister are in that building. “we are to stay in this room and hope for the best. Understood?” He says his final warning before leaving the room.

Four long suffocating hours go by, none of us had left the meeting room. The radio went off every hour, agents would call their badge number into their radio, every hour there would be less and less calling their number. Meaning more and more casualties had occurred. Yelena and y/n hadn’t missed one calling yet. The team where getting bored by now, me and Nat pacing the room, everyone had enough. “That’s it. Both of you go to Y/N’s room and find something to keep yourself busy with. Now and stay there” Thor said, loudly and firmly, not taking no for an answer, me and Nat left the meeting room, making a quick entrance to Y/N’s room, their pink guitar laid on the bed from the previous night where they had sang to me, looking around nat sighed, she started to move stuff and clean.

An hour later there was a knock on the door, it opened as it was motion censored, Yelena stood in the doorway, swear covering her small face, Nat ran over to greet her younger sister, she engulfed her in a bone crushing hug. But where was the identical face that matched Yelena’s? “Lena oh my god never leave me again please” Nat says before looking back up, breaking the hug and going to move yelena aside to get to her other sibling, upon doing this she realised the worst. Y/n wasnt stood there with their arms open ready to be squeezed to death by their older sister. “Lena..where are they?” Nat asked urgently, praying that her sibling was just at med bay for another stupid reason as they always where. Yelena shrugged, her head lowered, eyes watery. “I-i don’t know Tasha, they told me to run ahead and that they would distract the bad guys and be right with me but when I got here they weren’t there” yelena sobbed, her words barely translatable. Nat guides us all to the bed, there was not one dry eye in the room as we all sobbed mourning the perfectly stupid person we all loved. To keep our minds off of whatever or wherever y/n had been, Nat told us to help her replace Y/N’s guitar strings as they hadn’t gotten around to doing it themselves.

An hour later, I give up “this is fucking useless Nat none of us know how to do this, we are just fucking it up the more we try.” I snap “the love of my life is out there in that stupid fucking museum and I don’t even know if they are dead or alive, I can’t feel them, I love them so much” I sob

“Jesus I mean I love you too but the crying..dramatic as fuck cara mia” I hear a voice behind me say, the voice is raspy and low. I look at Nat and yelena, they look shocked, I spin around and run to tackle the person. My person. “Oh my god Y/N”

[renee-writer]

Teachers Chapter 51

AO3

The summer finds them planning for the future while soaking up ever moment of the present.

 

James changes daily. As he grows, his crying eases and he has more moments of quiet contemplation. Moments where he holds their eyes as he listens to them talk, read, and sing to him. Claire has the better voice and sooths with lullabies. Jamie reads and tells him bedtime stories.

 

They both hold their breathes and their son as the days tick down to his third month. Each brings them closer to being an official family.

 

She rocks him, giving him his bottle.  He is a week away from being a quarter of a year old and forever their son. They will leave in two weeks time, heading across the pond, going home.

 

All is packed except James’  stuff. All the passports and other paperwork is ready, except his. He will get one as soon as the adoption is finalized.

 

“In a week, you will be James Kelly Fraser, forever,” She softly coos to him, “and we will head home to Lallybroch to meet the rest of your family. They are so anxious to meet you.”

 

He watches her with his wide amber eyes, a perfect combination of his birth parents green and brown. They are also a shade darker then Claire’s. He was meant to be theirs.

 

Jamie is in the living room going over emails. Their students have sent them many and he is answering them.

 

A knock on the door draws his attention. He rises to answer it.

 

Kelli-Anne stands there and his heart gives a lurch. Is their worst fear coming true?

 

Swallowing, his mouth dry, he greets her. “Kelli-Anne, hello. What…” He can’t ask. He can’t say the words that are stuck in his throat.

 

“No, Mr. Fraser, I am not here to take him away. I just want to see him, hold him, before y’all leave. If that is okay?”

 

His relief has him grabbing the sides of the doorframe. “Of course it is. Please, come in. Let me let Claire know what is going on.” He leads her into the living room where evidence of James is everywhere.

 

A bassinet sits by the couch. A bottle warmer is on the coffee table. Diapers stacked on one of the chairs. Stuffed animals and other toys are everywhere. She smiles.

 

He hurries into their room. “We have a visitor, Kelli-Anne. She isn’t ,” he quickly adds, “here to do anything but see him before we leave. She assured me of that.”

 

She lets out a stuttering breath. “Alright?”

 

“It is okay.” He places his arms around them both as she raises.

 

They walk out into the living room. She still stands, looking at the many pictures of James that haven’t yet been packed. Turning, she sees Claire holding him. The other woman smiles at her.

 

“I promise Mrs. Fraser, I am not here to cause trouble. I just want to see him, hold him, before you move.”

 

“Understand.” She walks over to her, “James, remember Kelli-Anne, the wonderful woman who gave you life.” She transfers the baby to her, then crosses her arms around herself, hugging herself. If she wanted, she could walk out the door with him and there is nothing they could do.  Jamie wraps his arm around her.

 

“Hi James. You have gotten so big! Wow. Your mommy and daddy send me pictures of you but to see you, to feel how much more you weigh then you did at birth, it is amazing.”

 

Claire feels better after hearing her refer to them as mommy and daddy.  “He is twelve pounds.”

 

She grins down at the little boy, staring up at her with wide eyes. “Such a big boy!”  He blinks and his lips start to shiver, “Oh no. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“Rock him gently.” Jamie says.

 

She starts to and his pre-cry face soothes out. “You won’t  see me again but I want to let you know, I love you very much. So much that I am giving you to your wonderful mommy and daddy, to raise you up right, in a way me and your birth father can’t. There will never be a day that you aren’t on my mind, that I am not praying for you,” she swallows back her tears, “goodbye my son.” She looks up at the teary eyes of his parents, “Thank you.” She hands James to Jamie.

 

Claire, weeping, draws her into her arms. “Thank you.” Kelli-Anne clings to her for a moment before nodding and walking out.

 

The Fraser’s are left alone.

[tomwambsmilk]

TomKen R+J AU

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Ooh, this is another one I have to thank @tomwambsgoose for. It's an almost scene-for-scene retelling of Romeo and Juliet, inspired by the Baz Luhrmann movie. Except, it's set in the modern day, and instead of Capulets and Montagues it's Waystar Royco and Maesbury Capital. Logan runs Waystar, with the plan being for Kendall (Juliet) to succeed him, and also he really wants Kendall to get married, ideally to Matsson (Paris) because it would strengthen the alliance between Waystar and GoJo. Tom (Romeo) works for Maesbury Capital, as does Shiv (Benvolio) and Roman (Mercutio); they decide to gatecrash the Waystar Christmas costume party. (Shiv and Roman are still Roy siblings - their going to work for Maesbury has caused a significant rift in the family). Tom and Kendall meet and fall madly in love, before discovering that they each work for the rival companies. Kendall confides in Connor (the nurse), and they all start conspiring to get them together; Tom goes to his friend Greg, who is a priest who runs a side business selling weed (Friar Laurence), and asks for his help. Greg marries them in secret, but on the way back from the wedding, there's an altercation in the street. Roman and Stewy (Tybalt) are killed, and Tom is forced to flee. Logan tells Kendall that he has to marry Matsson. Greg comes up with The Plan, where Kendall's going to fake his death; he goes to email Tom but there's a massive blackout in the power grid and he isn't able to get ahold of him. Tom shows up at the grave, kills Matsson, thinks Kendall is dead, poisons himself, and then Kendall wakes up and stabs himself. The tragedy of this finally heals the rift between Waystar and Maesbury, as well as the rift in the Roy family.

Snippet below the readmore of Kendall and Tom meeting at the party (this one is very much a first draft snippet, so if this gets posted it might look a little different in the end, lol):

It's bold, he knows it's bold - bolder than he'd usually be - but he can't help but take the hand of the man standing in front of him. Maybe it's the masks, and the fact that he can't see the man's face, or maybe it's the pre-party drinks in his system, or maybe -

... Could it be? Could it be that fleeting thing he's always chasing, that elusive joy?

Is it love?

The man looks at him, expectantly. Curiously. The two of them are frozen there, and suddenly Tom feels pressure to say something, anything, crash down over him.

"Your hand-" His voice comes out raspy. He clears his throat and tries again. "Your hand... is - like a temple."

The man blinks. "...What?"

"Um." Tom laughs, nervously. It does not break the tension. "I just - it's like a temple, because, well, I- my hands are not worthy to, uh, to visit." He finishes weakly, realizing that this might be the single worst pickup line he's ever come up with. That anyone's ever come up with.

The man blinks, and says nothing. But - he doesn't take his hand away, and Tom summons one last wave of courage to try again.

"But, you know, if you're offended..." He chokes a little on the line, and then blurts out: "My lips are right here."

It's at this point that the man starts laughing, wheezing laughs. Tom tries to snatch his hand away, tries to apologize and flee, but before he can, the man says:

"Well, dude, if you want my honest opinion, I think you're selling your hands kind of short. Besides, I've never been to a temple but, uh, I've been to cathedrals, and pilgrims touch the hands of statues all the time." He strokes the back of Tom's hand with his thumb, and then shifts, so it's no longer Tom taking his hand but the two of them holding hands, palm to palm, and Tom feels his breath hitch.

"Oh," he says, and then tries to cover for the moment of softness - "What, do they not have any lips to kiss with?"

"They have lips to pray with." An eyebrow quirks up behind the mask.

"Well," says Tom, as his heart pounds and he feels like his blood is on fire, "Maybe we should let our lips do what hands do. You know, so they can join the prayer."

The man squeezes his hand. There's a pause. Then: "What are you praying for?"

It's a moment that feels so unbelievably sublime, it's almost unreal. For a split second, his awareness of the party around him falls away, and it's just him and this man and the desire building rapidly in his chest.

"I'll show you," he says, and leans down to kiss him.

[fatefulfaerie]

Statue

Zelink Week 2022 Day 4/7 @zelinkweekofficial

Word Count: 1,445

Incarnation: Skyward Sword (pre)

Trigger Warnings: none

Zelda brushed her blonde bangs with a wooden comb as she primped for the ceremony, the ten-year-old wanting to be prepared for so many eyes on her. For now, however, the only pair of eyes were hers. They were blue and staring back at her and they were scared.

How silly! She wasn’t scared! Not in the slightest. She had been anticipating this day for years, as had her father and her best friend Link.

This was the day she would meet her Loftwing.

So of course she wasn’t nervous. This was a tried and true tradition of the people of the sky, the first step of growing up and growing into your own, the rare mark in time where an unbreakable kinship is forged. What could be more certain than that?

Most things, Zelda observed, a few hours later when she walked down the steps from the statue of Hylia to the Academy where her father taught the big kids. She held her head down low and she was ashamed. She found even this temporary stairwell was more secure than her future. She felt her father’s warm hand gently place on her back. Link was walking beside her, but he was silent. She didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t know what to say either.

“There is nothing to worry about,” her father said. “Not everyone’s Loftwing comes the very day they turn ten. It’s just common, that’s all. Why, Professor Owlan can tell you all about how he prayed to the goddess a whole week before he met his Loftwing.”

Zelda glared up at her father with the start of teary eyes. That didn’t help. Gaepora looked over at Link, who prompted the headmaster with a nod while Zelda walked faster to escape them.

“It doesn’t mean you are any less worthy.”

Zelda slammed the academy doors behind her, and hated that she had to walk through the big kids, the knights in training who had Loftwings no problem, in order to get to her room. She locked the door and threw herself onto her bed.

Link’s Loftwing showed up on his tenth birthday before he uttered half a word of prayer. Groose was lugged by his mother and half-asleep when his Loftwing came down to meet him. Zelda was the headmaster’s daughter, and she had prayed to the goddess the night before, and yet…

She spent two hours praying out loud in front of half of Skyloft, and with no Loftwing to show for it. Obviously, there was something wrong with her.

Link walked in without warning. In her haste, Zelda must have only thought she locked the door.

“Go away,” she said into her pillow. “I don’t feel like riding today.”

“Wasn’t going to suggest that.” Link said, pulling up her desk chair and sitting in it, facing her.

“That doesn’t sound like going away,” Zelda muffled, noticing the sound of the screeching chair.

“I’m not here for you,” Link said. Zelda emerged from her pillow by turning her head.

“You’re not?” She asked.

“Nope,” he said. Link was looking beyond her window, out onto the vista it awarded. “You have the best view of Skyloft.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Zelda said, sitting up. “The best view of Skyloft is at a distance, from the Lumpy Pumpkin, remember?”

“Now that you mention it,” Link said, as if he already knew, as if he already planned out this entire conversation. “That is quite the view and…well if my memory serves me correctly you haven’t eaten lunch,” he looked over, “and don’t pretend you didn’t skip breakfast. What do you say to a nice hearty bowl of pumpkin soup? My treat.”

“I was too nervous to eat this morning,” Zelda said, scrunching up where she sat by hugging her knees close. “Turns out I had every right to be.”

Link breathed into a sinking sigh of pity, mostly a reflection of her self-pity. Shame colored her features a revolting hue that made Link ache with sadness.

“No one sees you as a disappointment, Zelda,” Link said honestly. “This is no cause for shame. This is just one of those things you can’t control. Everyone and their mother believes that no one in the history of Skyloft has been more ready for the responsibility of having a Loftwing than you. I wish I could tell you why it didn’t work out today. Maybe the Loftwing isn’t ready yet. Maybe…the goddess needs more time to choose the perfect one.”

Link had ended his sentence in a mocking tone.

“I’m not five,” Zelda said, stretching out her legs so that they dangled. She met Link’s eyes. “I know the tomes. Loftwings are chosen from birth. Hylia gives them when we’re ready. I’m just not enough for her.”

“Yet,” Link added, trying to mix in a bit of positivity.

“Thanks,” Zelda said dryly, her hands clamping the edge of her bed. She bowed her head.

The following silence let the sounds of Skyloft pour in, distant hollers from the Bazaar, such as haggling over prices and the various results of adult beverages. Closer, they could hear knights training outside the sparring hall, swords clanging and rules being spouted by Commander Eagus. They heard the winds rustle the trees, they heard toddlers playing in the square, and they heard Loftwings squawking their songs of happiness and content.

“Maybe it’s not about being literally ready,” Link said, with a wisdom beyond his ten years of living, “knowing the sky and the bird, knowing risk and responsibility. Maybe it’s about being ready in some other way.”

“What other way is there?” Zelda asked.

Link shrugged.

“Ready to fail?” Link thought out loud. “Ready to be afraid? Ready to learn from that? Ready to not always be so…perfect. Perfect people don’t learn anything.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

Link chuckled.

“You’ve never been perfect, Zelda. You’ve just always tried too hard to be.”

“So…I’m not perfect?”

Link shook his head confidently.

“Nope.”

Zelda smiled and said genuinely:

“Thank you.”

Zelda’s stomach gurgled rather violently, interrupting the tender moment. She smiled and chuckled nervously.

“Is that soup still an option?” Zelda asked.

And so they went to lunch, and Link smiled when Zelda did.

The next day, Zelda was back before the statue of the goddess, praying memorized stanzas to a smile she was starting to see as cold and unyielding. After about ten minutes, Zelda stopped speaking. She opened her eyes and stood up, untying her clasped hands.

“Zelda?” She heard Gaepora ask behind her. “Are you all right?”

“Y-yeah I,” Zelda said.

The words were meaningless. Sure, they had some meaning, but she didn’t even know why she was saying them, and had no connection to them. They were just words, some she barely knew how to even spell. They were the perfect words. They weren’t working.

“Goddess I…” Zelda started. “I have a best friend. His name is Link. He is going to be a great knight someday. In a few years, he’ll start training at the academy and soon, he’ll be protecting your skies, the ones you gave us as a home.”

“But, you see,” Zelda continued. “He doesn’t have a father, at least not anymore. He’s only ten. He needs that support, and however well we as a community support him, it can’t be changed that his father was lost to the clouds years ago. Link is a happy child, but sometimes I still see sadness in his eyes, lingering, trying to hide. That sadness reminds me how precious life is and…how everyday is a risk. I…well I guess I’ve always been afraid of that risk, even though I never admitted it to myself. After all, no one else seems to be afraid.”

Zelda’s lips upturned into a small smile.

“I was wrong about that,” she said. “And…if you agree…I think I’m ready to start growing up and start being wrong about a lot of other things.”

Zelda was looking up at the skies above the statue. At first, it seemed nothing would happen, yet a small purple-blue Loftwing appeared from behind Hylia’s head, orbiting in the shape of a halo until it began to descend.

Zelda’s smile was giddy. She looked behind her to Link, who gave her a grin and a thumbs up. Zelda returned her gaze skyward, following the bird with her eyes until it landed in front of her. It chirped a wordless hello, and she giggled as she pet it. The bird, with no recoil nor hesitation, sank into her touch like the two had been friends for years.

“Welcome home,” Zelda said, prompting everyone in attendance to applaud and cheer.

[hangovercurse]

Favorites

You work at the preschool next to Casie’s middle school. One day, you catch Colson’s eyes while working, and lucky for him you happen to know his daughter.

Request: “Hi!! Let me start out by saying that you are so so so talented!! I was wondering if you’d write something about colson falling for a preschool teacher? like he just sees her one day while he’s picking up casey from the middle school and he’s all soft seeing her interact with the kids and he makes up excuses to keep coming to see you!?”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: Cursing (maybe?)

A/N: I did that thing where I write too much… again.

Word Count: 2394

Colson tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, drumming softly to the beat of the music coming from his radio. He pulled into the school parking lot, the line already a million cars long it seemed. But he promised Casie he would pick her up whenever he wasn’t working so she didn’t have to take the bus. If that meant spending thirty minutes in a line of slow-moving cars, so be it.

As he was jamming, he glanced out the passenger window, finding a smaller building with a chain link fence outside, surrounding a child’s playground. The door happened to swing open while he was looking, and from there time seemed to move in slow motion.

Out of the door came a dozen or so toddlers, waddling their way outside, surrounding the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. The sun bounced off of your skin perfectly, making everything around you seem so much brighter.

Your skirt flowed with the slight breeze, making the scene more picturesque. He watched as you reached down, picking up one of the toddlers and holding him in your arms. The small boy seemed to be crying, over what Colson couldn’t tell.

You seemed to be speaking to the boy, bouncing him up and down in your arms to comfort him. Meanwhile, a little girl with pigtails made her way over to you. You spoke to her brightly, reaching the arm that wasn’t holding the boy to hold her hand.

Colson’s eyes followed you as you let her drag you over to the playground. You supported her as she climbed the small rock-climbing wall and reach the landing for the slide. You then smiled as she made her way down the slide, telling her good job when she made it to the bottom.

You then turned your attention back to the boy in your arms, making silly faces at him until he laughed.

All it took was those few moments for Colson to get hooked. If there was one thing he found attractive above all else, it was women who loved children. He refused to date anyone who wasn’t supportive of his relationship with Casie, so you were already ahead of everyone on his list. It also helped that you were breathtakingly beautiful.

Colson just got good vibes from you. From his brief observation of you, he could tell you were compassionate and kind, but also childlike and fun, much like himself.

The blonde man was pulled from his thoughts as the car in front of him started moving, signaling the line was moving.

 The next day, Colson had a plan. Instead of driving into the school parking lot, he pulled into the pre-school. He checked himself out in the mirror, praying he would see you working. He stepped out of the car, putting on his best confused dad face, and walked into the building.

And by some miracle, you happened to be speaking with the woman at the front desk.

You were even prettier up close, eyes meeting his and stopping him dead in his tracks. You smiled kindly, voice ringing out, “can I help you, sir.”

He returned your smile, “I was looking for the middle school but I have a feeling I ended up in the wrong place.”

You giggled slightly, “just a little. The middle school is just next door.” You pointed to your right. “Are you picking up a sibling?” You asked.

Truthfully, the man had caught your eye the moment he stepped into the door. It was rare you saw someone your own age, and he was exponentially more attractive than most men. What would it hurt if you got to know him a little bit?

“My daughter, actually.” He spoke, fiddling with the key in his hand. You tilted your head, his face seeming vaguely familiar.

You hesitated before speaking, “who’s your daughter? I substitute over there sometimes and you look vaguely familiar.”

He bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t blown his cover. “Casie Baker.” But surely, he’d have remembered you if he’d met you.

Your eyes widened at the name, “Casie? She’s my absolute favorite!” You grinned at the man, realizing immediately that their similar features made him feel familiar. “She’s awesome.”

Colson smiled, letting out a nervous chuckle, “thank you. Yeah, she’s great.”

“She tells me about you. Whenever I sub in her classes, she talks about how cool you are.”

Colson blushed lightly, rubbing his neck. “I’m Colson.” He reached out an arm to shake your hand, mentally kicking himself as soon as he did it.

You found it endearing, shaking his hand “Y/N.”

 A few days passed and Colson still couldn’t get over how soft your hands were, or how your touch sent electricity running through his body.

He felt ridiculous, leaving rehearsals and recording sessions to pick Casie up with the hope that he gets a glimpse of you.

After a few days of nothing, he almost loses that hope. Until he happens to arrive at the school a little bit early, windows rolled down to let the cool air in. He hears the sudden sound of children laughing, pulling his attention to the playground next door.

And there you are, in all your beautiful glory. Guiding the kids out, helping them into swings and onto the stairs.

Colson must’ve pleased some God because you looked over your shoulder and found him. Of all the cars in the line, you found his, eyes locking immediately. You smiled softly, reaching a hand over to him and waving. He waved back, trying to keep his cool. But really, he was freaking out.

He thought about saying something, or mouthing something, rather, as you were too far away to hear him, but he was stopped by the beautiful brown hair of his favorite girl in the world. Casie plopped herself down on the seat next to him, her backpack falling to the floor with a frown on her face.

She looked up to her dad, about to complain about her day when she saw his preoccupation. She followed his eyes, finding you in the playground. Immediately her mood was lifted, and she turned back to her dad with a grin on her face.

“Daaad?” She questioned, her voice lifting at the end of her question. The blond man looked down to her a soft smile in his face.

“Hey Case, how was school?”

“You think she’s pretty, right?” Casie ignored his question.

Colson scoffed, rolling his eyes, and shifting his car into gear. “She’s… pretty. I guess.” He mumbled, pressing lightly on the gas.

Casie continued smiling up at him, “that’s Ms. Y/N. She’s the coolest.”

“Put your seatbelt on.” He said, pulling out of the parking lot. “And I know, I met her the other day.”

Casie’s eyes lit up at the thought of her two favorite adults meeting. “Really? How? Did you like her?”

Colson chuckled at his daughter, “I went into the pre-school parking lot by accident and she showed me how to get here.” He blushed, knowing Casie would easily spot his lie.

And that she did, “I’ve been going here for almost two years, how did you accidentally go into the wrong parking lot? You pick me up all the time.”

Colson coughed nervously, “so, how was school?” He tried to change the subject.

Casie gasped, “did you go to the preschool just to see her? You like her!”

“I just met her Casie.”

“You like Ms. Y/N!” she sang, dancing in her seat.

“How was school, loser?” He asked, laughing at her.

She ignored him, again. “Does she know you’re my dad? Did she say anything about me?”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself at her excitement. “Yes, she does, and yes, she did.”

“What did she say?” Casie practically yelled.

“She said you were the worst student she’s ever substituted for.” He smirked, flinching lightly as Casie slapped his arm.

“She did not say that!” The girl pouted, “Ms. Y/N is my favorite teacher in the whole world.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her affection for you. “She’s not even technically your teacher. But she did say that you were her favorite student.”

Her eyes twinkled, “really?”

Colson nodded, “she also told me that you talk about me in class.” He looked at the girl, raising an eyebrow, “any reason why?”

Casie sunk into her seat, a guilty expression on her face. “No.” Colson looked back to the road, but his eyebrow was still raised, “Okay, fine. I just think it’d be really cool if my favorite dad and my favorite teacher were… friends.”

Colson laughed, “I am your only dad, first of all, and second… don’t be weird.”

“But you said you liked her!” Casie pointed out, making the man’s ears turn red.

“I said she was pretty, that’s not the same thing.”

Casie sang again, “whatever you say.”

He rolled his eyes again, letting out a sigh and dropping the conversation, knowing he would lose. “Are you gonna tell me how school was or not?”

Casie sighed, hitting her back against the seat, “Mr. Clemmons was being mean today again. He said he’s not gonna curve our test even though only 2 people got an A on it.” She crossed her arms and huffed.

Colson pouted, bringing a hand to rub her shoulder, “what’d you get on it?”

She mumbled out, “a B.”

His eyes went wide, “dude, what? That’s awesome, that’s above average. You should be proud of that!” He always tried to encourage Casie, knowing the insane amount of pressure people put on their kids nowadays and not wanting her to feel that.

Casie shrugged, “yeah but my guidance counselor says if I want to get into a magnet program in high school, I have to get all A’s. And I have to get in a magnet program high school to get into a good college.”

His eyes went wide as he pulled into his driveway, “woah, woah, woah. You’re 11 years old! You don’t need to worry about that stuff and whoever is telling you that is wrong. Getting a B or even a C isn’t gonna stop you from getting into whatever program you want, I promise.”

Casie sighed, opening the door, and sliding out. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Can we go back to talking about how you like Ms. Y/N?” She asked, her shoulders slumped.

Colson rolled his eyes, climbing out of the car and following her inside. “I don’t like Ms. Y/N.” He groaned.

“Whatever, but next time she substitutes my class, I’m texting you and you’re gonna bring me lunch and talk to her.” Casie said, going to her room and throwing her backpack onto her bed.

 A week and a half later, Colson was sitting in his car in the school parking lot, staring at himself through his rearview mirror. He looked at the bag of chick-fil-a in the passenger side seat and sighed. His phone buzzed, a text from Casie coming through.

Lunch is starting, where are you???

He chuckled and texted back.

Going to the office now, calm down

He grabbed the bags and drinks, opening his door and stepping out. He made his way through the office, getting his visitor’s badge, and moving towards the cafeteria. He opened the door, searching through the sea of children for his daughter, only to find your eyes instead.

You smiled brightly, head tilting as if to ask why he’s here. He returned the smile, holding up the bags to answer your question. Casie appeared next to you, waving her hand. Colson made his way through the pre-teens, trying not to crush any of them.

Casie and you giggled at his struggle, joking with each other. Eventually he reached you two, setting the food on the table that Casie had reserved just for you three. The girl took her place across from him, motioning you to sit down next to him. You laughed but followed her directions.

Colson took the food out of the bag, passing Casie her sandwich and fries and pulling his food out of the bag. He turned to you, a smile on his face. “Woah, they must’ve given me an extra sandwich.” He held it out for you to take.

You obliged, giggling lightly. “How strange.” You commented, your smile never leaving.

“Oh, right. Ms. Y/N, this is my dad, Colson. Dad, this is Ms. Y/N, the best substitute ever.” Casie said, pointing between the two.

Colson chuckled, “yes, Casie. We’ve met.” He looked over to you, hiding his laugh behind his sandwich.

“Yep. Someone got lost and found me at the preschool.” You said, your voice exaggerating. Shit, Colson thought, you were onto him. “Speaking of, Casie. I know you’ve been talking about needing volunteer hours. If you want you can come by after school some days and help me with the aftercare program? I can take you home afterwards if your dad can’t pick you up.”

Casie smiled brightly, nodding her head. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

Colson watched the interaction, fondness in his eyes. If he wasn’t sure before, he was now. He was falling hard.

You turned to him, kindness in your eyes, “if it’s okay with your dad.” You said and he nodded.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind having her around. I’m cool with it.” He tried to hide the blush on his cheeks as you continued to look at him, taking in his features.

Casie squealed, “thank you!”

You simply smiled and shrugged, “it’s not a big deal. I get some extra help and I get to spend some more time with my favorite 11-year-old. Maybe her dad can even stop by and help sometime.”

You turned to the man next to you, who was sure he’d turned very red. He was never this nervous around women, but something about you made him incredibly self-conscious, like he had to impress you.

He mumbled out a quick “huh?” before registering your question. “Uh, yeah, sure. If you want me to come help. I’d be cool with that.” He turned to meet your eyes.

You giggled, holding the eye contact, “I do want you to. I’d like it a lot if you did.”

Casie looked between you two, suddenly regretting what she’d done, “are you two done? I’m trying to eat my sandwich.”

[aiiwa]

FRESHMAN YEAR — IWAIZUMI HAJIME.

— iwaizumi hajime.

⤷ genre: college au - fluff / smut

⤷ warnings: cursing, mature content and themes, smut, oral (receiving and giving), unprotected sex

⤷ word count: 6.2k

— a/n: this was an anon request for a reader trying to sneak off away from iwa the morning after and he ain’t having none of that 😈

i had no intention of this being so long, but iwa just gets me going aight!!

freshman year of college had given you many things.

an unrivalled expertise in procrastination - avoiding the overwhelming influx of assignments from your professors was second-nature at this point; party now, cry later, right? carpe fucking diem, no? either way, it had also given you a liver which begged for a glass of water, a drop even, anything but the wretched burn of vodka and the copious amounts of iced lattes at three in the morning. and deities forbid your mother ever finding out her daughter lived off of spicy instant ramen that somehow was always on sale at the campus convenience store. you even considered the discounted prices stemmed from the store owners taking pity on you each time you stood before them counting loose change.

yet freshman year of college had also given you a best friend in the form of matsukawa issei. and hanamaki takahiro, since they were a package deal of course. but mattsun had been presented to you on a silver platter.

butt ass naked, just like the day he was brought into this world.

arriving on campus a week before the start of the first semester, the last thing you expected to see was a hunched over figure, bare ass mooning right in front of you, banging on the fragile door of your dorm. shaking out of your stupor, you had all but cussed him out in the corridor, earning more unnecessary attention from other nosy students, before you dragged him by his arm into your room. in the flurry of your attempted rescue, he’d dropped the hand that was holding whatever sliver of dignity he had left. you had even failed to realise how this strange boy was almost a foot taller than you, and rather being eye-to-eye, it was rather eye-to-waist - and you had made the mistake of glancing lower.

“yeah lil’ big mattsun is a looker, right?” you prayed everyday to forget his first words to you. the prayers had yet to be answered, though your initial reaction had made it somewhat alright to think back on.

you had screamed bloody murder, sending mattsun into a frenzied panic, his own screams harmonising yours. then you had cried, furiously rubbing at your eyes, and sobbing about how your eyes would never be the same again. when he had reached out to comfort you, that’s when you turned on him, jumping upwards to swat at his bony shoulders. after he tumbled over your rug, the two of you halted, eyeing each other before laughing like maniacs.

he left your dorm that day, running off in your pink fluffy robe with plans to meet up later for dinner. when he introduced you to the pink-haired makki - the reason behind mattsun’s nudity at your door, though the specifics were lost - the three of you hit it off like a bunch of crazies.

most days were spent between your dorm and their shared apartment; stress eating over forgotten assignments, binging shitty reality tv shows - the bachelor was just hitting different this season - and pre-gaming a bit too hard before nights out.

it had confused you at first on how, as much as you were over at their apartment, you had yet to meet their other roommate. makki had told you he was a close friend from back home in miyagi, the serious type who spent most of his time training, studying or working; and it was mattsun who had said he was a total mom, “he’s our mommy,” were his exact words, adding to the list of things you wish you could forget.

it was probably around two months into the semester, when you’d finally met their elusive third roommate.

that night mattsun, makki and you were in a rare state of focus, working diligently on your own respective papers, when they’d nominated you to heat up some frozen pizza to snack on. which is how you found yourself, grumbling, bent at the waist to place the pizza in the oven; ignorant to the jingling of keys, and heavyset footsteps entering the kitchen.

“well this is something new to come home to.”

you jolted at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, whacking the side of your skull on the edge of the counter in a haste to stand up to your full height. you cursed loudly, hand pressed against the throbbing pain in your head as you turned to glare at the culprit. though that was cut short, alongside your breathing, by the sexiest man alive you had ever laid your eyes on, entering your personal space.

he towered over you, not in the same way as mattsun or makki, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in brawn. your eyes greedily traced his body; the steel gray gym shirt clung to him like a second skin, eight slight dips outlining his abs and his wide chest. broad shoulders blocked your view from everything irrelevant behind him, and you watched, almost in slow motion, as his biceps flexed under the tight confines of his shirt sleeves, to reach out and place his much larger hand over yours. you felt every fibre in your being going into overdrive under his unexpected touch, and all he was doing was checking over the swelled up island on your forehead.

“are you alright, y/n?” your ovaries were quaking at the deep rasp of his voice- and wait, he knows your name? “you are y/n, right?” he asked, reading the confusion on your face. you nodded absentmindedly, raising your gaze to meet his own.

you groaned inwardly - who gave this man the right to a sexy body and to look this fucking good? taking in the handsome features of his face; wild crop of dark chocolate hair, smooth tanned skin, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, and the attractive straight of his nose. his lips were pouty, eyes slanted under shaped brows, olive hues peeking past his long dark lashes to stare at you.

he moved his hand away from the top of yours, the added warmth missed already; and took your lack of reply as a sign to introduce himself and apologise.

“i’m mattsun and makki’s roommate, iwaizumi hajime. sorry for scaring you.”

you were ready to drag mattsun and makki to hell and back for hiding this fine man- no, greek fucking god, from you all this time. in an attempt to compose yourself and avoid anymore embarrassment, you smiled, dopily, releasing an airy laugh while waving off the apology.

“i’m l/n y/n.”

amusement shifted over his features, a smirk painting over his lips as his eyes creased on the sides. you had to hold on tightly to the reigns forbidding you from openly swooning.

“i know.” he chucked lowly.

you had never wanted the ground to swallow you whole as much as then. the heat you could feel radiating off your cheeks was a clear sign of how embarrassed you were, making a complete fool of yourself in front of the man you were borderline prepared to request to be your future baby daddy. so when mattsun strolled in, casually greeting iwa and poking at the bump on your forehead, you hadn’t been more grateful for your best friend.

too bad it wasn’t enough to avoid the wrath you unleashed on him and makki later on; a series of kicks to their sides, and their own personal hell of listening to how badly you wanted to be split open on his dick.

thinking you had scared away the gorgeous iwaizumi, you were ready to be avoided at all costs. yet surprisingly, after that night, he was suddenly everywhere.

he joined in on your hangouts with the boys. group study sessions where you usually did more foolery than studying? iwa was there to knock all of you into gear. late night fast food runs to satisfy your cravings? iwa was driving, kicking mattsun and makki to the back of his jeep when they’d try to steal your designated seat next to him. and the parties he used to avoid? there he was stuck in the chaos of it all, holding your drink and glaring at anyone who dared to approach the two of you.

of course, iwa’s sudden involvement in your life hadn’t gone unnoticed by mattsun and makki - the two of you becoming their favourite victims to tease. and when his threats and your fists were no longer able to get them off your backs, iwa had taken to spending time with you, without them.

you liked to call them not-dates, even though it was just to parry the feelings rapidly developing for him.

going to the coffee shop you two often frequented so he could buy your favourite drink while you ranted about your shitty group presentation, was a not-date. taking him to the drive-in godzilla screenings every friday for five weeks, because you knew they were his favourite movies, was a not-date. him making you dinner every other night because your mom found out about your insane intake of instant ramen and blasted you during a video call while he was over, was a not-date.

as expected after months of this going on, your two best friends constantly called you out for your not-dates being actual dates. even one of your classmates took to informing you each time your ‘body builder boyfriend’ was waiting outside for you. but ignorance was bliss, and you were sure iwa didn’t feel that way towards you. at least that was until the day you had met oikawa tooru.

you noticed that iwa had been more than a bit apprehensive, as each day passed bringing his best friend’s return to japan closer and closer, though he wouldn’t explain why. yet it seemed it was over nothing, since you and oikawa got along great, even if he did comment every other second on you and iwa’s closeness. meeting the pretty setter had been like placing the missing puzzle piece in the dynamic with your favourite boys.

after a loud lunch with the four boys, oikawa had pulled you in for a tight hug as iwa was about to drop you off to your afternoon class for that day.

“iwa-chan talks about you all the time, y/n-chan, but he’s a dum-dum so forgive him for being slow, alright!” he had whispered in your ear, before pulling away with a mischievous glint in his mocha coloured eyes. “iwa-chan you sly dog! keeping y/n all to yourself, hmm? maybe i should just take her back with me to argentina- wait, iwa-chan, i’m sorry! don’t chase me! gah!”

after that, you started to accept the fact that maybe what was once simply physical attraction, had turned into a deep affection for iwaizumi. the only issue was that, like oikawa said, iwa was a dum-dum, and he didn’t mention anything from what oikawa said that day or his extreme reaction to oikawa’s teasing. hell, you didn’t even know if he even realised that the way he treated you, which was very much a stark contrast to how he treated others, was him subconsciously wooing you.

so the not-dates continued, and you inevitably fell deeper and deeper for sweet, oblivious iwa.

the semesters flew by, it was finally the end of freshman year; exams completed, life instantly renewed, and you were ready to attend the shit show of an end-of-year finisher tonight. the plans were for you to drive over to the boys’ apartment, pre-game like never before, and then head off to the party. so you were surprised when your phone pinged with a string of messages from the group chat.

stepping out of the elevator, the click clack of your laced-up stilettos echoed in the tiled corridor, as you made your way towards the boys’ apartment. the better part of you was suspicious of mattsun and makki’s sudden change of plans; though it was shot to the back of your mind as you raised a manicured hand to tap against their door.

shifting around a bit, you didn’t have to wait long before the door was yanked open.

“y/n.” iwa greeted you with a lopsided grin.

you couldn’t prevent the gasp that escaped your glossy lips at the sight of him.

an arm was held above his head, bicep flexing as his hand rested on top of the door frame, the other scratching the back of his thick neck. the rich scent of his cinnamon cologne, mixed with the musk of his aftershave wafted around you; as your eyes followed the droplet from his damp hair, sliding down the side of his jaw on to his bare shoulders. now, shirt-wearing iwa was incredible, with his collection of monotone coloured shirts that always seemed a size too small; but shirtless iwa? had you frothing at the mouth.

you dared your eyes to move lower, skirting over the delicious sight of his bare chest, and willing yourself to commit every stretch of him to memory. the taut muscles of his stomach tightened as you drank them in, the deep v indents cut around his hips, and your eyes followed over the fuzzy trail of dark hair that disappeared underneath the waistband of his jeans that sat dangerously low.

and while your mouth ran dry, you couldn’t say the same thing about the situation between your legs; pressing your thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure.

“iwa, uh...the boys...said to come over, change of plans.” was all you were able to choke out. physically you were standing before him, but mentally you were writhing under him.

“i know, they left a while ago.” he replied, the corner of his pretty mouth tugged upwards. “i’m almost ready to go, come inside.”

he already took up the entire space of the door frame, and when he only moved a bit to the side, you were forced to slip through the tiniest of gaps; shivering as your shoulder grazed against his own. standing in the middle of the hallway, you heard the soft click of the door closing, before iwa turned to face you.

you could feel the intoxicating heat radiating off his body spread across your own. the two of your were so close in each other’s space, chest to chest, and even in heels, you still only reached just under his jaw. when you glanced up to look at him, you swore you had caught his olive eyes lingering on the exposed skin of your breasts, before they moved to meet yours.

something different swirled in the depths of iwa’s eyes, something you had never witnessed before. something kin to a wolf staring at its lamb; a hunger so strong, so...fuck...

“you look beautiful, y/n.”

the compliment strikes you in surprise, feeling the flush rise up in your face, and the fluttering in your stomach. you could feel the pounding of your heart beat, drumming in your ears; watching his adam’s apple bob slowly, as he moved his hand to brush away the hair covering your neck. naturally you leaned into his touch.

“iwa…?” you whispered out to him in slight confusion.

“this dress on you...driving me crazy,” he starts, before cutting himself off with a groan. “sorry, y/n, i-i think i overstepped.” he tries to move his hand away from your neck, but you wrap your fingers around his wrist.

oikawa’s voice ran through your mind in a fleeting memory- ‘...forgive him for being slow, alright!’

“are you drunk, iwa?”

“what? no...i haven’t...i’m sober.”

“that’s good then.”

“y/n? good for what?”

“it’s good because then you can show me.” your fingers reach out to flitter over the ridges of his stomach. “won’t you show me how my dress drives you crazy, iwa?”

the surge of courage coursing through your veins, to be able to call him out like you had wanted to for months and seasons, was all it took for iwa to lose the composure he always kept up around you.

without hesitation, the big hand on your neck tugs you right into him; tits pushed together against his chest, as he dips his head to press his lips against yours.

the kiss is far from simple; there’s no room for it, months of pining won’t allow sweet and slow. your hand slides over his broad shoulder, to pull at the dark tufts at the nape of his neck; mouth slanting over his, tongues brushing against each other sensually. you explore his mouth, tasting him, while his hands squeeze over the curves of your body, eliciting a moan once he grabs at the fullness of your ass. you push up against him further, the hard tent in his pants straining against your belly.

“more, iwa, please...need more.” you pant against his lips.

“i got you baby, don’t worry.” he kisses you again, slower, with just as much passion. bending at the knees, and hiking the end of your dress up under your ass, he grabs at the silky underside of your thighs to lift you up into him - ankles locked at the bottom of his spine. he’s carrying you like nothing, and the amusing thought of his arms not only being for show flies through your head before you’re gasping.

the feeling of being pulled flush against him, the damp heat of your clothed pussy grinding against his bare stomach, has you keening for more. he groans loudly at the feeling of your slick coating his skin, and you jostle about as he begins walking through the hallway and towards his bedroom. as your sucking gently on his tongue, he carries you into his room, kicking the door closed behind him.

once his knees hit the edge of his mattress, he gently lowers you to lay down before him on your back. he hovers over you, the lewd swirling of your tongues has your head spinning before he moves from your mouth to latch onto your neck.

“ah, iwa- fuck,” you moan as his teeth grazed your sweet spot. he rolls his hips into you, spreading your legs to accommodate him more, while tugging at the ribbons of your heels. “what about...the party?”

sitting up from you, he grips your legs, sliding you right into him. through heavy lidded eyes, you watch as he takes in your disheveled appearance, a smirk taking over his features.

“fuck the party.” his large palms work the straps of your dress down, exposing your perfect tits; he groans at the sight, leaning down to take a pebbled nipple into his hot mouth. “this night is for me and you, baby.”

you weren’t necessarily a morning person, so living in the dorms, had been a relatively easy decision to make. you had a room to yourself, away from trees allowing a nice view of the campus grounds, and subsequently circumventing the annoying chirping of nested birds. you even added blackout curtains to block out the morning sun.

so when you were woken up by the itching burn of the sunrise on your stomach and your ears ringing with incessant twittering, you groaned loudly.

burying your face deeper into the fluffy pillow under your head, you were squirming under the heavy weight resting over half your body; irritation growing with your inability to get comfortable. peeking an eye open, blinking away the sleep clouding your vision, you took in the sight of a sleeping iwaizumi snuggled between the valley of your breasts. as you became more aware of your body and its surroundings, you felt the panic settling in.

as if he could sense your consciousness, the arm wrapped around your waist gave you a squeeze as he mumbled incoherently. “mmm, baby...y/n...feels good…” his hand slid down the side of your thigh, goosebumps following his fingertips, before it rested on your inner thigh; and he was drifting back to sleep.

you had to shove your fist against your mouth to stop yourself from screaming.

part of you was in denial that last night had actually happened. you, l/n y/n, had spent the night with the iwaizumi hajime - man of your literal dreams, who you had fallen so deeply for. and you had spent it having sex.

raw. nasty. passionate. earth-shattering. sex.

“fuck.” you whispered to yourself. “how could i be so stupid?” you were cursing yourself internally, certain you had fucked up everything you had built in your friendship with iwa - there was honestly no coming back from what transpired between you two.

and with your fight-or-flight response triggered, there was only one thing for you to do right now - get the fuck out of there.

maneuvering your body from underneath iwa’s big arm, without waking him up was a feat in itself. doing so with the way your muscles ached with each motion was on another level. sliding one foot after the other out from under his charcoal bed sheets, you pushed yourself up to sit.

looking behind you at iwa’s sleeping figure, you felt yourself swooning. half lying on his side, with his cotton sheets draped over his waist, you couldn’t help but admire him. his mouth was slightly open, his big arms cuddling the pillow you were laying on, and the smooth skin of his tanned back were tainted with red, angry marks. gulping audibly, your eyes dragged down to the prominent outline of his half-hard cock.

pushing himself up by his forearms, the desperation swimming in his eyes was begging for your touch. you grazed your teeth across his chest, biting at his hardened nipples teasingly, before moving further down from his lap while your tongue drew circles around the dips of his taut abdomen.

“y/n, don’t tease me.”

you smirked at his order, sucking on his skin and pressing wet kisses on his hip bones, before leaning back. he watched you eagerly as your dainty fingers tugged at his belt buckle clumsily, lifting himself up he could slip out of his jeans.

“can’t wait to have your cock in my mouth.” you cooed, eyes starstruck at the tent in his boxer briefs, wet patch dampening at its peak. hooking your finger under the waistband, you hastily yanked the briefs down to free him, his hard cock slapping against his stomach. “fuck you’re so big, haji.”

he was easily the biggest you’ve seen, ever had the chance of pleasuring - so thick, so long, and so fucking beautiful.

you didn’t bother to dwell on the taste of his name on your lips, when you were too busy tasting the essence leaking from his angry, swollen tip. you could barely wrap your hands around the base of his cock, as you pressed a sweet kiss on the head, pre cum coating your lips, before taking it in your hot mouth, suckling gently.

the groan he releases is animalistic, and his hips buck upwards to shove his cock deeper in your mouth. pressing your hand at his navel to keep him steady, you continue sucking harshly, almost painfully, before lowering your head down. his cock slides down your throat, inch by inch, as tears prick at your eyes and you can feel your drool drop on the thumb massaging his balls. he blocked your airways, but fuck breathing when the look on his face when you take all of him in your mouth like a good girl is so, so perfect.

steadily bobbing your head, you feel every inch of him down your throat; tongue swirling around his length, and he twitches every time you trace the thick vein on the underside of his cock. you suck faster and harder as iwa reaches a hand out to feel around your throat.

“fuck, baby, i can feel me in your throat. so fucking good, just like that.” he hisses out, choking up when you begin to hum. “mmm fuck- ah, shit! gonna cum baby! fuck!”

yanking away your hand you hadn’t realised was brushing around your neck as the vision of him disappeared from your thoughts, you stood up, a bit unsteady on your feet at first. you could still taste him, as you ran your tongue over the hood of your mouth.

knowing you were getting distracted, you shook your head gently, pushing your hair away from your face. you needed your clothes, so glancing around, taking note of the strips of clothing scrambled in his room - your eyes caught the baby pink of your lace panties hanging from his bedside lamp.

one second you were swallowing his cock down your throat, and the next he had torn the rest of your dress off and had you laid out in front of him.

iwa made fast work in manhandling you the way he wanted. stretching his legs straight beside you, he pulled you right into him; you gasped as he lifted you up by your waist, practically folding you with the underside of your thighs tucked under the bulk of his arms, knees by your shoulders, and your lower back pressed right against his heaving chest. he was hunched over you, wrapping you fully in his embrace, while you were spread out right in his face.

“you soaked right through your pretty panties, baby.” leaning down, he presses his nose right into your clothed heat, making you squirm, as he breathes you in. “fuck, you smell so sweet, i wanna eat you up real good.”

“i-iwa.” you whined, staring at him through heavy-lidded eyes as you pressed the side of your face into the mattress.

“no, no baby. when we’re like this…” he starts, reaching a hand to tear the thin, and expensive, material right off of you. before you have a chance to complain, his hot breath blows on your drooling pussy, tight hole clenching around nothing in anticipation. “...you’ll say my name.”

“h-hajime, please, haji.” you beg, feeling embarrassed at how exposed you were. he could see everything, do anything to you as he pleased, and you would just let him. so when he presses his heavy tongue flat against your slit, licking all the way up to your throbbing clit; you can’t help but dig your finger nails into his toned calves beside you. “ah- yes! mmm...haji, oh-!”

sucking on your clit, he digs his fingers into your thighs, deeper and deeper in response to your whiny moans for more. he hums against you, mumbling about how sweet you taste, how much he can’t get enough of your flavour, and you can feel him getting hard again - grinding against your back. he slides his tongue between your folds, slurping you up so good, that it’s no surprise you’re teetered over the edge.

“haji! oh, oh fuck! ah yes!” the waves of you cumming hits hard as your pussy gushes all over the lower half of his face. “daddy! s-so good, f-fuck!”

still up in the clouds from your high, calling him daddy flies over your head, but isn’t missed by iwa. you watch, dazed, as he moves away from your pussy, a lewd string of silver connects his mouth to you, his chin glistening with your juices. reaching around your trembling thighs, his thumbs spread your lips so he can get an ever better view of your sopping cunt.

“i knew you’d be my good baby and say my name.” he grins, before leaning back down to you and delving his tongue right in your pussy, tongue-fucking you slowly and massaging your slick walls, his nose nudging your sensitive clit. “now come again in daddy’s mouth.”

heat pooled between your legs as you stretched, ignoring the iwa-sized hand prints painted purple across your thighs, while you thought about him and the magic his mouth performed. waddling to his side table - you examined the remnants of your panties; the pretty pink lace was all but shredded, and you hopelessly threw the material in the trash.

“fucking hell, iwa.” the glare you aimed his way, softened drastically as you took in his sleeping figure. sighing, you turn and spot what may be your dress halfway under his bed.

shuffling over, you crouch, the burn in your thighs making itself even more known and forcing your eyes to shut in a grimace.

the way iwa’s cock filled your little cunt felt while you rode him was incredible. nothing could ever compare to the way he was ruining you from the inside out, and you were sure nothing would ever come close. his big hands palmed your ass while you were bouncing up and down on his length, your belly jutting out every time he was sheathed inside you, your thighs tremored each time they slapped against his.

“fuck, daddy! feels...mmm…wanna cum, please!” your tongue was lolling out of your mouth, as fucked yourself on his cock, digging crescent moon shapes into his shoulder blades. one of his hands remained firmly on your ass, while fingers of the other reached around to pinch your clit.

with a scream you came undone, creaming all over his still-hard cock, and collapsing forward onto his sweaty chest. you whimpered, while he continued to fuck up into your used pussy. despite the tears threatening to fall down your flushed cheeks; you mewled for more.

“shh, baby,” iwa hummed into your neck, you could feel his grin against your skin, peppering kisses as you leaned into him. “daddy’s gonna make you feel even better.”

his thick arms wrapped almost painfully in a death grip around your exhausted body, as he locked his legs and angled himself into your pussy; fucking deep inside you, and hitting your cervix with each stroke. you came again, harder, legs quivering as your insides spasmed; this time joined by his orgasm, as the mixture of his cum was stuffed inside you.

your eyes shot open, breathing slightly laboured. it hadn’t even been a day, only mere hours, and the way iwa had taken over your mind was slowly driving you insane. dropping to your knees, you reached out to grab at your dress, having to slide the top half of your body under the bed.

that sound of iwa’s big hand slapping your ass while he pounded into you from behind, rung in your ears, but the sting and the pleasure was all your fucked out brain could comprehend. he was absolutely relentless with his too-big cock, tearing into you.

on all fours, you arched your back more to accommodate him. each thrust had him bottoming out in your already leaking pussy.

“fuck baby, just like that, mmm- push back into me.”

everything just felt too fucking good. the harsh pace of his strokes had you blabbering, moaning about how good he felt into the mattress.

“don’t stop! oh fuck, please don’t stop haji!”

but you felt his pace begin to slow just as you were about to climax, and when you tried to move back on him his grip on your waist tightened. with ease, he flipped you on your back, almost skewering you on his cock still inside you. hooking the backs of your knees over his elbows as he leaned over you, his full weight folding your body underneath him, as he wove his fingers with yours into the mattress above your head.

“look at my fat cock sliding into that sweet cunt, baby.” iwa grunts. his arms strained, holding his weight up from crushing you, as he teased your sloppy hole. “fuck, you take me so good, baby.”

you whimpered, looking at the connection between the two of you. with a roll of his hips, you watched as his cock slid into your silky walls, the lewd sound of you squelching with every stroke had you arching up, wanting him deeper in your tummy as you gushed around him.

unlike before when his thrusts were rough, filled with raw feral passion; it was now slow, sensual and so fucking sexy. and when you met his gaze, as he continued to grind into you, gripping your fingers tightly between his; it felt as though he was trying to tell you something.

that intense emotion swirling deep in his olive gaze was searing, burning through you from the inside out. everything unsaid between the two of you. but soon enough your orgasm hit you harder than ever, pleasure electric under your heated skin.

“haji, haji, haji- oh, fuck yes!” you chanted his name like a prayer.

“y/n, baby, fuck i love you-“ he moans out, strokes becoming sloppy. “wanted this...for so long- shit, i’m cumming baby!”

snatching your dress from under the bed, you sat on your knees at the foot of his bed, thinking over everything you just wanted to ignore for the time being. you almost wish you could forget he had told you he loved you. how could you possible believe those three words while he was at the pinnacle of his pleasure?

suddenly the shrill ringtone of iwa’s phone blasted next to him. scrambling to your feet, you snatched the phone; fingers mashing the screen to cut off the sound before he woke up.

“what?” you hissed, holding the phone to your ear as you glanced at iwa. you thanked whichever gods were watching over you that he was still fast asleep.

“oho? y/n-chan? is that you~?” nevermind, the gods were out for you.

“tooru?”

“the one and only!” you winced at the smug teasing in his tone. “i was hoping to speak to iwa-chan, but i heard he was a naughty boy last night!”

“uh...what?”

“as in i literally heard him, and you, last night when i came back to the apartment!” oikawa recalls in a sing-song voice, rambling on about how he was here to surprise the two of you. “i always knew our dear iwa-chan had a daddy kink!”

placing the phone between your ear and your shoulder, you attempted to fit your dress over you, while oikawa continued on his spiel of how it took way too fucking long for the two of you to do something about the sexual tension. you had no chance to even peep a word in.

“damn baby, now this view i could definitely get used to.”

you almost shrieked, bumping into iwa’s naked body, and tripping over the dress  dropped around your ankles. you had no idea he’d woken up, sneaking right up behind you in all his naked fucking glory; forcing you to try your hardest not to eye his cock standing at full attention.

“is that iwa-chan?!” oikawa all but screams into the phone. iwa raises a questioning brow, hearing his best friend on the other line. “tell him to be good and wrap it up! no glove, no love!”

you had no business feeling embarrassed at the brat king’s words, while iwa snatched his phone away from you.

“too late for that, shittykawa.” oikawa’s screeches are the last thing you hear before iwa ends the call.

you almost dare to chuckle at the thought of oikawa’s reaction; but falter under iwa’s stare. it’s the same look he gives mattsun or makki when they’re in trouble, but it’s mixed in with the same scorching look from last night, and you shift on your feet nervously, wrapping your arms across your chest.

“going somewhere?” iwa gruffs out, the raspiness of his morning voice had you tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“um, home…?” the uncertainty was clear in your voice, especially as he scowled when you mentioned leaving. “iwa, i-”

“oh so it’s iwa now?” he cuts you off, taking a step closer into your space. “i liked it when you called me haji, though daddy follows closely after that.”

you gasp when a thick arm snakes around your waist, pulling you up against him. his other hand caresses your cheek so sweetly, before he grabs your jaw to tilt your face up to his, taking your lips with his own. the kiss is gentle, soft lips moving against your own as his tongue brushes yours sweetly. you’ve fully melted in his hold, eyes still closed when he breaks the kiss.

“i meant what i said last night, y/n.” he whispers against your mouth. “i love you.” your eyes shoot open, and you can feel your heart trying to beat itself out of your chest.

“i-i love you too.” you murmur back, and the smile he gives you has you ready to combust right before him. after all this time, a party had been the reason you finally admitted your feelings for him.

“now come back to bed.” you squeal as he lifts you up and over his shoulder, the grip he takes on your inner thigh is ticklish making you squirm about. “i’m gonna cuddle you back to sleep, and then when we wake up i’m gonna take you out on a date, okay baby?”

you giggle as he tosses you back on his fluffy mattress, dropping himself right on top of you and nuzzling his face into the dip between your neck and shoulder. running your hands softly over the muscled panes of his back, one reaches out to thread your fingers in the tufts of dark hair at his nape.

“okay, haji.”

freshman year had given you a lot of things, but iwaizumi hajime was the best thing yet. you couldn’t wait to see what sophomore year had in store for you.

© 2020 AIIWA. please do not copy, modify or repost my work.

[akakeiiji]

sjfksks omg, i was the one who sent the shy-around-his-crush!akaashi hc and i just wanted to say THAT YOUR LITTLE IMAGINE WAS TOO CUTE! ugh, my heart, i can’t handle it 🥺😩 if it’s possible can you make that like a hc or a little drabble? like you portrayed my bby so well, now i can’t help it but want more! anyways, I hope you have an amazing day, lots of love! 😚

NONNIE I LITERALLY CAN’T FIND THE POST THAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT BWEBVUEBE I’VE BEEN SEARCHING FOR HALF AN HOUR NOW WTF!! But I still vaguely remember the prompt so some things may be different from the original imagine

-`,✎ Akaashi being shy around his crush

Out of all the things Akaashi could use to summarize his current predicament, the only thing that came to mind was a cliche pop culture reference; Everyone has their own kryptonite. Their own weakness. The one thing in the world that could make them crumble and fall.

Naturally, one would want to avoid said kryptonite at all cause, stay away from it, run from it but as much as Akaashi tries to do just that, he always finds himself running back to you.

How many times has he tried distancing himself from you now? Three, four times? Regardless, it always ended the same: with you slithering back into his life like a snake catching its prey in its grips. Except Akaashi was always willing and never fought back to your advances.

How could he though? How could he insist to be apart from you? Apart from your smile that never fails to make him do the same, your laugh that sends jolts of electricity through his skin when he hears it, your very existence that seems to bring so much warmth and light into his day.

Nothing has been able to penetrate through his core so violently and suddenly as you have, you crumble his defenses, and tear down walls he’s so expertly put up over the years.

There was no doubt about it: You were his weakness. You were his kryptonite.

Your effect on him was instantaneous. When you were near, all the calmness and passiveness Akaashi was known for would suddenly dissipate into thin air.

Whenever you spoke to him—or merely smiled at his general direction—it would be as if the torrent of thoughts that always rushed through his mind would still and be replaced with an overwhelming rush of panic and disorder. His stoic facade would crumble; he’d stammer and blabber, he’d turn red, cheeks burning the longer he stayed near you and your bright disposition, and his heart would hammer against his chest so violently it would almost overpower the sound of your voice.

He hated the feeling so much, hated the way you made him feel this way. But he still craved your attention, to be near you.

At first, he resented you for it. How could you have such an effect on him? How could you render him a fool, a pre-pubescent teenage boy once more? He avoided you, stayed away from you any chance he could hoping and praying that some time apart could bring him back to his senses, anchor him back down, but instead the feeling of wanting to be with you only intensified the longer he was away from you until it was the only thing left on his mind.

That was when Akaashi realized why this was happening, he was honestly embarrassed with himself for not realizing it sooner since it was as clear as day; he was hopelessly and madly in love with you.

He sighed slightly as he tore his head away from the window next to him and directed his gaze back on their teacher who was explaining something that Akaashi did not understand in the slightest. This was another reason why his feelings for you were so cumbersome, they distracted him during times he was meant to be focused; when he’s in class or in training, and even when he’s trying to sleep, you’d just pop up in his head and he’s suddenly off in some faraway place in his mind.

He tried not to, he really did, but he gave in to the little devil on his shoulder and turned his head towards you. You were seated a few desks away from him but you were close enough that he could see the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled or hear your laugh when you found something funny.

You were slouching down on your desk, scrunching your eyebrows at the writing on the board as you scribbled them down on your notebook. You were doing that thing where you bite the insides of your cheek when you were confused.

Akaashi’s own pen stilled, his hand stopping as he was jotting down notes in hopes that he can make some sense of the lesson once he gets back home. As usual, he lost himself in his own thoughts, thoughts that were about you as they always have been these days.

His mind wandered to ways he could possibly spend more time with you. Perhaps he could offer to tutor you on the lesson if you didn't understand it—no that wouldn’t work, he could barely understand it himself. If he just had the guts to actually confess to you then maybe he wouldn’t have to think up elaborate plans to spend even just an hour with you.

And besides, even if he were blessed enough to be granted that, he’d probably spend the entirety of the time with you behaving like a fool; unable to utter a word, make eye contact, or make his blushing cheeks fade.

He closed his eyes as one of his intrusive embarrassing memories surfaced in his mind—it was when you passed by the gym while he was training causing him to set the ball in the opposite direction from Konoha, subsequently hitting their coach in the face, Bokuto laughed for so long he almost passed out.

When he removed his hands from his eyes and he was surprised to see your own staring back at him.

He froze like a deer in headlights, shoulders stiffening and lips parting in shock. You smiled at him and he swears his heart skipped a beat.

You pointed at your teacher who was writing down details for a project on the board. It was by pair.

Do you want to be partners? You mouthed at him as you gestured towards the both of you.

His mind blanked, how utterly typical of him. He weighed his options: partner up with you and risk exposing his feelings and embarrassing himself, but be able to be with you? Or run away like a coward?

As much as his mind was screaming for him to refuse, not to give in to this offer, as tempting as it, was because he knew for a fact that he’d just fall even deeper the more he’s around you, your pleading eyes were far stronger than his common sense.

Who even listens to their common sense these days anyway? Definitely not Akaashi because he nodded after a few seconds, making you break into an even wider grin that may or may not have made the second year choke on his saliva.

That night as he struggled to understand his lesson from earlier, his phone chimed loudly tearing his attention away from his incomplete notes. He grabbed the device and was met with a text notification from you.

Hey! Are you free tomorrow?

I was thinking that we could meet up and discuss the project! We can get some lunch somewhere too if you want

Akaashi reread your text for the dozenth time now. He pondered before typing out a response that wasn’t too eager but not aloof as well.

That’s a good idea, I’m free tomorrow

And I wouldn’t say no to lunch 

You replied right away.

Great! Let’s meet at the school at 12

The typing symbol appeared and disappeared a few times after that and Akaashi waited in anticipation before you sent:

Consider it a date hehe

He only realized then that he was grinning the entire time, his face warm and cheeks hurting from how much he was smiling. He dropped his phone on his desk and covered his face with his hands in silent glee.

You were definitely going to be the end of him but he wasn’t really complaining now that he thought about it.

[putseraphinaonthaphone]

That's on Me | Revised Fic Pt. I

based on the thirst about Izuku wanting to beat the pussy because it's too good up by @awilddreamerwrites

cw// everyone is aged up to third years, quirk use during sex, innocence kink, m/m, anal play, d/s dynamic, creampies, sloppy seconds, threeway, group sex, Bakugo x Reader in an established relationship, queer reader who uses feminine descriptors (Bakugou calls you his girl/woman in intimate scenes where there's already pre-established consent to do so, pussy, tits, etc) but he/him pronouns, BakuDeku Poly dynamic w/ reader endgame

There was always tension in the air when the three of you were in the same room, different than the preceding energy of one of your boyfriend's explosive outbursts. More like the smell of a storm in the air, like lightening followed by earthshaking thunder.

Deku would look at Kacchan, and Kat would look at Deku, and Deku would look at you and Kat didn't really mind and why didn't he mind?!

If anyone came in he would start barking at Deku to 'get his eyes off his boyfriend before he blows his face off,' but if you happened to time it perfectly and you three were the only ones in the common room..

Your boyfriend didn't growl at you to cover up if you were wearing his boxers that molded indecently to your ass beneath his shirt, in fact he groped at your curves possesively- delighting in the way Deku watched every movement of his hand on your ass while you cuddled into him.

So when Deku burst into Kat's dorm room while you were face down, ass up and getting absolutely railed-- it seemed like the final straw snapped in all three of you.

"Get in here and shut the fucking door nerd." Your boyfriend growled at Deku who was already doing so without having to be asked. He came closer to the bed, entranced by the filthy squelching of the blond's cock in your soaking wet pussy.

"You've always got an eye on my- ngh- fucking girl, Deku. Imagined him like this didn't you?" Even though his words should've been angry, it sounded more like the dirty words he growled at you that lit your pussy on fire. Your boyfriend was fucking you stupid but you tried your best to call out to the greenet, wanting him to know that you wanted him here (as much as Kat did if he let himself admit it.)

"'Zuku," you couldn't help the way your voice came out fucked and whimpering when Kat was rearranging your guts with a vengance.

"Fucking slut, why is your cunt getting tighter on my cock when you say his name?" His accusing tone was rendered meaningless because his cum started filling your cunt as he hammered into you, making you cum around him to milk every drop of seed from his balls as they smacked against your ass.

"Because he wants me to take a turn at his pussy." The utter confidence in Izuku's earnest voice made your pussy clench around Kat's slowly softening girth. He pulled out of your pussy and let you collapse tiredly on the bed, sprawled out like the perfect little whore you were tempting them both to ruin you. He kissed your temple and grumbled a 'traitor' under his breath before turning to face Deku.

The greenet had his dick out and a scarred hand wrapped around it, and it made Kat's cheeks dark to see that he didn't try to hide himself. He keep stroking a cock that made both of you revel in your inner size queens, and the little sound he made when he grabbed his own heavy balls made Kat sport a half chub quick enough to make him dizzy from the blood loss.

But he had to pull himself together, if he was going to make this work with his heart and dignity in tact.

"And why the fuck do you think I'd let you?" He challenged, green eyes clashing with red as the two stood too close for their posture to be aggressive.

It was intimate, like they shared a center of gravity and couldn't help but be drawn together.

"Please, Katsu, Zuku.." You whimpered, your eyes heavy lidded and pleading as you rolled onto your back- pulling one knee up so that they could both see Kat's cum leaking out of your hole. "Stop fighting. I want all of us to fuck in as many permutations as possible before I can't take anymore. Got it?" Your demand was spoken with only a few moans and whimpers as you fingered your stretched pussy, knowing one of them would break and you'd get what you needed.

"Do you have a condom or.. can you swear to me that you're clean?" Kat looked at Deku seriously, and Deku's breathed hitched by the intensity of those red eyes on him. His rhythm with his hand stuttered before he was able to nod with honesty ringing in his voice as he answered,

"I'm clean, Kacchan. I swear. I wouldn't put him.. or you at risk like that. And.. no one compared to you two. I haven't had sex in months." The admission made you whine- you were going to be at the mercy of hasn't-had-his-dick-wet-in-months Izuku? You prayed that you'd be able to walk tomorrow.

"Then go for it. But I'll be watching you. Do a good job and make him cum or you'll never get to fuck his pussy again." The threat made Deku's thick cock spurt more precum as he nodded and made his way to the center of the bed to push both your thighs to your chest. There was no way you'd be able to escape the mating press he put you in, so your pussy gushed realizing you wouldn't really have a choice about being impaled on his cock-which was well over your boyfriends already intimidating 8 inches.

"You think you can be a good girl for me and take it all?" The tip of his cock kiss your cum filled hole, and he looked at you so sweetly when you nodded you could almost forget he was about to split you in half.

You could hear Kat cursing under his breath to the side of you as he pulled up a chair to watch, but you could also hear the shameless sound of spit hitting his hand so he could jack off to the sight of Izuku's muscled form pinning you to the bed. The greenet had grown over his three years at UA, and he was a few inches taller than Kat now, and a lot broader.

His large scarred hands gripped your hips as he started pushing into you, inch by inch until he was buried as far inside you as he could reach- pressing snugly against your cervix and his heavy balls resting against the luscious fat of your ass.

And it was like he saw the face of god. Your dripping, clenching, fluttering heat was the best thing he had ever felt on his dick. Even if he got to put his dick in Kacchan's equally fuckable ass like he dearly wanted to, he didn't think even then it would beat this. This, the perfect and maddening pussy that belonged to Kacchan's beloved boyfriend. His girl.

The pleasure of it, hot as the sun and tinged with something dark and hungry and wild, grabbed him by the base of the spine and infected him with the almost painful craving to rut into you as hard and deep as possible.

"He's so fucking tight," Izuku's filthy moan wasn't even addressed to you, but it made your pussy clench further around his thick girth as he fucked you. There was green lightening crackling around him and his gaze on your was determined as he fucked into you harder- wanting to get as deep into your insatiable, hungry little pussy as he could. He could think of nothing else. Not even Kacchan watching him fuck you, not what this all meant.

Your moans had long since gone past embarrassing but your boyfriend only continued to watch as his childhood best friend fucked orgasm after orgasm out of you, not put off in the slightest by the growing mess off fluids between your lush thighs caused by his generous attention to your throbbing clit.

At some point there was a loud CRACK and the headboard fell to pieces where Izuku had been trying to hold himself up. He had let go of your hips at some point, but the sharp smack of his hips against your ass was a testament to how determined he was to imprint the shape of his dick into you.

"He has the best pussy I've ever fucked. Doesn't it feel like he's trying to milk your load right out of you?" Katsuki grinned ferally with pride at being blessed with such an irresistible partner.

"He's going to," Izuku's bright green eyes meet yours intensely, and you shivered under his gaze as he continued to fuck your overstimulated pussy. Your legs shook around his waist but all he did was fuck you deeper so you couldn't run from it.

"Ah ah ah, don't run, sweetness. Even if I have to break the bed too, I'm making sure all my cum ends up in your tummy.."

Your cervix was hammered so persistently you were sure Izuku's plan was to shoot his cum directly into your womb. By the time he let out the filthiest groan of "ngh- fucking, take it-" all you can get out is a garbled mess of

"yes!" and "'Zuku!" and "baby.."

Katsuki was laying beside you now, watching Deku fight to control his strength as your pussy threatened to undo himcompletely by fluttering and milking him until he was gritting his teeth from the overstimulation. Kat had cum twice all over his own fingers watching Deku being bested by you. He was so high on the thought that his girl could do this to Izuku. Make him look all fucked out, flushed tits heaving as he kneeled over your well fucked form, desperate..

Pretty.

"You look like a fucking slut, Deku." Why did that come out sounding like he was flirting? "You owe me a fucking headboard too dumbass." You watched your boyfriend growl the threat as an after thought, smirking at the blush on his cheeks. When Izuku came back to bed after putting the washcloths he used to clean you both in the bathroom, his eyes trailed over Katsuki's bare chest and low slung basketball shorts with a slight wet spot- his fourth erection of the night making the greenet's mouth water.

"I think I can find a way to make it up to you."

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Leannan // O.W. (celebration fic)

Request: Congratulations hun! Seriously, slow down xD No, please don't :D so I would like to have Oliver Wood - duh xD, Hogwarts, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff 4. - “Is that my shirt?” (You just captured my Scot baby so well, I couldn't miss it!) Congrats again, hun, take all the time you need! <3 - @heloisedaphnebrightmore​

Fluff 4: “Is that my shirt?”

A/N: Coming from the queen of Oliver fics, this means so much! Thank you! For those that don’t know, Leannan is Scottish Gaelic for ‘sweetheart’. I don’t know whether this reads as enemies to lovers but there is a lot of teasing, however, I’m happy to rewrite if you want it! As always, I hope you enjoy and thank you all so much for 1.5k!!

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, teasing

Word count: 1.7k

Truthfully, you considered yourself to be a very calm and mature person. There was very little that could rile you into a frenzy, and if it did, you almost always dealt with the problem by finding a solution as quickly as possible.

But you were absolutely certain there was no solution for Oliver Wood.

Since joining the Gryffindor Quidditch Team in your Third Year, he had made it his mission to get on your nerves every practice and every match, or whenever he had a spare moment. The teasing started off innocently enough; but then it evolved into something more and now you both felt at a stalemate.

There was no ill will between you; just teenage stubbornness tied with mutual attraction that neither of you were willing to admit. He liked to challenge you; becoming your rival in so many forms whether it was on the pitch where he would challenge you to races, or in the classroom room where he would test your patience through essay grades.

In so many forms, you could class him as your enemy for the pure fact that he drove you up the wall, but there was the rare occasion where you would catch him watching you across a classroom or the common room, and you had to wonder whether he felt something more.

---------

Sighing to yourself in the changing room, you unzip your bag, pulling out your uniform and setting it on the bench. The day had already started out bad; running late to first lesson after having spilt orange juice down your blouse and then forgetting to submit an essay for your third lesson of the day had your mood lower than it had been all week.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath as you begin to get ready for practice. Silently praying that it would be an easy one.

“Leannan,” A known voice sings, “Practice starts in ten.”

Turning, you fix Oliver with an unimpressed look, “I am not your sweetheart, Wood.”

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe, “How did you know I was calling you a sweetheart?”

You pause; wondering how the hell you were going to explain this one. Absolutely refusing to explain that you had spent one evening in the library, scouring through a Scottish Gaelic dictionary until you came across the word. You absolutely refuse to acknowledge how heated your skin felt one you read the translation; how seeing it sent a thrill through you.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

You roll your eyes, “Shove off, Wood. I need to get ready for practice.”

Oliver holds his hand up in surrender, laughing, “I’m going, I’m going.”

You throw a piece of clothing at him, “Go faster.”

“Alright woman, no need to resort to bodily harm.”

“Wood, I asked you to leave and you’re still here. Either you love to annoy me this much or you so desperately want to see me naked, now which is it?”

Oliver splutters at your words; his face a picture as a bright blush creeps his neck, “I’ll see you on the pitch.”

You stifle your laugh as Oliver walks into the doorframe before leaving the girl’s changing room. His slight embarrassment making your day that little bit better. You find yourself thinking of him as you get changed for practice; of his confidence that really does get the better of him sometimes, of his love of quidditch, of how he lights up when he delivers the pre-match speech that the team has memorised but that he will always deliver.

Shaking your head clear of all thoughts of the brown-eyed scot, you grab your broom and head out onto the pitch, joining the rest of the team. You ruffle young Harry’s hair as you walk past him; earning a playful glare in return.

“Have we quite finished?” Oliver admonishes; his gaze fixed on you.

“Yeah, have you quite finished?” Fred parrots.

You elbow him harshly; knocking the breath out of him, “Shut it, Weasley.”

Oliver claps his hands together; gaining the attention of the team. Setting up the plan of action for today’s practice, he blows his whistle – the command to saddle brooms and take off.

It feels as if it’s revenge for your comment in the changing room. Oliver nit-picks every move you take; taking it apart and demonstrating for the team the exact moment where you went wrong and why it should have been avoided. Oliver isn’t being outwardly malicious – he doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body; he’s just placing extra attention on you because of how you reacted in the changing room.

Oliver hadn’t admitted this to anyone; how attractive he found you, but how clueless he felt when it came to approaching you. He could tease you well enough; rile you up and get on your nerves, but he really did like you. You were his Leannan, no matter how much you seemed to despise the nickname.

Practice finishes with you landing back onto the pitch in one smooth motion; hopping off your broom and flipping Oliver off as he shouts for you to come back and talk. If you spoke to him now, you knew you would say something you would come to bitterly regret. Walking away, as you did now, meant that you could cool off and think through things rationally.

As you’re pulling your robes back on, an idea springs to mind. An idea that would definitely repay Oliver for how harsh he was during training.

Your mood brightening once again, a smirk breaks across your face as you hoist your Quidditch bag onto your shoulder and take hold of your broom; this would definitely be a fun prank – one that you couldn’t predict the outcome of, but it was one you also needed particular help with.

--------

At breakfast the following morning, you take a seat next to the Weasley twins, greeting each with a wide smile that only had them questioning your motives.

“Boys, I have an idea and I need your help.”

They both lean closer to you, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Quidditch captain would it?”

You bite your lip, “It might…”

Fred and George laugh, “What do you need us to do?”

----

Fred and George succeed that very night; pulling young Harry in on the scheme as well – getting him to distract Oliver with numerous questions about Quidditch whilst they snuck into Oliver’s room and stole his spare Quidditch jersey. He would never notice it missing; choosing to wear the same one for each match for luck.

They join you in the common room after having completed the deed; smuggling the jersey to you which you hide underneath the blanket you’re huddled under. Oliver frowns at the three of you; cutting him off on his education for Harry, he shouts over to you, “What would you three be planning?”

You widen your eyes, batting your lashes, “We would never do such a thing.”

Oliver frowns, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You place a hand on your heart, “The lack of faith you have in me is astounding, Wood.”

“Leannan, the three of you together can create enough mayhem to shut the school down.”

You grin at the use of his nickname for you, “Then lucky for you we aren’t planning anything,”

Oliver grumbles but says nothing further as he turns back to Harry; the boy looking as captivated as ever by Oliver’s explanations.

“What are you going to do with it?” George asks.

“Burn it? Tear it up? Dye it green?” Fred asks.

You shake your head at all his suggestions; feeling only slightly alarmed, “I’m going to wear it.”

Fred sits back with a huff, “I’d have dyed it green.”

You pat his leg consolingly, “Next time.”

-------

Your plan was to wear Oliver’s Quidditch jersey around Hogsmeade; starting with wearing it to breakfast in the Great Hall. You walk in proudly; winking back at Fred and George as you sit down next to them at the Gryffindor table.

If Oliver notices something, he doesn’t say – he glances your way once through all of breakfast then refuses to catch your eye after that.

You turn to the twins, “What are your plans for Hogsmeade? Room for one more?”

George nods, “We always have room for one more. We’re going to Zonko’s first and then we’ll see where the day takes us.”

You laugh, “That we shall. I’m going to grab some more money, but I’ll meet you in the courtyard?”

With a thumbs up from both of them, you leave the Great Hall, rushing back to the Gryffindor common room. Fred nudges George and points at Oliver who when noticing your absence, made sure to follow you from the room. They both roll their eyes, knowing full well you would not be meeting them in the courtyard.

-------

Returning to the common room after breakfast to grab some last minute money before meeting the twins, you’re pulled to one side by a frustrated looking Oliver.

Frustrated doesn’t seem to cover what Oliver feels at the sight of you in his shirt; he feels confirmation that you hold some feelings for him, but mostly feels desperation at how much he wants to get it off you.

“Is that my shirt?”

You look down at your clothing; your face the picture of innocence when you finally meet his brown eyes, “You know… I think it is.”

Oliver’s hands flex by his sides; an action he only does when he’s getting frustrated and can’t do anything about it, “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

You pull out the hem; reading his quidditch number out loud before saying, “I don’t know, I think it looks pretty good on me. Don’t you?”

Oliver leans in closer; just enough so he can whisper in your ear but far enough where he’s purposefully not touching you, “Leannan, what are you doing?”

You angle your body away from him, “I think you know what I’m doing.”

Oliver’s hands finally leave his side; fiddling with the hem of shirt that’s now draped over your body. With a smirk, he asks, “Just how set are you on going to Hogsmeade today?”

“Why? Got plans for me?”

He chuckles; hands fisting in his shirt, “Leannan, you have no idea.”

**********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @nerdyatheletic-deactivated20200 @acciotwinz

[anders-hawke]

Hey, loaf! Based on that post from the other day, would you be up for writing something where Scully finds out she is infertile in s2?

Yeah, I can do that for you, loaf. 💓 I definitely took this prompt and ran away with it kjsdhfjsdhf. The first section fulfills the prompt but the rest leads into an AU because I decided that I don’t want to hurt my Scullybaby <3.

Branched

The doctors all agreed that once her body readjusted, her menstrual cycle would follow suit. It was irregular before due to birth control but she’s been off it since she was... Scully hates to even think the word. It’s been months since Mulder stopped looking at her as if a simple hand on her back could break her, and her menstrual cycle isn’t even irregular—she just doesn’t have one anymore.

It’s baffled all the doctor’s she’s seen. Scully writes it off as an effect of whatever experiments were done to her and accepts her doctors’ conclusions that there’s nothing to be done about it unless she’s interested in having children.

The idea hasn’t crossed her mind much, aside from a distant yearning when she’s with her godson. She always assumed that she’d have kids one day after she fell in love with the right guy. Scully doesn’t know what she wants for her future anymore. All she knows is that she wants justice, and she wants the truth—both for herself and for Mulder.

Her newfound infertility is...something. She doesn’t want more pity. If she was stifled after her—if she was stifled before, Scully can only imagine that if she tells Mulder and her family that she can’t get pregnant it’ll be worse. The—what happened to her is something she can move on from, but this is not.

—

She’s experiencing early menopause, her doctor declares. It seems so final. She cries herself to sleep and goes into work the next day as if the shards of her future haven’t been ground to dust.

Though she’d tried not to give any of this much thought, she’d somehow assumed that the chip had been inhibiting the release of her ova for an unknown reason—maybe propagation is counterintuitive to Their agenda, who knows—but to find out that she didn’t have any, that all her chances at motherhood were gone... It’s a grief unlike any other.

—

Allentown. The name sends shivers down her spine if she so much as thinks of it. Flashes of her abduction (say it say it say it, don’t let them control you, you’re stronger than the trauma) and the knowledge that all the women at the MUFON meeting had chips and fertility issues and cancer... She takes off the next day and books an appointment with an oncologist.

The scans come back negative. The women said it could take up to two years to appear, though. Scully prays to God that it never happens.

—

She’ll never be a mother. Some days it hits harder than others. Some days she wishes that she could lay her head down and wake up in a world where she and Mulder have the lives they always wanted. She feels so violated and so disrespected, some days. On those days, she lashes out at Mulder, tries to leave him and this life of lies behind, but she can’t.

He’s not someone she can just walk away from.

These are the days that she smokes. These are the days that she calls up Ellen and asks for all the gossip she’s amassed. These are the days she gets drunk over the phone with her friend and spills secrets that no one else gets to know. Trent’s turning eight, Danes. I’m infertile, El. It’s funny how the person she sees the least knows the most about what’s happened to her.

These are also the days when she hits the town and drinks until she forgets. Sometimes she’ll go home with someone for the night and leave early in the morning, Mulder on her mind. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. It would break him even though it’s not about him, even though it’s not his fucking life.

—

She wakes up to a nosebleed and prays to God that he’ll give her a few more months to live. Just until Mulder’s ready, she thinks, tears running down her face as she holds a wad of tissues to her nose. Just until he’s ready to let go. He’s been such a constant in her life, such a tether. When things get bad, they go their separate ways, but they always come back to each other and find their balance.

It makes sense for him to be the first person to see confirmation of her cancer. It feels like the final blow. First, they take away her ability to make life, and then they take away her own life. She’s made her peace with it.

Mulder hasn’t—he refuses to do so. Standing there in the hospital hallway days later, Scully lets herself love him. His lips are soft against her chapped ones and her edges feel burned and frayed, but his love keeps her together.

“I found something, Scully,” he murmurs when their kiss has faded into an embrace with her head on his chest.

Her brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“I found your ova.” There’s so much going on in that four letter sentence that it bowls her over.

“You—you did?”

“I took as many vials as I could and got them into a freezing container. I shipped them off to the Gunmen before I came here. They can keep them safe for when you get better.”

Scully’s chin starts to tremble and she presses her face into Mulder’s chest. “What if I never do?”

He cups her cheeks and gently makes her face him. “I won’t let that happen.”

She wants to believe him with all her heart. “I want to believe...” she whispers, a tear streaking down her cheek.

“Give me your fear,” he tells her, “and believe. I need you to believe.”

She nods against his chest.

—

Scully cries when she gives him the news of her remission, pulling Mulder into her embrace and showering his head with kisses and thank yous. He’s given her a second chance at life, but more than that, a chance at motherhood.

(“Dana, I have excellent news for you: your cancer is shrinking. You’re going into remission.” And then, when the shock and the joy had run their immediate courses: “It also seems that, in due time, your menstrual cycle will resume, so no worries on that end.”)

It’ll be months before she can truly start the process but she already feels lighter than ever before.

—

She waits a week after her return to work to ask him. They’re at his apartment, Scully curled against him as the movie’s credits roll. “Mulder,” she whispers, checking to see if he’s asleep.

“Hm?” He rolls his head to crack his neck.

“Will you make a baby with me?”

He looks down at her, eyes wide. “What?”

“I’ve been seeing a fertility doctor, a friend of mine. She’s examined the ova—along with several of her colleagues—and declared them viable.” Scully can’t keep the tremulous smile off her face as she gives him the news. “She said that I just have to secure a donor to begin the treatment plan. I want that donor to be you. I mean, you practically threw yourself at me in Home last year...”

She traces her finger along the back of his hand, looking away to give him some space. After a moment, he says, “You want me to...to be part of that equation?”

Scully takes a deep breath and sits up so that their faces are level, shaking her head. “I want to have kids with you.” She maneuvers one leg between his thigh and the arm of the couch so she’s straddling him, and sits down on his thighs. “I want you to be the father of my kids.”

Mulder gazes at her like a lost puppy until she reaches out to wipe away a tear trailing along his cheek. “Me?”

She nods and cups his cheeks. “You.”

He nods with her, a smile spreading across his lips. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Yeah.”

They’ve been reduced to monosyllabic words in their joy, giving up on words all together as they fade into deliriously happy teary-eyed laughter. Scully leans forward and kisses him.

—

To no one’s surprise and Bill’s chagrin, she tugs Mulder along to her family’s Christmas gathering at her brother’s place in San Diego. Emily’s existence only reaffirms their decision to do IVF together and their relationship. They’ve been more of a team than ever, and perhaps that’s what saves Emily in the end.

Mulder and Scully put off all the major changes they were planning to make in favor of giving Em time to adjust to her new life. She clings to them until she gets familiarized with everything, until “Dana” and “Mul’er” phase into “Mommy” and “Daddy”.

He learns how to make chocolate chip pancakes with his eyes half-closed at six in the morning. They both learn car seats like the back of their hands. They get used to this new life where the only reason they wake up in the middle of the night is to comfort their daughter and not board a red-eye flight for a case.

—

Scully’s known that Mulder’s a thorough person when he wants to be since they met. What she didn’t know is that he’s also extremely sappy. He kisses her frequently for no reason in the office, and his porn mag collection has been replaced by a stack of books on IVF and pregnancy and childhood developmental stages. He has a calendar tacked to the wall next to his door with all the important dates on it.

They tell Skinner about their relationship and the IVF in confidence, filling him in on all the relevant things to their decision to leave the X-Files. The department must go on, but they can’t be the ones to breath life into them with Emily and a baby. Skinner says he knows “some excellent agents” that can fill their roles.

Mulder goes with her to every appointment, even if he can only sit outside in the waiting room until he’s called in. He holds her hand during every comprehensive pregnancy test that’s done, and kisses away her tears when they come back negative.

They look at apartments together when they find the time between Emily and their new assignments, and sometime between moving in and starting Em with her new pre-school, something wonderful happens. When the test comes back positive, they both start crying at the clinic.

“Mulder...”

“Scully...”

—

“You’re really okay with passing on the torch?” she asks in bed that night once Emily’s sacked out.

He nods against her forehead, his hand on her belly. “I’ve spent my whole life looking for Samantha, but I’ve never let her move on. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe I’ll never find out. But I can’t pursue the answer to the question of what happened to her at the cost of everything else. You’re the one who taught me that there’s more to life than trying to solve mysteries.”

Scully nuzzles his nose. “You taught me something, too.”

“Oh?”

“You taught me how to have the courage to believe.”

[rhysismydaddy]

Pre-mating bond reveal Feysand Smut request! Featuring feyre in some lingerie and a whipped Rhys ps. I love your fics

On the long, never-ending list of things I need to be doing right now, this is definitely at the bottom.

I need to find out what Azriel learned from his spies in the human realm, make sure Amren and Cassian haven’t gone to wreck the Summer Court, and pay my taxes.

Watching Feyre shop for lingerie is below the fucking taxes. It’s below everything.

And yet here I am, staring with too much interest as she runs her finger along lacy unmentionable after lacy unmentionable.

I’m mesmerized, desperate to know which one she’ll choose to buy. The simple knowledge that she has it will torture me, but I don’t even care. I have to know.

Five minutes go by, then ten.

I follow her like the whipped little bitch I am as she circles the store once more, making sure my face doesn’t betray my interest in the teal little thing in the corner.

“You know what, I don’t think I’ll get anything,” she announces suddenly, turning to me to analyze me with those beautiful, too-observant blue eyes of hers.

“Alright.”

“I mean, do men--sorry, males--even care about this kind of thing? Or do they just prefer their women to be naked?” She peers up at me, lips curved into an innocent smile. “Which do you prefer?”

“Last I checked, I don’t have any women.”

She shrugs like that’s irrelevant. “You’re buying it. You should have an opinion.”

Before I can even start to respond, she’s closing in on me, putting a hand against my chest and leaning in co-conspiratorially. “Hypothetically, if you were to come home to find me draped across your bed, what would you prefer I be wearing?”

She grabs something off one of the racks, and the feel of lace on my arm makes blood shoot straight to my crotch. “Something like this? Or nothing at all?”

My jaw aches from being clenched so hard, and there’s absolutely no way I can respond, so I just shrug.

Feyre smiles knowingly and flits across the store, snatching up the piece I’d been subtly--at least I thought--eyeing the entire time.

She drops it on the counter and gestures over her shoulder to me. “I’ll take this. He’s paying.”

I roll my eyes but nod when the clerk looks at me, and she makes a valiant attempt at hiding a smile. Once the damned thing is wrapped up, Feyre slips the bag on her arm and gives me a bright smile.

“I’m going home.”

My chest clenches at that word, just like it always does, but I ignore it. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got what I wanted from you,” she teases, shaking the bag in my face. “But who knows? Maybe in... two or three hours when you come home, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Fucking hell, she’s going to kill me.

But the question is... is she just teasing me, or is she serious?

~

Exactly two and a half hours later, I find out.

She was fucking serious.

She’s...

Ah, fuck.

Fuck.

I’m frozen in the door, staring at her, and I can’t think about anything besides how right this feels.

Coming home to find her in my bed, wearing some wonderfully indecent negligible, looking at me with so much blatant lust it almost chokes me.

It’s so fucking right.

But it’s also wrong, because she doesn’t even know why it’s right.

Because I still, still, haven’t told her that she’s mated to me.

Because I’m stupid.

Stupid or not, I realize I’ve been standing here like some mute idiot for a little too long. “Hello, Feyre darling.”

She smiles at me, a warm smile that makes my chest ache, and I grip the doorframe to keep myself from striding to her and tasting it.

If she knew, she wouldn’t smile like that. She’d probably scream at me and rage and curse the gods for giving her someone like me.

And I don’t want to tell her, because I’m selfish and love the look on her face. Right now... right now she’s looking at me like I’m everything.

With a dramatic flourish that makes my lips twitch, she throws the cover off of herself, allowing me an unobstructed view of the overpriced contraption I bought earlier tonight.

It’d stood out to me because of the color. The bright turquoise is almost the exact shade of her eyes, and it’s beautiful against the pale backdrop of her skin.

The color, however, is not what my mind is focused on.

It’s focused on the way the lace frames the smooth swell of her hips, the way its not exactly solid enough to hide the rosy color of her nipples, the way the thin, feeble straps are slipping off her shoulders.

No longer able to stop myself, I stroll over and brace my hands against the edge of the bed.

I take another long look, starting at her pretty red toenails and ending at the challenging look in her eyes.

“Hi, Rhysand.” She says my name slowly, like a woman who knows she has a man in the palm of her hand. “So? Do you like it? Or would you prefer me in nothing at all?”

“You’ll have to give me a comparison,” I respond, forcing my eyes away from the swell of her breasts for a moment. “But maybe later. Right now, I’m interested in this little get up. It did cost me quite a bit of money, you know.”

Reaching out, I grab her ankles and slide them around until her body’s facing me.

“I’m afraid I can’t see all of it, though.”

She understands and smoothly turn over, putting the rest of the little set on wide display.

And by the rest of it, I mean the tiny slip of blue lace resting above the curve of her backside.

She’s temptation incarnate, a woman designed by the gods to drive me happily to insanity.

“Hm,” I murmur nonchalantly, running my finger along the material softly but not touching the skin I’m suddenly desperate to bite.

She shivers, and the fact that I’m affecting her but barely even touching her does little harm for my ego.

Reminding myself yet again that I should walk out of this room and lock the door behind me, I put a hard boundary in place.

I can’t fuck her.

Not yet. Not while she doesn’t know who I really am to her.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t satisfy the insane curiosity that’s been demanding for weeks I find out how she tastes.

“Turn over again.” She complies, and I lean to press a kiss to the top of her ankle. “Now spread those pretty legs for me, Feyre darling.”

Slowly, her feet slide apart on the sheet, and I trace the movement to look at the apex of her thighs. My hands glide up her skin, and she sighs, the sound so goddamn pretty I have to take a deep breath to calm myself.

I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and her hand shoots out to grab my hair and force my eyes back to hers. “I want-”

I know what she’s going to say, so I cut her off. “And while I’d love to give you anything and everything you want, we don’t have time.”

“We have all night.”

“Mm, true.” Another kiss, but this time I dart my tongue out to taste her skin. Holy fuck, she’s perfect. “But when I fuck you, Feyre, I’ll need longer than one night. I’ll need days, maybe even weeks. I’ll need you to be so strung out on me you can’t breathe, so desperate you beg. And we’ll definitely need to be out of the city, because I plan on making you scream my name loud enough to wake the dead.”

It isn’t the whole truth, but not one word was a lie.

It seems to do the trick because Feyre settles back, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Proceed, then.”

She’s trying to play it like she’s so unaffected, despite the fact I can smell her arousal and see the way she’s clenching the bedsheet.

I slid to my knees, bowing before my mate, and pull her ankles until her legs rest over my shoulders. I realize my wings are out, yet another testament to how different this is, how unhinged I’m becoming.

For a moment, I just familiarize myself with the feel of her skin, so unbelievably soft and warm against my palms. She lets me touch her, leaning up on her elbows to watch.

Making eye contact with her, I lean down and press my nose to the apex of her thighs. And inhale.

Even though it’s been teasing me for the past five minutes, the full scent of her hits me like a punch to the gut, and a low, satisfied sound escapes my throat.

She blushes, color blooming high on her cheeks, and I smile up at her.

Mumbling something I’m too distracted to hear, she falls back on the bed and puts a hand over her face. 

Is she... praying?

Gods, I’m going to enjoy this. I’m going to drive her crazy, make her feel as undone as I do.

As soon as I can figure out how to get this fucking contraption off her.

Lace and little straps are everywhere, and I mess with it for a minute before giving up and just ripping the bottom half off.

“Rhysand,” she scolds, like I wasn’t the one to buy the damn thing.

I’d reply, say something witty, but now she’s bare before me, and the sight of her thighs spread for me, the obvious sign of her arousal... it undoes me.

My mouth is on her before I can think about it, tongue tasting her and immediately dipping inside for more because holy hell.

She tastes better than anything I’ve ever had. Better than cool water on the hottest day, fresh sweets, ripe fruit, whatever.

A low groan meets my ears, igniting a fire in my blood, but I keep my pace slow, not wanting this to ever end.

Her hips start shifting, desperate for more friction, but I hold them still and keep her exactly where I want her. I run my tongue around her clit, then suck on it gently, and her thighs tighten around my head.

“Rhys.”

The name I’ve heard for five hundred years has never sounded better, and as soon as we’re done here, I’m making it a law that no one but her can say it. 

I kiss her slowly, keep going until she’s panting and cursing and saying my name over and over and over.

She comes on my tongue, attempting to strangle me with her lovely thighs, but I don’t stop. I honestly don’t think I can.

I taste her until I’m drunk on it, breathe her in until she’s all I can smell, fill my hands with her soft skin.

I can tell she’s getting close again, so right as release hits her, I slip two fingers inside her and shift my mouth to her inner thigh, sucking on the skin until it’s sure to leave a mark.

I’m trying not to be too possessive, but the thought of her walking around with a little reminder of whose mouth was on her drives me a little crazy. I push my fingers into her again, kissing the other thigh.

Gods, the feel of her around me... her smell surrounding me... it’s almost too much.

She seems to agree.

“Rhys,” she pants, half sobbing. She’s limp on the bed, legs trembling as I kiss them. “It’s too much. You’re too much. I can’t-”

Dropping a kiss to her hip bone, I crawl up her body, bracing myself on my free hand.

The other keeps moving as I lean down to brush my lips across her ear. “You can, and you will. I’ve wanted you for weeks, Feyre darling, and I’m not about to stop at two measly little orgasms.”

I push my fingers into her a little harder for emphasis, and she arches up into me, pressing her breasts against my chest. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”

“I would never let anything happen to you,” I tell her, meaning the words. Hell, I’d mean them even if she wasn’t my mate.

Her head falls back as she gives in to the pleasure we both know she wants, and I drop a kiss the arch of her neck as a reward.

She hums, a happy little mmm sound that makes me grin.

Her hips lift and circle as she rides my hand, and as she breathes my name again in that husky little tone, I can’t hold out anymore.

I kiss her, exactly how I’ve wanted to since the moment I first saw her.

Her head tilts, lips opening for me, and it sends a bolt of pure fucking joy through me at how natural it is.

An entirely different emotion shoots through my veins as she sucks on my tongue. I know she can taste herself, and the thought makes my cock throb. I’m lying further down then she is, so I press my hips into the mattress to relieve some tension.

Not that it helps when I know exactly how she feels around my fingers and how much better she’d feel around a different part of me.

I nip her lip for being so annoyingly perfect, and she wraps her arms around my neck, using her hands in my hair to pull me closer.

She’s kissing me back, kissing me as if she can’t get enough, and it’s like a fever broke out and consumed us, driving us to a frenzy.

I realize I’ve horribly ignored her breasts and shift to tug the lacy blue bralette down far enough to free them. The tips go rigid under my stare, and for a moment all I can do is try to remember how to breathe.

Then I capture one in my mouth, circling the tip with my tongue in time with the movements of my hand.

“Fuck, that feels good,” she murmurs, the words an incentive as I switch to her other breast.

I’m all over her, pressing kisses to her chest and neck and mouth like I can’t get enough.

Because I can’t. No amount of this will ever be enough.

Eventually, her grip on my hair starts to tighten, and I press my lips to her ears to whisper, “Come for me, Feyre darling.”

Probably for the first and only time, she does what I tell her. As soon as her mouth opens to release a sound that’ll probably make me come in my pants, I capture her lips with mine.

I keep going until every last little helpless whimper stops, then pull my fingers out and lift up slightly to look at her.

Flushed cheeks, wide eyes, kissed lips. Beautiful.

For a second, we just lay there and stare at each other, and I swear to gods, the words are right on the tip of my tongue. You’re my mate, Feyre.

Fuck, I want to tell her.

If only for the two percent probability that she doesn’t try to kill me or become disappointed by the news. The thought of that two percent, of what it’d feel like to be loved by her--not just desired--is almost enough to risk it.

But in the end, I’m a coward, drawing away from her and pulling the sheet over her. “Sleep,” I say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

She reaches for me. “Rhysand, I can-”

“It’s okay, gorgeous. This was about you.” She blinks up at me, blue eyes so godsdamn bright. I brush a finger over her cheek and say honestly, “I wanted this to be about you.”

“Okay,” she whispers back, obviously exhausted enough to not argue, turning on her side and getting comfortable in my bed. I know her smell will be all over my sheets tomorrow, one more temptation I’ll have to deal with. “But next time, it’s about you.”

I get to my feet before I can commence next time. The thought of her hands on me... I could sit still and let that woman touch me all day, and I wouldn’t get bored.

I walk to the door, and stop in the frame to look at her again. She’s already asleep, dark blonde hair bright against the black of the sheets.

Gods, I can’t live without her.

Over five hundred years on this earth, and I’m completely wrapped around the finger of a woman who doesn’t even realize it.

I know I’m not worthy of her, but I also know that if by some miracle she doesn’t run in the other direction when I tell her about the mating bond, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be.

__________________________________________________________

ask and you shall (eventually) receive. sorry this took forever, but thanks for the request!

[prismadog]

Found Family AU character facts (part 3)

apparently, I can't just leave this at one or two, I have to do more than is required for this au - such is the way of life I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

for these, I'm only doing a sort of pre-story type thing, ya know, like their origins, who the characters were before they all knew each other. if I didn't condense these down to that point, well, we'd be here all day reading practically an entire book on one single character [I think I'm exaggerating here?]

this one got a bit long so I'm putting it under the line.

hey uh, are any of you actually interested in their backgrounds? idk if that's something that interests people or not but I'm writing these and it just makes me wonder, y'know? [of course, now that I've started, I can't just stop, there's still so many characters. but still...curiosity and all's got me wondering]

Sausage

Sausage is a dwarf of Mythland who was born a single child to the Dwarf King. ever since he was a child, he dreamed of being a mighty sorcerer that could use all kinds of magic but being a dwarf, magic comes a lot harder to him than it would a human or another magical creature - such as his good friend Gem.

the kingdoms of Mythland and the Crystal Cliffs were close allies and have been for generations - the Grimlands does not exist at this time. Sausage grew up alongside Gem and fWhip of the Crystal Cliffs - he revered Gem and her magical abilities, and found a close friend in fWhip due to neither of them being able to wield magic. Gem did try to teach Sausage magic despite the lessons never producing even a spark of magic - that of course didn't stop him.

he and fWhip would often get into trouble, playing pranks and whatnot on the people of the two kingdoms, and sometimes they could convince Gem to join in with them.

the trio stayed close friends through the years, and when Sausage's father was slain in battle against a pillager raid the siblings were there mourning alongside their friend. he took vigil at his father's final resting place for an entire day, as is tradition, then the next day he held a celebration in honor of the fallen King, with a feast to finish off the night.

Sausage was crowned the new Dwarf King within the week and his friends were there for his coronation - fWhip, ever the tinkerer, set up a firework display for him, and Gem gifted him with an old spell book written by a Mythlandian and enchanted rings that provided protection.

things became hectic around this time, what with being a new king with new duties and protecting his empire from pillagers, and he can't see his friends as often. Gem also gets busy with her studies and fWhip starts exploring the mountains - something that the people of the Crystal Cliffs don't do. in this time, he also adopted a pup that he named "Bubbles" and she became his second in command.

several months later, he gets word that his friend fWhip has gone missing. he drops everything to travel to the Cliffs and be at Gem's side - she tells him that fWhip has been missing for quite some time and she blames herself that she never noticed. he comforts her and they go out on a search for him, which unfortunately results in nothing but a few belongings found deep within the mountain and a journal.

Gem holds a funeral for her brother and Sausage stands vigil once again for a loved one. he offers Gem any aid that Mythland can provide and she graciously accepts. he visits her from time to time after the event but eventually, he just gets busy and more time drags between each visit.

his kingdom prospers with a plethora of new buildings - an iron farm, a forge, new docks, bigger and better homes for the people, and all kinds of other things. one thing that stands out from the rest is a summoning circle - this, he uses to sacrifice the crimson sheep of the land in the hopes, not for power, but for knowledge and guidance, and that one day the gods - whoever may be listening - will return his friend to him.

he gains quite a bit of knowledge in the ways for forging weapons imbued with magic and using anothers' magic to alter ordinary everyday things - such as a dark oak tree or even a mushroom. this is all for the benefit of his kingdom so he doesn't see a problem with his sacrifices, despite what his advisors may believe.

he met with other rulers, some he'd been neglecting to talk to, and others who were just coming into power. one of the first new rulers he met was Pearl of Smallholding - a chaotic girl with flowers in her hair and a grin that never fades. another was the Codfather, Jimmy Solidarity-Shadow - one of the merfolk who's kingdom rose slowly from the swamps and without anyone seeming to notice. months after meeting these two, another kingdom arose, this time practically overnight, and the ruler was none other than fWhip of the Crystal Cliffs - his best friend - but this time, fWhip was the Count of a near-barren plains dubbed the Grimlands.

the trio celebrated fWhip's return and Sausage, once home, thanked whatever gods that had brought his friend back. visits between the three kingdoms became commonplace again, as well as visits to the new Cod Empire - though, those were to pick on the new ruler there.

Sausage did learn not to take things too far in teasing the Codfather because one day, he and fWhip had set up a "minor, harmless" trap and when the Codfather got injured and bedridden for a few days, well, they found out that Queen Lizzie of the Ocean Empire was not someone you wanted to anger. after, they did continue their teasing but they kept it well below danger levels.

a year or so after fWhip's return, Sausage met another new ruler who had just come into power and who's kingdom had been lost to the world for ages - King Joey Graceffa of the Lost Empire. Joey took interest in his sacrifices and his borrowed magics, maybe a little too much interest if the bloodlust in his eyes was anything to go by.

Joey

Joey is born the youngest of three children to the Emperor of the Maztec Empire - his siblings being the princesses.

he, like all others of the royal family, are born with parrot wings to match the local parrots of the jungle. he often used his wings to escape his lessons, though being third in line for the throne, he was allowed lenience to goof off and have fun anyway since the throne always went to the eldest.

but, Joey was the jealous sort as well and would often play dirty pranks on his sisters, and most times, they ended in some injury. though, he was also quite intelligent and could almost always pin the blame on another, usually on someone of the lowest class - the mudbloods who were more of a hybrid of cat and human.

one such dirty prank went horribly wrong and his eldest sister lost her life. it had involved a cave, the cave collapsed, and she got caught in it. he watched her struggle for some time, oddly curious about it, but eventually went and got help. the healers tried to help her but she soon passed on.

a funeral was held for the princess days later and she was cremated - as is tradition for royalty. life moved on, as it does, and the second princess became next in line.

after the death of the first princess, he became a little more interested in the act of dying than a boy should. he was curious and wanted to find out more about death, and the mudblood people were right there for him to experiment with. he made sure to only take one person every so often for experiments - the jungle could be a dangerous place and was often unkind to wanderers so if one or two people went missing every few months, then who was to know?

aside from secretly pranking his sisters and stealing away the lower class, he would spend time with the gentlemen of higher standing - the purebloods who were humanoid cats and certainly looked it. he would pick one to mess around with, or two or three if he so desired, until he eventually grew bored and discarded them like they were yesterday's trash.

his remaining sister, nearing her adulthood, started dreaming of leaving the kingdom to explore the world - she'd always wanted to but their parents would never permit it, nobody entered the kingdom and nobody left. he would stay up late with her on the nights he grew bored of gentlemen, and talk to her about her dreams.

with her becoming an and their parents getting older, he worried that soon, she would be taking the throne. so, he thought up a plan and talked with her about it - he could get things set up and all she would have to do is follow through, and before she knew it, she'd be exploring to her heart's content.

she was nervous, of course, but Joey is a charmer and used that to his advantage. he convinced her it was the best option for her if she didn't want to be tied down, and she could always return if she wanted. she agreed, wrote a farewell scroll that she gave him for safekeeping, and followed him one night to a secret area where a boat and some supplies were waiting, as well as one of his callers.

this she was confused about at first until Joey showed his true colors and killed her in cold blood. he then casually sent the gentleman off in the boat with his sister's body, promising him great rewards for his return if he got rid of the evidence.

he then returned home and set out the farewell letter in her room where it would be found, and went to bed. he awoke to the news late the next day, and also with a visit from his accomplice.

a few weeks later and there was no word from the princess and the guards sent out to search for her found no trace. though his parents prayed she was well, they still mourned her leaving. Joey was to be next in line should the Emperor and Empress pass and he celebrated in secret with the gentlemen who helped him - then when he got bored shortly after, he killed him too in the same cave his eldest sister died in and left his body to the mobs.

when he neared adulthood - only months away - he started his next plan for his rise to the throne. he acquired a poison that would imitate a deadly disease but not be curable by any known remedies. he used this on his father over the next several weeks and watched with secret glee as the Emperor grew weaker and weaker and the healers floundered about trying to cure him.

preparations were made, the Emperor passed on with few final words, and days later a funeral was held for him as well. his urn was placed next to the eldest princess' once everything was done. the Empress mourned the loss and Joey stood at her side.

he watched as her grief began to consume her, she spoke of loss and wishing she could join her husband, Joey listened to her words and wondered about what Maztec would do if she left too. she said it would be in good hands - he was a capable young man and if he ever needed help, there was a council of advisors at his side.

over a week later, the Empress took her own life, leaving behind a letter to her only remaining child. a third funeral was held, his mother cremated and laid to rest beside his father and sister, and he was crowned Emperor of the Maztec Kingdom.

Joey was free to do as he wished and he gladly accepted the freedom - everything was good and he was King.

but over the next several years, he found himself growing bored - not even building new temples kept his attention for long. he eventually started exploring, just a little ways, from his home and eventually came across the edge of the jungle which met the edge of a more barren land.

he visited the boarder a few times, curious about this other land, but never crossed it. then one day he met Count fWhip of the Grimlands - the name of the barren land. they spoke for some time at the boarder of their kingdoms, and set up a couple future visits to one another's kingdoms - fWhip visited his first, then he visited fWhip's.

at the visit to the Grimlands capitol, fWhip invited him to the next Gathering of Empires - apparently there were 9 other rulers out there besides the two of them, and one even had wings too!

he accepted the invitation without a moment's hesitation and at the next Gathering, his kingdom - the Lost Empire as it was written in old history books that an ally of fWhip's had found - became known to the rest of the world.

he found that the other winged ruler - Scott Smajor of Rivendell - was a very cold and distant person. but, the others were friendly enough, especially the Dwarf King - J Sausage of Mythland - and he took an interest in the man and the magics he was studying.

they became friends, and he by default joined an alliance with fWhip and Gem who were allied with Sausage.

[zimms]

do you know that reddit post that's like "i'm in quarantine with my roommate (we're both dudes) and we've been cuddling together a lot. am i gay?" because at least to me it has big olliewicks vibes

hey dude! i’m sorry this is so late, but hopefully you’ll like it! 

Ollie groggily awakens to the feeling of two strong arms wrapped around his stomach, holding him close and grounding him. He lets out a sigh of contentment before squeezing his eyes shut and burrowing his head slightly further into the tangle of bodies, pursuing the warm heat of the other person. The body beneath him shifts slightly, emitting a slight groan and disturbing Ollie’s brief peace. That’s when he realises three things.

They’re in the middle of a pandemic.

His only human contact in the past two months, other than cashiers at their local grocery store, has been Wicky.

The person beneath him is definitely Wicky. Ollie can feel it in every plane, every angle, every curve of the body he’s laying on top of. It’s in the way that Wicky’s breathing slightly stutters after every inhale. He knows it’s Wicky because every inch of Wicky’s body is unique and Ollie’s memorised all of them. So yeah, definitely Wicky.

Ollie takes a moment to just breathe and catalogue the situation. He cracks an eye open and he immediately heaves a sigh of relief; they’re both wearing clothes, which means that they didn’t do anything that either of them might regret. Well, or at least, nothing that Ollie might regret; he can’t speak for whether or not Wicky might regret even cuddling him, let alone anything else. 

He cranes his neck slightly to catch sight of the TV, where the Netflix Are you still watching? screen stares back at him. Oh yeah, they’d been watching Tiger King together on the couch before they’d fallen asleep on top of each other. 

Ollie braces his hands on either side of Wicky and slowly rolls off of his best friend, careful not to land on the squeaky couch spring and wake him up. He slides slowly to the floor and places his head in his hands. 

Fuck. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and groans as quietly as he can into his palms. He’s been doing so well at tamping down his crush on Wicky up until now, but something inside of Ollie has ignited after spending the night in such close proximity to him. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to pretend when Wicky wakes up that he didn’t savour every moment that his skin was pressed against Wicky’s, that he doesn’t know exactly what Wicky looks like when he’s sound asleep, that he hasn’t memorised the way their chests rose and fell against each other in perfect synchrony.

Ollie shakes his head before pushing himself to his feet and padding into the kitchen to get breakfast. That’s enough thinking for today.

----

Ollie shifts his weight from side to side as he leans outside of George’s office and listens to the sound of chairs scraping behind the door. Thank fuck, they’re almost done; he’s been leaning against this wall for twenty goddamn minutes and his feet are aching. He straightens up as the door swings open and he plasters a grin on his face; no matter how annoying a long wait is, scowling probably isn’t the best first impression when you’re meeting your new employer. 

However, Ollie’s grin disintegrates when he sees the guy that comes out of the office and instead his mouth drops open. 

Holy fuck. 

Ollie unashamedly stares at the guy as he ambles down the corridor. God, every inch of him is pure perfection. From cheekbones that could cut glass, to wide brown eyes that seem to reflect and emit light until the whole corridor illuminates with this guy’s presence. From the lopsided grin that plays across his face, to the biceps that are way too big for the sleeves of his Falcs t-shirt. Ollie lets his eye’s slide to the guy’s ass; yeah, that’s definitely a hockey player. 

He’s stunning.

And, the little voice in the back of Ollie’s mind pipes up, a teammate.

Ollie slumps down the wall again and groans. He’s so fucked. 

----

Ollie had hoped that he’d be able to avoid all thoughts of his crush on Wicky for a while, well, preferably forever. He’s always been so careful to never let their cellies on the ice go too far, never letting Wicky kiss him on the helmet like he does every other player, never letting their hugs last for too long, never actively seeking out physical affection from him other than quick bro hugs and a slap on the back. 

The universe has other plans for him apparently.

That one night of couch cuddling seems to have opened the floodgates, because all of a sudden Ollie’s inundated by a tidal wave of physical affection from Wicky and it’s just becoming too difficult. Too difficult to ignore the onslaught of butterflies in his stomach when their hands brush slightly when they’re reaching for the salt at the dinner table. Too difficult not to stare at him when they’re watching a movie next to each other on the couch and he shifts over slightly so that their legs are touching. Too difficult to even begin to process and cope with the fact that Wicky has started coming into Ollie’s room to fucking cuddle with him. It’s too difficult because Ollie is finally allowing himself to hope and he doesn’t even fucking know if Pacer, Wicky, Pace, is anything other than straight. 

It’s just too goddamn difficult to be around his best friend. 

Ollie smiles down at where Pacer has tucked himself underneath his right arm, eyes softly shut and a peaceful smile playing across his face, and he feels his heart breaking. If he wants to preserve their friendship beyond this quarantine in any way shape or form, he needs to stop indulging himself like this. What if Pacer’s angry because Ollie’s taken advantage of him because Ollie’s using this- this thing between them to selfishly fulfill his own wants? What if Pacer’s only comfortable doing this because he thinks Ollie’s straight? What if-

Ollie squeezes his eyes shut and curls his hand into the sleeve of Pacer’s shirt, forcing that line of thought to come screeching to a halt before it becomes a trainwreck. He needs to stop thinking like that; Pacer’s not gonna abandon him after three years of friendship and being lineys because of some no homo, bro bullshit. Or at least, Ollie hopes he wouldn’t. Pacer’s not that kind of person. 

(Aww, fuck. He also needs to stop referring to him as Pacer in his head. He needs to distance himself from Wicky somehow, and he’s definitely not going to pull away from him physically, especially as they’re each the other’s only source of human contact for the next month or nine, so emotional distancing will have to do.)

He heaves a sigh and lets himself slump against the headboard, careful to make sure that Wicky’s head doesn’t fall too quickly from where it’s leant against Ollie’s shoulder. Wicky stirs at the sudden movement  and his eyes slowly open, a sleepy beam playing across his face and chestnut eyes staring intently at Ollie like he’s the moon gazing upon the sun. 

Ollie muffles a groan. He just doesn’t know what to think anymore. 

----

The second that Ollie and Pacer Wicks step onto the ice together for the first time it feels electric. They complement each other in every way; Pacer skates slightly faster than Ollie does, whilst Ollie has a slightly more accurate pass that finds Pacer every single time. It’s like they were made for each other. 

It’s fantastic.

(It’s torturous.)

Ollie finds himself spending even more time with Wicky than he originally planned for, and things just keep going from good to great. 

(They go from bad to worse)

They have the same taste in films to the extent that they now have a monthly The Princess Bride rewatch. They’re both cat people and it’s slipped into their pre-game routine to go for a walk together, looking for the neighbourhood cats and calling pspspspsp to them in the hopes that they’ll come running and grant them good luck before the game. They’ve won every game that they’ve stroked a cat before, so Ollie isn’t really inclined to let go of the superstition, and, judging by the way Wicky grins at the little fuzzballs, Wicky is equally reluctant to stop their pre-game walks. The best thing they have in common is that both of their leases are up at the end of this month; who’s Ollie to pass up the opportunity to live with the guy that’s rapidly becoming the most important person in his life?

(Ollie’s an absolute fool. Living with Wicky is going to kill him very slowly and definitely isn’t the way to rid himself of a crush that’s quickly morphing into something even more serious. 

Ollie is, once again, fucked.)

----

Ollie tries to pull away slowly rather than withdrawing all physical affection at once. It’s painful, but if it keeps Wicky from hating him, Ollie will gladly do it. Heck, if it was to protect Wicky, Ollie would do anything. 

He starts slowly. He shifts over a bit on the couch, leaving a deliberate gap between them on the couch, so that no wandering limbs can reach out for each other. He makes sure to hold out the condiments at dinner, so that there’s no way for either of them to find an excuse for their fingers to touch, no matter how much Ollie hungers for it. He starts spending more time in his room, doing his online college courses there, rather than in the living room like he usually does. He goes to bed earlier, hoping, wishing, praying that Wicks doesn’t try to join him for a cuddle. 

(Ollie ignores the little voice in the back of his mind that’s screaming to feel the press of Wicky’s warm body against his again. He ignores the wounded glances that he receives from Wicky every time he avoids eye contact. He ignores the aching pangs inside of his chest that appear whenever he spends too long gazing at Ollie.)

----

Moving in together is the best idea and the worst idea that Ollie’s ever gone along with.

Pros: He gets to spend every day with Wicky.

Cons: Spending every day with Wicky might actually kill him soon. RIP Oliver O’Meara. Cause of Death: Walking into the kitchen and seeing Wicky topless and sleep rumpled, muscles rippling as he reaches for the coffee. 

Pros: He knows Wicky almost as well as he knows himself.

Cons: He now knows that Wicky is hung up on someone after one particularly drunken ramble.

(Fuck.)

----

It’s a week after the first cuddling incident that Wicky pulls open the door to Ollie’s room and marches in, eyebrows lowered and eyebags darker than ever. Ollie immediately slams the lid of his laptop shut, straightening up from where he’s slumped against the headboard of his bed. He frowns. “What’s up, Wicky?”

Wicky freezes on the other side of the room. “What’s up?” he says, voice cracking and strangled. Yikes, this must be worse than Ollie thought it was. “You’re asking me what’s up?” He drops onto the bed, like a stone sinking to the bottom of a river. “You’re the one that’s disappeared recently.” He pushes the heels of hands into his eyes. “We used to do everything together and now whenever I look for you, you’re in here.” He tears his hands away from his face, to gesture frantically around the room. Wicky appears to be manic; his hair’s all ruffled and there’s this slightly crazed look in his eyes. “What did I do, Ol?”

Ollie scrambles out of bed to come and sit next to Wicky. He stretches out a hand to comfort Wicky, but withdraws it as he fumbles for what to do or say. “You didn’t do anything, Pace,” he says softly, resisting the urge to reach out and swipe away the tears that are trickling intermittently down his cheeks. “It’s me that’s the problem.”

Wicky raises an eyebrow at him, stare stern in spite of the crying. “Really? So you’re completely fine with me cuddling you? And definitely didn’t start shutting down any of my attempts to spend time with you?” Ollie flinches and Wicky scoffs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I-” Ollie trails off, eyes wandering until his gaze meets Wicky’s. The look in Wicky’s eyes isn’t scornful, no matter how much it deserves to be, instead his eyes are calm and fathomless like the earth after a long-anticipated rain. “I didn’t want to hurt you, though I clearly failed in that respect. I’m just so worried that you’re going to think less of me, especially once I tell you that-” Ollie clamps his mouth shut, as words he’s barely even thought to himself start to tumble out into the open.

“Tell me that..?” If Ollie didn’t know any better, he’d think that there was a trace of hope in Wicky’s voice. “C’mon, Ol, I’m not gonna leave you, no matter what you say.”

Ollie rubs his hand across his eyelids before stuttering out, “I’m in love with you.” Shit, that is not what he meant to say. “Fuck, I mean, I like you. Romantically.” He hides his face in his hands. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I figured going cold turkey for a couple of days might do me some good.” He pulls his hands from his face suddenly and lets them drop to his knees. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That I like you? That I might be, fuck it, I am in love with you?”

The silence in the room answers that question for him and Ollie feels a tear roll down his face and a gutteral sob tear its way from his throat. 

“Fuck, Ol,” Pacer says, scrubbing a weary hand across his face, and that’s when Ollie knows that it’s all over, that he’s going to be rejected by the most important person in his life. “That’s definitely not what I was expecting, but it’s not unwelcome by any means.”

It’s not?

Ollie suppresses a sniffle as he voices this sentiment aloud. 

Pacer laughs, honest to God, laughs. “It’s actually very welcome, considering the fact that I’ve been pining for you since long before you got traded to Providence.”

He’s what-?

“I-” Ollie stumbles over the words, cheeks heating, “but you’re straight? And you’re hung up on someone?”

Pacer swipes a thumb across Ollie’s cheek, tracing the trail of his blush. “Ol, when did I ever say I was straight?” he asks, his gaze intently focused on Ollie. “Anyway, it’s always been you.” He leans in closer, breathing out one final word before sealing their lips together. “Always.”

[yoonjinkooked]

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien | Jimin

moodboard by the lovely and amazing @flajka, who was also my #1 helper and support through the torturous 10 month journey that this story was. 

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Strangers to lovers, smut, romcom

Warnings: explicit sex, slight exhibitionism (fingering, out in the open but not in public, boat sex, oral (f and m receiving) brief but gory painting description, a lot of cursing, Jimin will end you Word Count: 19k+  Summary: You keep meeting a handsome stranger in Paris. One coincidence after another leads to the most amazing trip of your life A/N: This shit took 10 months to write. Thank @flajka, Kehlani and Jimin’s sexy Paris photos.  Spotify playlists for this fic are: 1 / 2 / 3  - I had to separate them because you can’t put Edith Piaf on the same playlist as Ace Of Base.  Hope you enjoy! 

Looking up from the screen of your phone, you blink once, twice, three times – you are not where you are supposed to be and Google maps are the stupidest invention ever.

It took you two hours to find your Airbnb apartment yesterday, all because Google maps were not quite user friendly. Not to mention that your sense of direction was utterly pathetic.

Yet despite all of that, you were absolutely positive that finding ‘Shakespeare and company’ would be an easy task – after all, you were so close to it, having just spent 10 minutes mourning the fact that the Notre-Dame was still very much unapproachable. From there to the bookstore, the route should have been easy to follow but alas, it was not. Somehow, you have managed to confuse yourself even further.

Looking around in place, you breathe a sigh of relief when you see the green doors and a sign that tells you that perhaps your sense of direction isn’t as bad as you think it is – ‘Shakespeare and Company’.

There it is, the bookstore with such rich history, one of your must-see places in Paris, something that the ‘Midnight in Paris’ lover in you had to tick off the list – there it is, right before you and very much closed. You check the time, finding that it is almost nine – a quick Google search, which is something you should have done before leaving your apartment – tells you that it opens up at half past nine.

You don’t have time, you absolutely don’t have time to sit around and wait for it to open. It’s going to take you some time to reach the 7th Arrondissement and once you do get there, two museums await. Wasting time, waiting for a bookstore to open is not a luxury you can afford right now.

Perhaps you will have time before you leave. After all, you still have a week to spend in the city of light and although your plans are pretty strict and well-organized, you are aware that some changes are bound to happen. But you will leave that for the last day – right now, you only have a few minutes of your life to offer to a closed bookstore.

As you take photos of the famed location, you recall the comments your mother made before you left, about how a young woman shouldn’t travel alone in a foreign country. She had a point – one shouldn’t travel alone if they want to have at least one photo of themselves on the memory card. It sucks a bit but you don’t let it dampen your mood – you don’t need photos to preserve the memories. A selfie stick was always an option but it was also beneath you – something you’ve decided when they first appeared.

“Is it closed?” a voice asks from behind you, making you jump a bit, as you weren’t aware that you had company. The man looking at you seems to be about your age and a tourist, if the camera around his neck is anything to go by. The brief once-over you give him lets you know he is also unnaturally attractive.

“Yeah,” you tell him, offering him a compassionate smile when you see his expression sour. “It should open soon though – about half an hour, if Google is correct.”

“Thanks for the info,” he smiles, before he lifts up his camera and starts taking photos. You realize that the chit-chat is over, so you resume taking photos as well. Just a few seconds later, his presence gave you an idea.

“Hey, would you mind taking a photo of me?” you ask sheepishly, smiling when he nods his head at once. “I’m travelling alone and I just want at least one photo of me in the folder, you know?”

“I can relate,” he chuckles as he takes the camera from you. “How do you want to take it? Casually touristy, right in front of it or artsy, with you looking up at the sign in awe?”

“Artsy,” he laughs at your immediate response, to which you simply shrug. “When will I be artsy if not in Paris?”

“Touché,” he agrees, before directing you so that he can take a decent shot. “Turn a bit to the left.”

A few seconds later, it’s his turn. After settling your own camera around your neck, you take his and take a few photos of him as he stands in the same spot you did, looking up at the sign in fake awe. This gives you a chance to properly look at him for the first time. He is indeed handsome, insanely so. Dark brown hair swept away from his face, insanely clear skin and a jaw that could cut right through glass. Looking right at him is almost blinding and you rush to take the photos.

“All done,” you smile as you return the camera to him. “I think you have a few decent shots there.”

“Thanks,” he smiles as you adjust your backpack, ready to take your leave – Shakespeare will have to enjoy your company some other day. “Enjoy the rest of Paris.”

“Yeah, you too,” you smile back at the man, mumbling under your breath as you leave because it serves you right to meet the most handsome man ever half-way across the world.

By the time you finally escape the Parisian metro, you are dead tired. Musée Rodin was just as beautiful as ‘Midnight in Paris’ made it seem to be. You’ve spent the good part of the morning roaming it’s gardens, before finally moving onto Les Invalides, which housed the tomb of the oh so great Napoleon Bonaparte. That was arguably less exciting than Musée Rodin, with you actually giving up on it completely as soon as you saw his tomb. The comments you thought of while admiring the size of the tomb and him obviously carrying his complexes into afterlife were left to you alone, making you chuckle at random times and earning a few curious looks from your fellow tourists.

Your tourist escapades ended at Champ de Mars, with an impromptu picnic which included sitting on your jacket and eating a marvelous French feast made up from pre-packaged Starbucks caramel macchiato and salt&vinegar chips – mmm, so French it hurts. Originally, you wanted to wait for the infamous light show to start but after just an hour, you have already given up and made your leave, hoping not to get lost in the metro yet again.

Luckily, you didn’t. You were so tired by the time you got to the place you rented in the outskirts of Paris that you barely had the energy to shower. And tomorrow, with Versailles being your top priority, your day was bound to be even more tiring.

You are fuming, absolutely fuming, wanting nothing more than to curse out loud and stomp on the ground. You have been tricked and that was just the drop that made the glass overflow.

You woke up with a massive headache and after forcing yourself to eat a bit, you could finally drink medication. By the time you were ready to leave your rental apartment, the timetable you made for today was already long forgotten – you’re at least an hour late.

But that isn’t a problem. It’s not even the ever confusing metro, because somehow, with a lot of help from locals, you’ve managed to figure out where you should wait for the right ride to Versailles. All of it was a bit stress inducing but definitely not a problem. The real problem occurred when you were in front of the magnificent golden gates, which you couldn’t even see because of the massive line.

Clutching your fast pass ticket, you approach a smaller line leading to the entrance, hoping and praying that you weren’t wasting your time waiting there instead of in the massive crowd, hoping that your fast pass can actually let you pass, fast.

You were mistaken. Apparently, every single human being waiting in the long ass line also had the fast pass ticket. How long do people without a fast pass have to wait is a question you don’t even want to know the answer to. With a few huffs and puffs, you took your place in line, annoyed at anything and everything, starting from the stupid agency who sold you this worthless ticket, right down to your best friend who suggested taking this trip together, only to bail on you to let her boyfriend take her to Ibiza.

As if all of that was not enough to ruin your mood, rain had started to fall, damping your clothes enough so that they match your mood.  At least you were ready for it, having read up about the unpredictable early summer rains of Paris and making sure to never leave the apartment without your hideously yellow umbrella.

An hour and a half later, you finally put the damn fast pass into use and enter the extravagant home of some Louis – you’re not ashamed to admit to not know which one. After all, you were about to learn.

The inside of the magnificent palace left you with mixed emotions, in all honesty. On one hand, it truly is as grand and striking as you had always imagined it to be. On the other hand, the crowd was killing you. Teens running around and touching things they shouldn’t be touching, people looking at everything through the screen of their phones and cameras instead of actually looking… It all left you feeling a bit on edge and wishing you had a chance to attend a private tour or something. Knowing that you will probably experience the same thing later today in the Louvre wasn’t helping either.

Every time you would pass a window, you found yourself wanting to be outside and after an hour of torture and not being able to enjoy anything, you have finally given up – fuck the rain, fuck it all – most people are still inside to avoid the rain after all and you do have your trusted umbrella with you.

Stepping into the gardens of Versailles was the best decision you could have made and you regretted not making it sooner. There were very few people outside and even the light drizzle could not ruin the experience of such a beautiful place. It’s fascinating, really, to look from the balcony above and to not see the end to all the gardens, green labyrinths, with many fountains and statues placed at nearly every corner.

It was almost impossible for you to decide where to start, so you just decided to roam freely, with no end goal in mind. You don’t even bother with your camera much, once you reach the seemingly endless green maze. The view from higher ground is magnificent but as you walk around, all you see is green hedges, incredibly tall green hedges – a very literal maze of plants. The smell is comforting – a mixture of the familiar smell of rain and of plants – more specifically, grass.

You wander around, enjoying the peace and quiet. There are more people in the maze but they are far from you and compared to the crowd you were in just minutes ago, they are ignorable, unless they are heading directly in your direction.

You recognize him instantly – other than a few locals you’ve asked for directions, he is the only person you exchanged more than one sentence with – it’s the guy from ‘Shakespeare and Company’, walking towards you. Your fear of awkwardness makes you lower the umbrella so that you can pretend that you simply didn’t see him. You only lift the umbrella up when you see his feet walk by you.

It would be weird and awkward. What do you say to someone you recognize but don’t really know? Hey? What if he doesn’t remember you and you embarrass yourself for no good reason? No, this was completely ignorable, luckily for you.

You are not fast enough the second time. The next crossroad in the maze leaves you making eye contact with him, as he is standing parallel to you, with a solid distance in-between. Solid enough for you to still pretend you do not recognized him. The eye contact made you feel a bit uneasy because what if he remembers you too? The awkwardness you’ve wanted to avoid might have just doubled.

So you walk on, taking a left turn as soon as you find one, finding the first ‘hidden room’ of the maze and a breathtaking, extravagant fountain that all but begs for you to take photos of it. Consciously steering away from the direction he seemed to have been taking, you walk along.

Left, straight, left again, straight, a bit to the right – you even manage to lose track of your surroundings, hoping that you are heading towards the gigantic fountain you’ve seen from the upper balcony.

Yet somehow, you still manage to see him again and much to your dismay, make direct eye contact. He is standing parallel from you and before you turned around and started walking, you could see what looked like mild confusion on his face.

Crap. He must have recognized you to a certain extent and now you’re making it painfully obvious that you are running away from him. For no good reason, too. You could have simply said “Oh hey, I remember you from yesterday, enjoy Versailles” or something along that line and made your exit but no, god no, you just had to make a fool of yourself.

You’ve never taken pride in your title of awkward social potato and this little mishap has to rank pretty high on your list of embarrassing moments. Sure, weird eye contact isn’t that big of a deal but the fact that it could have been easily avoid it and wasn’t only makes it 10 times worse.

Surprisingly enough, as soon as you realize that you’re being ridiculous, you have a chance for a do-over.

By the time you’ve reached the grand fountain, with a very confusing yet majestic statue of horses in the middle of it, you see him again, standing right on the edge of it, luckily not looking your way. Once again you are reminded of just how good looking he is and it’s not helping you with what you are about to do, since insanely attractive men tend to make you nervous and tongue tied.

“Well, at least the Versailles was open,” you try to sound as casual as possible as you stand a few feet away from him, watching as confusion disappears from his face as he puts two and two together.

“I thought I recognized you,” he laughs and you realize that his laughter is as melodic as his voice. Damn him. “They opened yesterday minutes after you left,” he tells you and to that you shrug.

“Nine days in Paris aren’t enough – I had museums to see,” you tell him, watching as he nods in understanding, still smiling at you. “I hope you enjoyed it, though.”

“I did,” he tells you. “Since you’re here, would you mind taking a photo of me?” he sounds as sheepish as you did yesterday. “You’re the only stranger I’d trust with my camera,” he adds. He makes a simple sentence like that hit you like a full force flirt and by the time you actually take the camera from his hands, you are positive you are blushing.

You take a few photos of him, his insanely good profile in particular, hoping that you are not drooling all over yourself. “Return the favor?” you ask, lifting your own camera, to which he laughs and extends his hand to you.

Posing is always awkward, period. Posing to a hot stranger is borderline traumatic. You do it anyways, looking away from the camera because you’ve had enough “eye contact” with him to last you a lifetime. Awkwardly standing in front of him, you wait as he checks the photos before smiling up at you and offering the camera back to you. “Perfect.”

“Thanks. Enjoy the rest of Versailles,” you casually announce your departure, feeling relieved and regretful at the same time as you walk away from him, backwards. In all honesty, the kind smile on your face made you want to stick around for a while longer.

“Thanks, you too.”

You turn around and walk away, taking a deep breath to relax yourself. The Louvre awaits – hot strangers will have their turn some other time.  

Four days in Paris were enough for you to start your own list of unpopular, maybe even popular, opinions about the city. You were always interested in the city but never obsessed with it, like many are, so you’d say that your opinions are unbiased, at least to a certain extent.

For example, Parisians are nice and they actually do make an effort to speak English if you ask them something. Of course, not everyone has the same experience but the urban myth of them being condescending, rude and downright ignoring people who speak English was proven to be false.

Yes, the city is gorgeous but it has so much to offer beside a fairly tall tower.

And last, but certainly not least – the Louvre is overrated.

After waiting in rain, again (not the museum’s fault, obviously), you finally got inside, only to proceed and get lost four times. Actual four times, you had no idea where you were and where you were supposed to go next. You were nearly trampled in front of the Mona Lisa, all while watching in shock as the people were pushing each other to try and take a selfie with the iconic painting behind them. That was the first instance when you thought how much you hate people. The next one was when you saw a grown adult, a man in his 30s, grabbing an antique Greek statue by the balls.

It was at that point that the museum walking became torture to you. Paired with its confusing layout and the employees who either truly had no idea how to help you or simply didn’t want to bother with helping a pesky tourist, you ended up wandering aimlessly, looking at everything and nothing at all, wondering how much it would cost to get an exclusive, chaperoned, after-hours tour of the Louvre. Probably too much for someone who’s keeping cheap ramen in their rented apartment.

Muse d’Orsay, your present location, is something else entirely. It is painfully obvious that at least a third of the yesterday’s crowd only went to the Luvre because someone told them they should, you overheard a few say as much, and compared to that, the visitors of Muse d’Orsay came here on their own accord. It is decently full, but not crowded. The only place where you actually had to wait in line was in front of Van Gogh’s artwork, which was to be expected.

The entire place is casual, yet sophisticated, far less confusing compared to the gigantic mess that is The Louvre. You can take your time and go wherever, without having to consult a map and pray that you’re not confusing yourself even further. You can also sit and relax for a little while, which is something your tired feet are extremely grateful for but in a very unusual way, the people around you are making you feel uncomfortable. Most of them are casually sitting and sketching the gigantic clock, the centerpiece of Muse d’Orsay and while observing that is beautiful, it also remindes you that you are, to put it nicely, talentless in the same field.

So you keep on roaming, until you find your place on a bench set before an enormous painting. Definitely three times, if not four, your height, The Women of Gaul has your full attention. The piece is as eerie and hauntingly beautiful as it is confusing – like many times over the last couple of days, you’re not sure where to look first. What catches your attention, bizarrely, is the center character – a woman, standing tall and proud with an angry look on her face and holding a dead baby by the arm.

It appears as if she has killed the baby on her own accord – she’d rather lose everything she has than surrender. Admirable and scary at the same time. With all due respect to the masterpiece, she looks ready to bitchslap some soldiers.

“We meet again, stranger,” you only realize someone is talking to you when they sit a few feet away from you and you nearly choke on dry air when you realize it’s him – the Shakespeare guy, the Versailles guy, your unofficial photographer, in all of his ripped jeans glory.

“Wow,” you laugh. How big is Paris? How many people live here, how many tourists roam the streets every day? And yet three days in a row, you see him. “We keep bumping into each other.”

“Looks like our travel itineraries keep overlapping,” he chuckles. “I’m Jimin, by the way,” he adds, before the silence turns awkward. “It’s nice to officially meet you,” he offers you his hand, which you accept instantly.

“Y/N,” you shake his hand. “So, how’s Paris working out for you?”

“I love it,” he admits, looking away from you to focus on the much less friendlier woman in the painting in front of you. “I like it more than I thought I would, in all honesty.”

“Same here,” you admit, finding it quite easy to talk to him, given that you are usually definitely more apprehensive when it comes to people you don’t know. But hey, you know his name now – that counts, right? “From word of mouth alone, I thought it was a bit overrated but it has its charms. Plenty of them, actually.”

“Museums or city streets?” he asks, turning to look at you again. He has striking, dark eyes that have no trouble looking directly at yours – you, on the other hand, swallow a lump. “Which do you enjoy more?”

“A bit of both, depends on the day,” you sound way more casual than you feel. “You?”

“City streets,” he answers, focusing on the painting again. “Art is amazing but art is art, wherever you are. While cities… they’re all different. Each city has its own thing and as much as I enjoy looking at artwork, I’d rather pick… exploring the city, breathing it in. Polluted air and all.”

“Makes sense,” you agree, knowing just how right he is. A museum is a museum, whether it’s in Paris or the tiniest of towns. It’s fascinating but it’s still a building with four walls and a roof – outside, the streets, the people, the charm distinct to each city – that’s where all the fun is at.

“Have you seen the impressionism area?” he asks.

“Not yet, why?”

“Me neither,” he laughs, confusing you a bit. “Travelling alone is fun but at times it can get painfully dull. I thought maybe you’d want to look around the museum a bit more and then we can go somewhere?”

Oh. Okay. He wants your company. Surprising, yet flattering.

“I’d love to,” you find yourself answering, ignoring all the possible red flags you probably should have not ignored – after all, this is fairly similar to the plot of Taken, and you don’t have a Liam Neeson waiting to rescue you. Mr. Ripped Jeans Jimin has a point – travelling alone can be very dull. With how the two of you have been running into each other for days now, it seems like the universe wants you to have someone to talk to for a while. “Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?”

“Montmartre?” he suggests after considering your question for a few seconds. “The stairs in front of Sacré-Cœur are always a good idea?”

He isn’t wrong - Sacré-Cœur is very much on your bucket list – scheduled for tomorrow, right on time to see the sunset. But at the same time, you have no specific plans for this afternoon and Jimin does seem like he could be good company.

Why not?

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, feeling a metaphorical punch to your gut when his face lights up once you agree with his idea. “Let’s see those impressionists first, shall we?”

The language barrier is quite something. Despite knowing a few basic French words and phrases, your pronunciation is so damn tragic, no transaction was possible without the use of English and sometimes, like right now, lots of waving and pointing.

Jimin was looking at you in amusement while you desperately tried to explain that you need one chocolate croissant. By the point the lady behind the counter understood what you wanted, you were more than happy to leave with whatever the hell she’d give you, even if it’s not your precious croissant.

“Do you want something? Are you hungry?” you ask, wanting to treat him to some food since he insisted on paying for the bottle of wine that is currently in his backpack.

He nods, proceeding to speak to state his order in what sounds like fluent French. “I got some for you too,” he tells you as he elegantly stands in front of you, taking out his wallet and smiling as he sees that you are about to protest. “No way,” he shakes his head. “I’m paying – I ordered more. Besides, if you are buying the chocolate croissant, you obviously have no idea what you’re doing.”

A comment like that could have sounded extremely condescending coming from anyone else, but from Jimin, with his kind smile? No way. “You did not just diss a chocolate croissant!”

“Oh, yes I did,” he chuckles as he rushes to offer money before you can – defeated, but a little glad, you return your wallet into the bag, thinking how maybe you will treat yourself to more than instant ramen for your lunch tomorrow. “I love chocolate as much as the next guy but the raisin one? Hell, even the plain one – much better,” he tells as he takes the bag and exits the bakery, leaving you to follow him.

“I’m all for experimenting but come on – it’s a chocolate croissant. It can’t be bad.”

“I’ve never said it was bad,” he laughs at you as you finally catch up with him and the two of you walk side by side. “I’ve just said others were better, which you will confirm once you try them. Now – do we walk or do we waste money on the lift?”

How can a question so simple be so complicated? Your feet hurt, you’ve walked more since you landed in Paris than you have the whole last month – of course you want to take the lift and avoid unnecessary stairs. On the other hand, stairs pretty much guarantee that you will have more time to spend with Jimin and so far, he’s been a decent companion.

“How about… we take the lift to go up and we walk on our way down?” you suggest.

“Deal.”

He didn’t have a chance to see Montmarte either, he tells you on your way up. Much like you, he had a schedule and he kept to it. Until today, when he spontaneously dropped his plans and invited you to spend the rest of the day with him. You did not have solid plans to begin with, so it wasn’t much of a change, save from the fact that you were in good company.

And good company he was – surprisingly, there weren’t many moments of awkward silence as the two of you tried to find a place that fits you both – that was a challenge, seeing as many people have gathered to enjoy the view, a nice drink and an impromptu performance by buskers. In the corner of the stairs, a little bit away from the crowd, the two of you sit and it’s a matter of seconds before Jimin is opening the bottle of wine with a swiss knife he pulled out of his bag – a bag that looks like it costs more than your monthly rent – not that you were paying any attention to it.

“So…” he starts, pausing to smile at you as he gives you your cup, before moving on to fill his own. “Tell me something about yourself. I only know your name and that we live in the same city.”

“And yet somehow we’ve met on a different continent,” you add, smiling when he ‘clinks’ his plastic cup against yours. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything,” he shrugs, nodding in approval at the taste of the wine. “Why Paris? Why alone? What’s your favorite color? An actor you hate but can’t explain why? Tell me anything.”

“Why Paris? Why not Paris? There are so many places I want to see, cities I want to explore and it all had to start somewhere. My friend had wanted to see Paris while I was pretty much up for anything. Of course, she then decided that Ibiza with her boytoy sounds like a better idea than Paris with her friend,” you add, sounding just a little bitter. It’s not the nicest thing she has done but you’ll get over it.

“And your boyfriend was not interested in the beauty of France?”

Now you are confused. His raised eyebrow and tiny, barely there smile, tell you that he is absolutely asking about your boyfriend for no other reason but to confirm whether or not you have one. However, this wouldn’t be the first time for you to completely misread signs and confuse flirting with casual conversation. You decide to play it safe and not waste time on reading between the lines.

“Don’t have one,” you shrug, looking away from him and focusing on the buskers. “It does get quite boring after a while. It would be nice to have a travel partner.”

“And if you don’t, you can always ask a random, kind stranger to take your photos for you?” you join in on his laugh, glad that you spoke up that day in front of ‘Shakespeare and Company’. If you hadn’t, chances are you wouldn’t have a conversation in Versailles, which then would not continue today.

If he can do it, so can you – the can of worms is wide open. “And what does your girlfriend say about you traveling without her?” you asks, before backtracking quickly. “Or boyfriend. Or one of each, really,” you add, making him laugh.

God, there really is no smooth way to ask about the relationship status of someone you barely know, someone you’re not even completely sure you like. If two are at a club, where the music is loud and they can’t even keep a conversation, ‘are you single’ is completely acceptable. And that setting is perfect for a rejection – if they say no, you just dance away to your drink or to the next person.

This? It’s a warm day in Paris and you are surrounded by people of all ages, families even. You have been talking about the city, travelling, art and now what, ‘are you single’ or ‘would you be interested in sleeping with me’ is the next topic of conversation? No, it doesn’t work that way. Especially when you’re not even sure what you want, much less what he wants.

“Well, I don’t have either of the two so I can’t really answer that,” is that a hint of a smirk you see on his face? Okay, you may not be a champion at flirting but it looks like things are heading that way.

“Interesting,” you mumble, earning an eyebrow raise from him. Shit. You panic and focus on the plastic cup full of wine, hoping that if you drink enough of it fast, the blush that is taking over your face can be attributed to the alcohol. It doesn’t help – you move the cup away and meet his eyes, only to find him obviously waiting for you to explain your comment.

“Are you going to explain why that’s interesting on your own or should I ask about it and force you to elaborate?” he asks and you immediately turn to your cup, making him laugh, loudly, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle and his whole body move.

“I’m awkward, please don’t make it any worse,” you tell him, a part of you hoping he won’t hear you.

“As you wish,” he is still laughing and you still want to die of embarrassment. That being said, him teasing you is a good sign, you think. Now, you’re fairly certain that you absolutely are in the flirting territory and while that doesn’t make things easier for you one bit, at least now you know you perhaps won’t make a fool of yourself if you are more straightforward. Or maybe you will. Who knows?! “Y/N, do you believe in destiny?” he asks and while you’re glad the topic is changed… really?

“That’s such a broad question,” you chuckle, pausing to think about it for a second. “I suppose I do, but you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. What kind of destiny?”

“Okay… first, do you believe that it’s all planned out? Like, your entire life?” he asks.

“Hardly,” you answer immediately, having thought about that already, many times in your life. “I suppose that to a certain extent, it is destiny. Like… the situations that you will be put in. But your reactions to said situations are your own. Destiny can’t control how you, or the people in your life, react to something. So I guess… no?” you try to sum it up, laughing at your own rant.

“Makes sense,” he agrees as he leans back, now almost lying down on the staircase, propped on his elbow as he looks away from you and towards the magnificent view of Paris. You realize once again that he looks like a full course meal, skinny jeans and all, and you reach for your plastic cup for solace, again. “Some things are set in stone… like where you’re born, who your parents are, maybe even who you’re going to be in life. But not the tiny details… like what kind of friend you are, if you can cook or not, who will be your first kiss and so on… Is that what you meant?” he asks, suddenly turning his eyes on you and faced with them, you nearly choke on the drink you’ve been hiding behind.

Damn him and his eyes. And his smirk. And yes, his ripped skinny jeans too.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And what about us?” he asks, smirking your way again. “We’ve been running into each other all over Paris… that’s why I thought that there has to be a reason behind it… don’t you agree?”

“Could be,” you agree, knowing that no matter how skeptical you might be about the concept of destiny, even you have to admit that the amount of times the two of you have crossed paths this week is something unusual. “You think it was destined for two of us to meet and hang out on these stairs?”

“Why not?” he laughs, sensing the trace of skepticism behind your words, even though you mostly agreed with him. “I can accept that not every cute girl I meet is destiny playing its tune but we couldn’t have avoided each other even if we tried, could we?”

You’re cute. Okay. You can live with that. You can definitely live with that.

“What else does destiny want us to do?”

You’ll admit it, you feel bolder now, knowing how shamelessly he had admitted that he obviously thinks you’re cute. Sure, you’re not nearly as bold as you wish you were but… step by step?

“Well, there’s this party down at the 8th Arrondissement that I thought of going to. Nothing huge, just a regular club. We don’t have to, if you don’t feel like partying. If you do, we can sit here for a while longer and then take a cab down there or something?” he suggests.

First he thinks you’re cute. Then he wants you to go clubbing. Sure, he isn’t hitting on you per se, but he obviously wants to spend more time with you and knowing that makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. Maybe it’s the butterflies that you’re feeling now, after ages of them being MIA, maybe it’s the way Jimin looks at you, with the tiniest of smirks gracing his face, or maybe it’s just Jimin himself – you’re not sure and frankly, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line is, he wants to spend more time with you and despite you not really giving a shit about destiny, you do want to spend more time with him too.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

And then he goes and bites his lip, mid-smile.

Yeah, there’s no way in hell you’ll survive clubbing with him. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try.

It didn’t take you long to realize that Jimin is a piece of work, in the best ways.

He is confident when approaching strangers, whether it was you, earlier today, or a random person to ask if the two of you could join their table. He can handle his drink and he does, in fact, drink quite a bit. His behavior doesn’t change – he’s still smiley, friendly, his words never slurring, his walk as perfect and sexy as it was when he was 100% sober – the only real change in his appearance is that three tequila shots in, he’s red in the face.

You? You’ve stopped drinking one shot ago, not wanting to push yourself into the state of ‘please fuck me in the alley behind this park, Mr. Stranger’ because you do tend to turn clingy after drinking a bit too much. No, this time around, you’ve kept yourself tipsy enough to throw away some inhibitions but sober enough to not jump on the guy in the middle of a crowded club.

And lord almighty, it is crowded.

You would have never thought that Parisians and a couple of tourists would be this into 90s trash music but here you are, dancing the night away with a hot as hell stranger to the tune of ‘Be My Lover’. You’ve been dancing nonstop for what feels like hours, the only break happening when he goes to the bar to get the two of you drinks and you take that chance to lean against the wall to catch your breath.

You want to chastise yourself for trusting a stranger with your drink but after debating it while you were still sober, you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re going to trust said stranger. 

Taking a deep breath, you rummage through your bag, trying to find something to cool yourself down with, settling for a brochure you had picked up in Musée d'Orsay earlier today. You fan yourself, staying comfortably away from the crowd that’s dancing like their life depends on it.

It’s hot, it’s crowded, you’re tipsy and if you’re being completely honest, you’re turned on. Yes, in a tiny, dark, hole of a club, with a 90s eurodance song in Spanish blasting through the speakers, you can still manage to feel that way and it’s solely because of him.

For the past two hours, he has been flirting with you in ways that make you wonder if he’s actually flirting of he’s a hallucination of your deranged mind.

He hasn’t stopped touching you all night, but he does so in ways that are not… obvious. He holds your hand while you are walking through the crowd. He puts his hands on your waist while you’re dancing, but they’re positioned in a way that makes you think he just enjoys having a dance partner, not that he wants to fuck your brains out. He is close, but not close enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wants to kiss you. It’s driving you insane and you’re feeling hot – literally and metaphorically.

The song changed to something a bit more bearable for listening, but still trashy enough, when you finally felt your body relaxing and calming down after the onslaught of senses it has been through in the last two hours. However, the moment you think you’ll manage to cool your head, you see him.

It’s not that he is hot. Sure, he is hot as hell and nice on the eyes, which is something you see others noticing, as they turn their heads while he walks past them, drinks in hand. It’s not that he is so damn charming, although that plays a part too. What’s really getting to you is simply the way he looks at you.

Even now, in the crowd, as he makes his way to your little makeshift hideaway, his eyes are directly on you. He’s not even paying attention on if he’s spilling your drinks or not – nope, he is looking right at you. And despite the feeling of panic that causes, you can’t look away. You can’t hide from it, you can’t fight it – you just have to keep eye contact with him, even though you feel like weak prey.

You’d lie if you say that there weren’t moments when his eyes would look… elsewhere. Your lips, your neck or at the tiny trace of cleavage your shirt lets him see (is that one a blessing or a curse?)…  That you could deal with, as much as you were figuratively on fire. But a man with confidence to look you directly in the eyes, all the time? Yeah, you’ve kind of wanted die.

Especially now, with him sliding through the cracks between people, smiling your way, eyes burning into yours. With mere seconds to get yourself ready for him, you take a deep breath, thanking your lucky stars that he looked away, enough to put your drinks on the table next to you.

“I know you didn’t want anything, but I got you a cocktail in case you change your mind later,” he tells you and the only reason you actually understand every word he is saying is because you are staring at his lips. The music is loud, loud enough to make you want to come closer to him and ask him to repeat his words but at this point, you are a certified lip reader because good god, his lips.

“That’s okay.”

You wanted to say more, you really did, but the moment he put those drinks down, his hands were on your waist and he was close now, closer than he was before, with just an inch of space between your face and his. And even this close, even with a damn inch between the two of you, he stares into your eyes, directly into your eyes, as if he knows what he’s doing to you. And frankly, he most likely does.

“Let’s dance, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You let him take you down into the crowd again, not even noticing the loss of your precious brochure you’ve used as a makeshift fan. You let him stay close to you and you let him keep his hands on you at all times. You let him take over your entire mind, knowing that at this point, you can’t think of anything that isn’t him.

Where? Where are guys like these? Where are guys who are confident, funny, charming and sexy, without trying to get into your pants like desperate teenagers? He has the right amount of everything and a part of you wonders where are others like him? But with him in front of you, directly in front of you, with barely an inch of thin air between you, does it really matter?

You’ve given up, totally and completely. You let him eat you up with his eyes, sway your hips to the beats of bad music in any direction he wants, smiling back at him when he smiles at you.

He is closer now, even closer than before, your noses brushing against each other every other moment. He is closer and you feel like you’re going to faint if he doesn’t do something, anything really.

It’s a weird feeling to describe. You don’t know what you want but you want it, bad. And while in theory, it would be easy to take the last step and just kiss him, you can’t do it. What’s stopping you – you don’t know, you really don’t. Yes, he hasn’t explicitly said that he wants you to do anything but his actions speak enough on their own. You could close the space between the two of you and end the misery but you can’t. Something is stopping you and at this point, it feels suffocating.

All of it. Him, the crowd, the sweaty bodies all around you – it’s too much. You need fresh air. Right now.

“What time is it?” you yell at him and you can see he’s surprised – you’ve mostly been quiet, overcome with everything else to form rational thoughts. Not only that, but you’re asking about time, of all things.

“Almost 1:30AM,” he tells you, after glancing on his wristwatch, before returning the hand back on your waist. “Why? Do you want to leave?” he asks and for one second, one damn second, you see a trace of something other than pure confidence on his face. It’s not insecurity or worry, not even disappointment. It looks like a mix of all three and something else, but it’s all very faint and lasts for barely a second before he smiles at you. “It’s okay if you do. Truly.”

“It’s not that I want to leave,” you mumble, before remembering you’re in a damn club. So, you close the space between the two of you and put your lips to his ear, brushing his skin as you speak. “It’s not that I want to leave. But I need some fresh air. We can come back if you want to.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks as you pull away and you nod. “You sure?” he asks, looking at you with worry in his eyes. He’s questioning it, if only a little bit, probably worried that you’re running away and he’s being pushy. Which isn’t the truth. You are running away, but not from him, not exactly.

“Yes,” you laugh, taking his hand, as if to show that you mean it. He smiles back at you and leads the way. You think he’d go back to your borrowed table, so that he can finish his drink but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he leads the way to the area where you left your bags in exchange for 5 euros.

Seeing as you are the only ones leaving this early, the exchange for your stuff is quick and by the time you are breathing in the cool Paris air, it hasn’t been more than a few minutes since you’ve expressed your desire to leave. And the cool air helps. Well, it’s either the cool air or the fact that Jimin isn’t attached to you at this moment. With a bit of distance between you, you can actually use your brain.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he watches you take deep breaths. “We can walk it off if you’ve had too much to drink? I can walk you back to your place if you want to leave?” he suggests.

“No,” you smile at him, feeling a little bit overwhelmed by how helpful he is, as well as worried. “I’m not wasted. I don’t even know if I’m tipsy anymore,” you tell him. Sure, you might not be tipsy from the alcohol but he is a different story – you are very much drunk on him. But you won’t tell him that. “I just needed a bit of air. Maybe we can walk? Then come back or something?”

“Sure, yeah,” he nods and you lead the way. “You know, we don’t have to come back here because of me. I’m perfectly fine with just walking around. We can go somewhere else or find a bench to sit on. I can call a cab for you if you want to go back to your place.”

“I’m enjoying tonight very much,” you reassure him. There are… so many other things that you’d like to say, about him and the way he makes you feel, but you just… don’t have the balls to do so. So you simply settle with reassuring him that you’re enjoying the night. “Let’s just walk around and then figure out what we want to do next. The same goes for you – I’m fine with doing whatever you want to do.”

“You know, the last light show of the night is at 2AM,” he tells you, glancing at his watch quickly. “We can still catch it, if you’d like to. Maybe we even have time to go to the tower itself but we can definitely make it to Trocadéro on time?” he suggests and even though you normally refuse to be such a basic tourist, a huge part of you is excited at the thought of seeing the tower light up.

“I haven’t seen it yet. You want to go?” you ask, continuing with the tradition he had started of questioning everything for whatever reason.

“Sure, let’s go.”

There are people roaming around the area – of course there are, it’s Paris, there are tourists in every nook and cranny of the damn city. However, the numbers are smaller than they were when you went here the other day. You were definitely not alone but you did manage to find a section of the fence where no one was waiting with their cameras ready. Which is exactly what the two of you are doing now, waiting to capture the perfect moment of the tower lighting up.

You’ve been fairly quiet since you’ve left the club but it wasn’t the negative kind of silence, not at all. It was the silence that comes after a slightly overwhelming moment. You’re not sure if Jimin feels the same and if he does, he sure didn’t show it, but he was quiet along with you, speaking up only when you do, smiling your way whenever you’ve felt brave enough to make direct eye contact. It was comfortable and it made you realize just how much you have let this total stranger get under your skin.

“Doesn’t this feel a bit like the New Year’s countdown?” you ask, adjusting your camera so that the tower is right in the center of it – as much as Jimin is overwhelming, you still want to capture a decent photograph. It’s a once in a lifetime event. At least for us, non-Parisian commoners.

“It does,” he chuckles. “Ah, here we go!”

It’s impossible not to laugh at all the sighs of wonder you hear coming from around you. Yes, it’s a beautiful sight but… come on! It’s not a natural phenomenon; it’s a tower with lights on it! You sense Jimin reacting to it the same way you do, laughing a bit at the amazement of everyone around you but still taking a photo and enjoying the moment.

“Wait, let me take a photo of you,” he tells you and to your surprise, he doesn’t ask for your camera – he simply steps back with his. You don’t say anything and you try not to think too much of it but at the very least you are now expecting an exchange of social media or emails, knowing that you now have a perfect excuse of contacting him. Unable to hide a smile at the realization, you try to strike a casual pose, all while feeling like a complete idiot because he is looking at you again. “Wait,” he suddenly says and walks back up to you, reaching his hand closer to your face. “May I?”

You nod, not even sure what exactly you’re agreeing to here. Gently, he runs his hand through your hair, similar to the way he runs it through his own hair a few times a minute, messing it up a little bit. You don’t exactly have a mirror on you right now, but you imagine it’s the cute kind of messy, not the messy kind of messy. Why would he want you to look like shit for the photo? So, you let him, trying to ignore the way your pulse races because of him being so close. “There,” he steps away from you, smiling.

“Messy enough?” you joke, laughing when he does.

“It’s not messy, it’s sexy,” he tells you and yeah, your stupid heart is in overdrive, the butterflies in your stomach wilding and your face absolutely blushing. “It’s cute, natural. It’s more you than the preppy pose you’ve just tried to pull off,” and now he kind of insulted you.

“Hey!” you snap back, unable to keep a straight face when he starts laughing again. “You’ve known me for a few hours, how do you know preppy poses aren’t my thing?”

“I just know,” he shrugs. “Now act natural. Smile.”

You wanted to fight him back in a passive aggressive way and remain preppy but you just can’t – not with him making you smile. So you smile and giggle, pretending like he doesn’t have a camera in front of his face. If he wants you to be natural, you’re going to be natural.

After a few shots, he moves the camera away from his face and gives you the most blinding smile he had given you so far.

“Your turn,” you order him, unsure how you can even talk anymore. You feel like jelly on the inside and it’s actually quite worrying, seeing as you haven’t felt like this many times in your life. Of course, you liked people, you dated people, hell you’ve even loved a guy or two! But god good, they’re not Jimin. The guy has it all and all of it is affecting you in ways you didn’t know you could be affected.

You swallow a few lumps as you try to focus on the tower too, and not just him, because yes, it kind of needs to be in the picture too and that is the whole point of this, isn’t it? It takes you a few tries but you end up with a good shot. No matter how tonight ends, you’ll have a palpable memory of Jimin saved in your camera and you’d be lying to yourself if you say that doesn’t make you feel a bit more at ease.

“How can something be so tacky and so breathtakingly beautiful at the same time?” you ask while walking back towards the fence, letting the camera dangle around your neck as you stand next to Jimin.

“It really is amazing, isn’t it?” he chuckles. This time around, you are the one shamelessly staring – he is too preoccupied with looking at the tower. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s Paris, or just tonight or maybe even you, but everything feels so… I don’t know, honestly,” he laughs, shaking his head as if he’s in disbelief. “I guess I’m just… really enjoying tonight.”

Here he is, this… beautiful, hot, kind, charming stranger, right next to you. Just a few days ago, he was no more than a fellow tourist. Just a few days ago, you didn’t think much of him. Today was a different story. Today, he didn’t let you push him into the back of your mind. Today he had made himself the focus of your day, night and quite frankly, this whole damn trip.

You don’t have to see him ever again if you don’t want to. If destiny keeps messing with you, you might run into him back home but by then, enough time would have passed for you to be able to keep your cool. If it goes good… it’ll go good. And if it goes bad, you can go back to pretending like none of this ever happened, and that your whole Parisian escapade was not Jimin centric. It might be easier said than done but you’re a tough cookie. You can do it.

Why not go for it? Seriously Y/N, why not go for it?

So you do.

You step closer to him and reach your hand out, putting it on his cheek and turning him to face you – he doesn’t have enough time to react properly but you can see the flash of surprise on his face. There is no time for him to say or do anything, because you lean in and press your lips to his.

Fuck it. Seriously, just fuck it. You’re here, he’s here and with doing practically nothing, he’d made you feel more than you’ve felt in months. As tacky as it is, you truly do only live once and you know yourself well enough to know you’d end up regretting not doing this.

You might regret it anyways, who knows. But you’d eat yourself away if you hadn’t gone for it.

You’d be lying if you said that the kiss is magical. Really, it’s awkward. Your lips are not much in comparison to his beautifully plump ones and while that could be overpowering, he technically isn’t moving. What you thought would be a kiss that would rock your world, ends up being nothing more than one slightly longer peck because he isn’t moving.

You can feel it – you’ve fucked up. You went for it and in hindsight, you shouldn’t have. Feeling absolutely mortified by his lack of response, you pull away, feeling even worse when you see the way he’s looking at you – no awe, no surprise, no excitement. He doesn’t look pissed either, or confused. It’s difficult to describe it but he’s almost… scowling at you.

You’ve fucked it up. But that’s okay. At least you won’t wonder about the ‘what ifs’.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking away from him quickly. As much as you’re trying to reassure yourself that it’s better to know than to wonder, you’re absolutely dying on the inside. If there’s a hole near here in which you could hide, right this second, you’d go there. Alas, you’re out in the open and have to deal with the mess you’ve made. “I guess I’ve misread the signals. I-“

With his hand on your back, he pulls you smack into his chest, not leaving any room between the two of you whatsoever. All that you see is him leaning into you with his eyes closed.

It’s not a peck – it’s anything but a peck. His lips guide yours to open and not even a second later, you feel his tongue moving against yours. He pulls you even closer to him, your bodies practically stuck together, with your hands squished between you. You feel him run his other hand through your hair, turning your head a bit towards the side so that he can have more access to you, as if he hadn’t had enough to begin with. His tongue is relentless and you’re absolutely sure that you’re about to faint, knees barely managing to keep your body standing.

You have never been kissed like this. Definitely not in public.

He pulls away slowly, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he goes. He’s not scowling like he was moments ago, but he’s also not the cute, smiley Jimin he was for the better part of the day.

And you? You’re honestly struggling to breathe. A kiss is a surprise itself but a kiss like that is not something that’s easy to survive. You’re well aware that you’re practically panting because of him but it’s hardly something you can hide. You’re affected and you’re going to be affected, no matter how embarrassed you are about it.

“If you’re going to kiss me,” his voice is low, much lower than before and it’s not helping your situation at all. “You should kiss me like you mean it.”

Fuck everything.

You grab his shirt and pull him towards you once again.

Life works in mysterious ways. Just this morning, you were a regular tourist, doing regular tourist things, sticking to your itinerary as you try to cram all of Paris into one week. And now? Now you’re pressed up against a wall of a random building in a part of town you haven’t ventured into before, making out with the hottest guy you have ever met, who is also pretty much still a stranger.

You don’t even care about how uncomfortable you are in this position – him kissing you makes it all better, very literally. He is a marvelous kisser – hungry, but not overpowering, with lips for days. He smells of cologne you have never smelt before but somehow know you won’t be able to forget anytime soon. Even the soft cotton of his white shirt that your hand is digging into feels heavenly.

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. All you can focus on is Jimin, to the point of even almost managing to ignore a whistle directed towards the two of you.

You’ve had it coming, really – almost dry humping in the middle of the street. When Jimin starts to pull away, probably because of the wolf whistle, you still chase after him, desperately trying to keep your lips stuck together. He still moves away but not too far – he nuzzles into your neck, leaving you gasping for air at the feel of his lips attacking your neck.

Is it too far? Maybe. But too far is the exact direction in which you want to go.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” you suggest. You’ve never directly propositioned sex to someone you weren’t in a relationship with and while you were internally panicking, you also know he probably won’t refuse you. Unless the thing you’re feeling against your thigh is his phone and not him being happy to see you. “My airnbn is a bit far but we can go there?” you suggest, not wanting to be too direct and invite yourself to his place. Honestly, you’d even go into a public toilet at this point, but you’ll keep that bit of information to yourself.

He doesn’t respond immediately and you would have worried about it, if he wasn’t preoccupied with biting your neck, with enough force to leave marks and make you want to crumble. You shudder, actually shudder with pleasure as you feel his tongue run over your skin. “The place I’m staying at is just a few minutes away,” he finally speaks up, stepping away from you for the first time in what feels like forever. “Do you want to go there?” he asks.

The way he looks at you tells you he’s asking you more than to just go over to the place he’s staying at. You know it, he knows it. Even though it was your suggestion, he is still checking in with you, despite probably already knowing that you’d agree to pretty much anything. You laugh at his question.

“Jimin… I’m… I’m more than fine with going to your place, yeah,” you settled for that. Letting him know that you’d let him fuck you in the middle of the street, right here, right now, might be a bit too forward of you. Incredibly accurate but perhaps too forward.

The beaming smile you get from him when you agree serves like a confirmation to yourself that no, this is absolutely not a bad idea. This is everything you’ve hoped for but didn’t think would happen. This is the brief romance that novels are written about, a story you might remember when 30 years from now, your 20something-year-old daughter goes on her first trip to Paris and you remember him. Jimin will be your story, one that you might revisit often, depending on how the night ends.

Taking your hand in his, he leads the way and you follow blindly, enjoying his touch even during simple handholding. You want to do more, so much more, but if you do, you’ll never get to your end destination. Jimin must have sensed that, because the two of you are walking faster than you did this whole day – now you actually have a goal in mind. And what a goal that will be.

“Not to bring the mood down but we could have been going to your place a lot sooner if you’d kissed me back in the club,” you admit. Maybe that was a little bit unnecessary but you want to break the silence between you – and if you can compliment him in the process, why not?

“Hmm, maybe,” he sighs, suddenly letting go of your hand, only to hug you around the waist and pull you into his side, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re not the only one that was worried about misreading some signals. I wanted to be sure, so I consciously waited for you to do something.”

“Thank fuck I did because that was a close one,” you laugh in disbelief, amazed to know how close you were to this simply never happening.

“Not gonna lie, I was worried,” he laughs too, giving you another quick peck. You’re positive that you’re blushing again. Every time he kisses you, your stomach does somersaults, excited at the thought of him wanting to kiss you as much as you want to kiss him. Which is a lot. More than a lot. “I’m glad you mustered the courage to kiss a guy that’s quite obviously wanted to kiss you all afternoon.”

“For future notice – be more direct,” you warn him through laughter. The lucky girl who gets to experience him next deserves to be spared the inner turmoil you’ve went through. He spent the entire night dancing on the line between being very direct and not direct enough. One step in either direction would have settled your dilemma, so hopefully the next person will have more luck.

“I’m a bit preoccupied with you right now, thanks,” he chuckles as he sneaks his hand down to your ass and squeezes it shamelessly. You jump up in surprise but don’t feel particularly troubled about being in public, seeing as there is no public around you, at all. It’s just the two of you, walking along the river, the boats moored along the way seemingly empty. Feeling brave, braver than you ever remember feeling, you’re the one who initiates the kiss this time, making sure to show him how much you want this. You move slowly, enjoy the feeling of taking the lead and the lazy movements of your tongues, interrupted only when you feel the need to bite his bottom lip, which is way more often than you’d be willing to admit. Somehow, you once again end up being sandwiched between him and the half wall behind you. Seizing the opportunity, you sit on the half wall, pulling Jimin towards you by the belt – his hands find their way to your waist as he situates himself between your legs. This time around you’re sure it’s not his phone you’re feeling. It’s a very prominent bulge, noticeable enough to make you salivate at the very thought of what’s hidden. You’re not the only one acting braver – for the first time tonight, Jimin’s hands find their way under your shirt, eliciting goosebumps on your back almost immediately.

It’s when his fingers move to the front and graze your bra that you remember the two of you are still very much out in the open. And while at this point you wouldn’t particularly mind letting him have you here and now, the last thing you want to add to your Paris story is being arrested for indecent exposure.

“If you keep kissing me like this, we’ll never get to your place,” you warn him and contradict yourself immediately, attacking his neck with bites that make him sigh and shudder.

“Thank fuck we’re already here.”

You reluctantly detach yourself from his neck, looking around in confusion – you don’t see a house around you, at all. There’s nothing but the walkway and the park across the street. And as much as you like Jimin, you’re not going to fuck him on a bench which he sleeps on. He sees your confusion and nods towards the river. It takes you a bit too long to connect the dots.

“You’ve rented a houseboat?!” you ask in surprise and he gives you a quick kiss, pulling away with a smile.

“Of course,” he chuckles. “Hotels are boring. Boats are awesome.”

“Who even rents a boathouse?” you ask in wonder, all the while feeling slightly pissed at yourself because why the hell didn’t you think of that? It sure would beat your tiny airbnb, with a building that has no damn stairs – nothing but an elevator. Why would you be locked in such a claustrophobic space when you can have a damn boat? Lesson learned.

“I do,” he smirks at you. “And tonight, I’m going to fuck a very beautiful girl on that boat. So I guess it was a good call. Don’t you agree?”

“Yep. Wholeheartedly. You win.”

You know you’re going to die of embarrassment when he realizes just how wet he’s made you but you’re past the point of caring. With the words he says and the way he kisses you, you and your pussy never stood a chance.

Before you can kiss him again and prolong the wait, he takes your hand and leads the way, first down a set of concrete stairs and then towards the second houseboat in a row; it’s close to the ones on its side, but not too close for comfort. Climbing up the stairs that lead to the impromptu balcony on the boat, you immediately realize the appeal of choosing housing like this – once you can take your eyes away from Jimin’s ass, that is. No, once you are not looking at it, you can appreciate the view the boat has – you can even see the Eiffel tower, a bit down the river. The deck has a huge table, a few chairs and way more plants that a boat deck needs. It looks comfortable, beautiful and with how easily accessible it is, just a bit dangerous. All the words you can use to describe the man who is now kissing your neck, standing behind you as you reach and lean yourself on the boat rail, hoping it is safe.

“I see you’re an exhibitionist,” you laugh when he pulls you back so that your ass is right against his crotch and good god, you can feel how hard he is as he rolls his hips against you.

“No. Maybe just a little,” he chuckles. You laugh too, until you feel one of his hands leave your hips and reach for the button on your jeans. You gulp, eyes widening and as if he can sense your alert, he doesn’t unbutton them immediately. “You?” he asks. God, consent is so fucking sexy.

You’ve never dabbled in it, never really thought about it either but now, in this predicament? “Maybe just a little,” your voice is low as you give him permission. You weren’t joking when you thought that he can do anything he wants, were you? It doesn’t matter, because you said yes and holy fuck, his hand is going down your pants.

You jolt immediately and how could you not, when he went straight for your clit, right off the bat. Jimin does not play around, that much is obvious. You can only pray the fence is secure enough to keep you out of the water.

“Didn’t think you’d be this turned on by foreplay in public,” he laughs directly in your ear because the moment he ran his fingers against your slit, you threw your head back to lean onto him more, afraid of your legs actually turning into jelly because of him. “I’m proven wrong.”

“You don’t know me well enough to assume my sexual preferences,” somehow, you manage to laugh and remain sassy, thought that is cut short the moment he returns his attention to your clit, circling it very, very slowly. “But I suppose you found out some.”

“And I have the whole night to learn, don’t I, Y/N?”

“You do,” you bite your lip to hold back a moan because he started rubbing his fingers against you, the sudden change from slow to fast catching you off guard.

“You don’t have to keep quiet baby,” he presses a quick kiss against your neck, pushing you more into the rail as he rubs himself against your ass in a manner that almost has you begging for more. You are, internally, but not aloud. Not yet, at least. “I don’t think anyone could hear you down here. And I know I want to.”

“Duly noted,” you moan out because he presses his fingers into you harder – with the pressure and the speed, you know you’re going to fall apart way sooner than you’d though.

There has to be some flaw, right? He cannot be this perfect, no human being can be this perfect. If you were to stick around long enough, maybe you’d find a personality trait of his that makes him less perfect than what he is now, in your eyes, but you won’t be staying long enough to find out. For tonight, you’re more than fine with letting him be your little perfection.

“Let’s go inside?” he suggests as he drags his hand away from you and that is by far the worst thing he had done the whole night. You never want him to stop touching you, but that can be arranged at a more appropriate location. You nod, or so you think you do, unsure of your movements and thoughts, and you let him pull you by the hand and towards the door, pausing to fumble with the keys.

He opens the door and you stumble inside as he puts his bag on a hallway table – you choose to throw yours on the ground, waiting for him to turn on the lights. The moment you can see him clearly, the passion takes over you.

Driven by it, you all but slam him into the wall, almost laughing as his eyes widen in surprise. You don’t though – you don’t laugh, you don’t say anything. You simply reach for the hem of his shirt and lift it up slowly, making sure that your fingers cross every inch of skin you uncover. Seeing him shiver is worth the torture you’re putting yourself through, because a part of you wants to drop to the floor and start unbuckling his belt. You fight your own instincts, wanting and hoping to give him at least a fraction of the pleasure he had given you just moments ago.

Soft to the touch but very well defined, his body is a work of art that could rival those that you have spent the last few days observing. The tattoo you discover on his ribs serves as a perfect imperfection, a blemish on the canvas that somehow looks so right. Gulping, you let him take off his shirt and as soon as he does, you’re against him, kissing those lips of his again.

You don’t stay there long – slowly traveling under his chin, down his neck and all over his chest, staying there long enough, pressing soft kisses and licks until he is properly panting. When his hips roll, subconsciously looking for any kind of friction, you decide to move further down, slowly kissing a trail down his stomach, looking up at him, enjoying the sight of him so visibly… distraught. The moment your eyes meet, he closes his. And now you know you’re doing it right, if for the first time he is the one afraid of eye contact and how deadly it can be.

“You’re killing me,” he chuckles nervously, his voice breathless. And you simply smile, slowly unbuckling his belt and pushing the pants down to his knees as slow as you possibly can. You want to offer a remark about how he’s clearly enjoying it but his cock is one major distraction, in the best way possible.

He’s hard and ready, the sight filling you with instant pride because you know that you did that. You made him like this. A little bit pliant, a little bit breathless and very much not ready for what’s about to come. He’s hard, twitching under your gaze, making your mouth water. You still take it slow, enjoying the pace set to tease him – slowly licking the tip of his dick, smiling as you watch his Adam’s apple bob from above you – he still can’t look at you.

“I love how you’ve been staring me down the whole night and now you can’t handle looking at me,” you admit as you slowly drag your hand up and down his cock. Of course, now he opens his eyes and looks down on you but the lump he swallows shows you that even though he responed to your challenge, he is still very much affected and you’re living for it.

“I see you like to tease,” is what he says, making you smile.

“Very much,” you nod, giving him a quick lick that is followed by another muffled curse coming from him. “But I can be kind too,” you conclude, before finally taking him into your mouth properly.

It’s a bit of a challenge but you are more than happy to take it, slowly sinking your mouth up and down his dick, enjoying the symphony of noises that is coming from him. Every sigh, every curse, every moan – it all just makes you even more adamant to give him the best head of his life.

“Fuck Y/N,” he barely manages to say, moaning as you speed up your movements. He gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly starts guiding you faster, eyeing your reaction, despite being momentarily distracted by the sight of you taking all of him into your mouth. “Fuck, you look so… You’re gonna make me come,” he lets out a slightly panicked laughter, gently pushing you away from him, to which you pout. Despite not being that big on blowjobs, giving one to Jimin felt somewhat like a privilege and you wouldn’t admit that lightly. Not wanting to stop completely, you squeeze him in your hand, slowly moving up and down, watching as he goes through another crisis. “Y/N,” he laughs in warning, making you stop, albeit reluctantly.

“Isn’t it the point to make you come?” you ask but still stand up when his hands grab yours by the elbows and he lifts you up to stand next to him.

“Absolutely,” his eyes don’t leave your lips and he gives you a quick kiss, biting into your bottom lip hard enough to earn a moan. “But not like that, not before I fuck you. Not before I have my way with you.”

The smile on his face looks sinister enough to make you even wetter than you were moments ago. He doesn’t sound like a man who makes promises lightly and you get your confirmation as he puts his hands on your hips and starts pushing you back towards the room behind you. You’re too fucked out to notice anything other than the fairly modern design of the furniture around you. Before you can notice anything in particular, your ass slams into a hard surface and you jump up, letting him settle between your legs again and kiss you even harder than he did all night.

You’re the target now, and good god, you’re loving it. His lips alter between being gentle and harsh, kissing you with so much passion before biting, as if he wants to show you that he’s the one in charge. And you let him. By god, you let him.

He takes your shirt and bra off quickly, not wanting to drag it out like you did, but the moment you’re half naked before his eyes, he slows down. If him staring you down made you feel nervous before, you are positively burning right now because he is eating you up. He doesn’t even have to touch you – just the sight of him, looking like he’s about to ruin you is enough to cause goosebumps to form all over your body. He comes closer, attaching his lips to your chest. You are losing your mind because he is purposely slow, kissing you all over before finally attaching his lips to your nipple, taking it into his mouth and slowly rolling his tongue against it. You swear you can feel him smiling, but you’re too far gone to check – especially not when his hand reaches for your other breast, squeezing it shamelessly. You’ve been able to control your noises for a little while, but the moment his teeth come out to play, you’re a goner. With his fingers and lips moving at the same time, you can only moan, reaching towards something, anything to hold and settling for his hair. You grip it, perhaps a bit too harshly if his moan is anything to go by – but he doesn’t stop you. In fact, he simply sucks harder, making you arch your back towards him.

He’ll ruin you. He will absolutely ruin you and you are perfectly fine with it.

After what feels like an eternity, he detaches his mouth away from you and your eyes meet. He truly is a sight for sore eyes, especially now when he looks so blissfully fucked out. His hair is a mess, his lips red from all the kissing and sucking, his torso a work of art. He looks so fucking hot, you moan. At the very sight of him, you moan. He’s not touching you, he’s not teasing you, he’s not doing anything but looking at you and that is enough to make you moan, moan and rut your hips in his direction, looking for friction which you find in the form of his thigh. He lets you, he lets you move against him. Your moment of pleasure doesn’t last long, because he steps back, fumbling to unbutton your jeans. You lay down, ignoring the cold of the table against your naked back, lifting your hips to help him undress you completely. Unlike the slow, sensual moves that you used on him, he is quick, taking them off as fast as he possibly can. When you’re left in nothing but your underwear, that is when he slows down again, crouching down out of your sight.

“Fuck!” you gasp in surprise when you feel him nuzzling his nose against your clothed center – you can feel how wet you are and you know, you know he can smell it, feel it, see it and you absolutely do not care. In fact, you’re even more turned on by the thought of it – he clearly is enjoying it and you want nothing more than to let him know how good he’s making you feel.

He doesn’t torture you for too long and other than a muffled curse, he doesn’t comment on how wet you are for him. Instead, he goes right down to business, using his fingers to move your underwear to the side and he immediately attaches himself to your clit, sucking on it harshly, with the same fervor as when he was sucking on your nipples.  

“Fuck, Jimin!” you moan out, gripping his hair with all the strength you have, knowing that that must have hurt – again, he shows no signs of having a problem with it. Fuck, he probably even likes it.

“What is it baby?” he asks, not waiting for your response and instead choosing to lick up your center. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” you manage to reply, momentarily distracted by the feel of his finger sinking into you.

“If you let me, I’ll eat you out for hours tomorrow morning,” he tells you, pausing to bite on your thigh, a bite that you know will leave teeth marks, but you don’t protest. “As much as I’d be willing to do it for hours right now, I really need you on my cock.”

“Yeah, okay,” you laugh, biting your lip at the feel of him sinking another finger into you, slowly dragging them in and out as he stands up, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. You say nothing more – you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You move your hips in time with his fingers, riding them like you would, and hopefully will, ride his dick in a matter of moments.

“Bedroom?” he suggests as he stops his assault on you. You nod, somehow managing to sit up, nearly laughing at the sight of him. Half naked, with his jeans still hanging right above his knees, his member standing up proudly. How he could wobble you towards the table in that state is beyond you. You don’t have a chance to ask, too distracted with the sight of him licking his fingers, all while looking directly into your eyes. He’ll be the death of you, that’s for sure.

You stand up, leaning against the table as he loses the last articles of his clothing – you barely have the time to take a few deep breaths before he starts kissing you again, his tongue overpowering yours as you moan at the taste of him. You don’t bother opening your eyes, letting him lead you towards the bedroom, trusting him that you won’t end up overboard, hoping that if you do, you wouldn’t be too turned on to notice. You hit a wall and a door on your way there, giggling by the time he is pushing you onto a bed, finally letting you breathe. Standing above you, he somehow manages to look both menacing and hot at the same time. His eyes tell you to wait, which you gladly do, watching him as you settle yourself on top of the covers. You choke on your own breath when you notice his ass, for the first time without the barrier of skintight jeans – it’s a sight, alright. You watch as he fumbles through his suitcase, smiling at him when he turns around, waving a condom at you.

No matter how much you’re into him, there’s no way he’s fucking you without protection. You’re glad he’s on the same page, not even stopping to suggest going bare. While you’d like that and you’re guessing so would he, it’s simply not happening. He walks towards you, not putting the condom on immediately, instead choosing to give his member a few strokes, enjoying the view of you on his bed, naked and waiting. Though your lip bite was an unconscious reaction at the sight before you, he is affected, grunting at the sight – the moment the condom is covering his dick, he is rushing to get on top of you, finally letting you feel his whole body against your own.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he tells you before kissing you passionately, flicking his tongue slowly as he settles between your legs. He doesn’t enter you immediately, instead choosing to grind onto you, making the both of you moan into the kiss. You’re the one who pulls away, if only for a moment.

“Please,” you moan out, enjoying the feel of his dick rubbing against you, pushing you closer to the edge – too close, considering you didn’t even have a chance to feel him inside of you. “Please just fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he gives you a quick kiss before finally sliding into you. Slowly and with ease, he fills you up in a way that makes you moan – louder than you did the whole night, feeling absolutely shameless. You don’t care, you don’t care where you are or who can hear you, if anyone – he feels that damn good.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, taken by surprise with him slowly rolling his hips into you. It’s as if he can tell you need no more time to adjust to him, he starts moving a bit faster with each roll of his hips, making you curse out as you grab onto him, your fingers digging into his skin. It seems he enjoys you being rough with him, showing him how good he’s making you feel because he isn’t complaining and you know it has to hurt. He wastes no time, dipping down to take your nipple into his mouth, never stopping his dick from moving in and out of you in the best of ways.

“God,you’re so tight baby!” he grunts as his thrusts become harder and faster, so much so that you faintly notice the sound of the bed thumping into something, most likely the wall. You don’t care, you really don’t – you pull him closer to you, blindly reaching for his lips, enjoying the way he overpowers your senses, even smell - he smells like sex and expensive cologne, the most mouthwatering scent you’ve ever had the pleasure of smelling. The moment your lips touch, you feel his hand graze your clit, eliciting a particularly loud moan for you. Unable to focus on anything, you give into pleasure and let him do whatever he wants with you, the onslaught on your senses killing the little sanity you had left.

You dare and think it can’t get any better than this and right as you do, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, pinching your clit between his fingers at the same time. You weren’t ready – you weren’t ready for it at all and with his actions catching you by surprise, you lose the little control you’ve had, coming hard. The orgasm washes over you stronger than any orgasm in your recent memory, making you gasp and moan, holding onto him with all the strength your body has left. He is losing his cool too – his hands give in and he’s pressed up against you completely, lips grazing your ear. “Just like that, come all over my cock,” he urges you through your high, his words making it even harder for you to calm down.

Body shivering, you somehow calm down your breathing – it’s a challenge, seeing as he still hasn’t stopped moving completely. He slowed down enough not to send you in complete overdrive too soon. Even his consideration is a turn on – almost as strong of a turn on as him using your body to pleasure himself, still rolling his hips into you and moaning softly, directly into your ear, the moan turning more high pitched when he feels your nails running up and down his back.

Turning your head towards him, you search for his lips. He kisses you eagerly, stilling himself inside of you for a moment, as if he wants to focus on the kiss and kiss alone. Slowly, he moves away from you and leans back, running his hand up your thigh. He raises his eyebrows as he pushes your leg up, asking you for permission. You nod, moaning as he moves your leg towards the side. Quickly, you turn to your side completely and judging by the moan he lets out, that’s exactly what he needed you to do.

You want to do more, you do. You want to ride him till you can no longer move but he is so damn overwhelming, all you can do right now is just… take it. And you’re not complaining. Slowly but surely, the pleasure builds up again and you realize there’s a strong chance you’ll come again. Suddenly brave again, you look at him, directly at him, as you put a hand between your legs and start rubbing yourself. The moment he realizes what you’re doing, he looks down, lifting your leg up so that he can have a better view. “Fuck,” is all he says, followed by the sexiest groan you have ever heard a man make.

“I’m so close,” you warn him, wanting to feel all of it again but somehow not wanting it to end.

“Come on baby, come for me again,” he urges you on. As much as you want to, you really don’t want it to be over anytime soon - the buildup was so damn hot and you simply don’t want to stop. Thinking about his earlier promise about eating you out for hours is what pushes you over the edge. Feeling Jimin and think of the dirty words he whispered in your ear is enough for you to come again, your entire body shivering with pure pleasure. Looking up at him, you notice the way his face scrunches, the way his voice is deeper and his moans never stopping… he takes over you again.

“I’m going to come,” he warns you, making you remember that he can’t come inside of you and fill you up, which is something you would really, really like. You settle for the next best thing.

“Come on me,” you tell him, moving your leg out of his still firm grip, and spreading your legs as much as possible, now having a perfect view of him slamming into you, much faster than he did before. “Come anywhere you want,” you urge him, biting your lip as his hips lose rhythm at your suggestion. In the speed of light, he slips out of you, leaving you empty and wanting more, more of him, more of his dick, more of anything he’d be willing to give you. You watch as he takes the condom off in the speed of light, still rubbing yourself and ignoring the overstimulation you are feeling, absolutely urged by the hottest sight you have seen in your entire life: Jimin, stroking himself with a firm grip, moaning loudly as he closes his eyes, his face scrunched in pleasure.

You watch in awe as he finishes all over you, the streaks of his cum reaching all the way up to your breasts. You have never, never in your entire life, experienced anything hotter than this. You know now, there is nothing hotter than watching Jimin orgasm. And you have never in your miserable life had sex nearly as good as the one you had now.

Jimin’s body gives up and he falls directly on top of you, making you chuckle. Your hands roam his back, as if you are comforting him through the aftermath, completely ignoring the fact that his now softening member is still rubbing against you. Both of you are sweaty, your bodies covered in his cum but you don’t care and neither does he. Once he is finally able to move, he simply leans a bit to the side, just so that he can look at you. And he does. With the brightest, sweetest smile that shouldn’t belong to a man who fucked you as hard as he just did.

“Hi,” you speak up first, shocked at how rough your voice sounds. Perhaps you were a bit louder than you thought you were. He smiles and you feel yourself melting again, accepting that you are whipped for him, way more whipped than you should be for someone you barely know. He doesn’t make it any easier on you when he leans in for a kiss, his lips slow and lazy and yours following suit, ignoring the butterflies that are going berserk in your stomach again. You ignore it all, shutting your brain off and enjoying the post sex glow that he is radiating with.

He pulls away but not before caressing your face and pushing hair behind your ear – a very sweet action for someone whose mouth can do all those dirty, lovely things.

“That was… wow,” he admits and for the first time since you’ve met him, you think you see a blush on his face – a blush that isn’t caused by alcohol, that is. Is he suddenly shy? Is it the post sex blush? You don’t know and you don’t care, as long as you can keep looking at him.

“Wow seems appropriate,” you agree, joining in his laughter. He is still chuckling as he nuzzles into your neck, giving you a few quick pecks before pulling away.

“Do you want to stay the night?” he raises his eyebrows, giving you a way out if you don’t want to take him up on his earlier offer. “I could call you a cab or even walk you back to your place. I’d like you to stay the night though.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can use my legs at the moment.”

It wasn’t supposed to be such a funny remark but for some reason, he laughs hard and after fighting it for a few seconds, you can’t help but join in. If you look past his hotness and the ease with which he communicates with people, he really does have a comfortable aura around him – if he laughs, it’s contagious and you don’t mind joining in.

The two of you calm down and after a few moments of silence, he runs his hand through your hair again, pushing it away from your face as his eyes focus on different parts of it – first your eyes, then your lips, then your cheeks. It looks as if he is trying to memorize you and to that you can relate because this is one night you’d never want to forget, not one part of it. And not one part of him. “Let’s go and get cleaned up?” he suggests.

You’ve lost count of how many times you have let him take you by the hand and lead the way for the both of you. You are yet to regret those decisions, gladly letting him lead the way now, knowing that wherever he takes you… it’s going to be good.

You wake up feeling content, well rested and sore, all at once. With a dumb smile on your face, you giggle and bury your face in the pillow – it smells of him, making your memories of the night before even more vivid.

His promise of devoting hours to you and your body this morning did not wait until dawn. It all occurred the night before, with you still kissing one another by the time sun had started to rise and the birds had started chirping.

It all comes back to you in flashes, the bath you took together, the way he caressed your skin as he was washing you up, before his hands went a bit further south. Both the sweet words and the dirty talk are engraved in your mind forever, just like the way he made you feel all of last night.

You knew it before, you’re sure of it now – he has ruined you. He has absolutely ruined you, in the best way possible. And you don’t want it to end.

You knew it had an expiration date. This is a trip romance – short, sweet, steamy and memorable. It had an expiration date the moment the two of you shared the first smiles in front of ‘Shakespeare and company’. While the thought of it does leave a bitter taste in your mouth, you’re a big girl and you can live with it. Smiling, you decide to enjoy the morning, or early afternoon, with Jimin. You’ll deal with the negative side effects later.

“Afternoon, beautiful,” you hear him, turning around towards the direction his voice is coming from – he is leaning against the doorway, smiling at you, looking too hot for his own good with gray sweatpants, a white shirt and a part of his dark hair pulled back in a makeshift bun. “Did you sleep well?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” he smiles as you close your eyes and shamelessly yawn, remembering a second too late that you should put a hand over your mouth. You open your eyes just in time to see him sitting down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on your naked thigh and slowly moving it up and down your skin. It’s not as sexual as his touches were last night – in fact, this feels more comforting than anything else. “How long was I out? Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I slept like a log. And it’s 2PM now, so you’ve had a few hours.”

“2PM?” you’re shocked to realized you’ve already lost half the day. It was very much worth it, though.

“You have somewhere to be?” he teases you, probably unaware how he makes the butterflies in your stomach go nuts. You have a sneaky suspicion that he’s not aware of your dilemma – do you go, do you stay? Does he want you to go or does he want you to stay? What are you even supposed to say now?

“No, not really,” you shrug, cowardly throwing the ball into his court. You’ll admit it, you’re a whimp and you are more than happy to let him decide if you should be on your way or stick around a bit longer.

“Well, I’ve made us some quick lunch. I wanted to order something but wasn’t sure if you’d want to stick around for food… so I figured I’ll make something and eat both portions if you bolt,” he admits through laughter and you’re immediately relieved – you weren’t the only one uncertain about everything.

“I don’t have to bolt. And I’m also kind of starving,” you admit, shuddering when you remember that the last thing you ate was a croissant almost a full day ago – you’re absolutely starving.

“We can eat on the deck if you want?” he suggest, before breaking out into a sudden smile.

“What?” you ask, confused with how he’s looking at you. You either have something on your face or he’s going to make this whole thing 20 times more difficult and you’re afraid the second situation is more likely.

“Nothing. You’re just beautiful like that,” he shrugs as you let him run his hands through your hair.

“Half-dead and messy looking? I’m sure I am,” you roll your eyes.

“Not messy. Sexy,” he corrects you, the same way he did last night. With a sigh, he pulls away and stands up. “I’m starving too, so you’d better hurry up if you don’t want me eating you up instead.”

“I don’t think I’d mind that, to be honest,” you admit, hiding your face in his pillow, knowing that you no longer have the dark to hide the blush that appears whenever you say something a bit more straightforward.

You expected him to say something or maybe laugh – you absolutely didn’t expect to feel his teeth on your right ass cheek. You jump up in surprise, nearly hitting him in the head when your leg jerks, but that only makes him laugh. You’re smiling way too wide for someone who’s just been bitten on the ass and you decide to scream into the pillow once he’s away enough not to hear it.

“Your clothes and underwear are dry and clean but feel free to steal that shirt from me,” he winks at you. “I’ll wait on the deck.”

With that, he leaves you alone to get dressed, try to gather your thoughts and maybe, just maybe, control your emotions a little bit. It would have been a lot easier if he was the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kind of guy but surprise, he’s not! No, he fucked you like a full-fledged sex god, giving you the best night of your life, while caring enough to throw your clothes into the washer and drier and even wanting to feed you the next day. Nope, still no flaws in sight for Park Jimin.

You wash up quickly, slapping yourself a few times for good measure, hoping to calm yourself down enough to be able to turn around and leave very soon. You still don’t know if it had worked but your bag is packed and you join him on the deck, dressed in your jeans and the shirt he wore yesterday that he generously let you sleep in and steal for good.

He doesn’t notice you immediately, leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed. The sight of him sitting like that, with his dark hair pulled back and tied, his neck in full view and all but glowing in the sunlight makes you want to cry. The man is actually so goddamn pretty it almost brings tears to your eyes. It doesn’t help when he notices you and smiles at you, pointing at the two bowls set on the table.

“I know it’s just noodles but honestly, I’m too pretty to know how to cook,” he explains as you take a seat. You burst out laughing at his comment.

“Cocky yet very true,” you nod in appreciation. “Don’t worry, I love ramen.”

“It’s lame but I at least I’ve added poached eggs,” he tells you, looking oh so proud about adding an extra ingredient.

“Nothing beats instant ramen,” you reassure him. “It smells of youth, not having enough money and artificial flavoring. I’ve never felt more at home,” this time around, it’s he who laughs, wishing you a good meal as the both of you dig into the food. You weren’t lying when you said it’s more than okay – you just need some food in the belly and it’s not like you’ve expected him to greet you with a full course meal. It’s the thought that counts and it’s more than enough. Actually, it might even be too much.

Halfway through your lunch, the silence between you turns slightly uncomfortable. It isn’t anything that either one of you did – it’s just the entire situation. The clock is ticking, the both of you know it and neither one of you is quite sure how to act about it. You can’t stay here for another day, even if you wanted to – your stuff and a huge chunk of your money is back at your airbnb. Even with that little detail aside, you’re not even sure if you want to say – not to mention, if he wants you to stay or not.

But it feels… wrong. It feels wrong to leave just like that, pretending like he hadn’t given you an amazing night. Not only was the sex mind-blowingly good… even before that, he was a perfect travel partner yesterday. He’s good company and knowing you’ll be saying goodbye to all of that… it doesn’t sit well with you.

Despite avoiding eye contact for a few minutes now, you fail and the moment your eyes meet from across the table, you know you’ve reached that page of the little novella the two of you wrote. He knows it too, setting away his chopsticks, sighing as he leans back into the chair. You say nothing, watching him as he stares you down, slowly shaking his head.

“I don’t want this to end,” he admits. You stay silent, following his suit as you put away your own chopsticks and lean back into the chair, completely shutting down the rest of the world – you no longer hear the birds or passing boats. You don’t see the tourists walking along the river, you don’t even feel the subtle waves that gently sway the boat you’re on – you can only focus on him, on his face, on the way he looks bothered by this. “It feels wrong to end this but at the same time, doesn’t it feel like the only proper way to go about it? Am I making any sense?” he asks, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah,” you nod immediately, assuring him that you do understand it. “It feels good, it feels right, like it would be a shame to walk away from but… what else can be done?”

“Exactly,” he agrees, leaning towards you. “It feels equally right and wrong. What are we going to do?”

You can go back to get your stuff and spend the rest of the trip here with him. You can exchange numbers and meet up back home. It could lead to something beautiful, a continuation of a marvelous chapter one, just as easily as it can lead to a complete disaster. Life’s unpredictable and you don’t know if it’s worth it to possibly ruin this amazing… encounter.

How can you even find an answer to that? Not like this whole thing hasn’t been…

“You believe in destiny, don’t you?” you ask him, suddenly putting two and two together, smiling at the confused nod he gives you. “We met here so many times. Different days, different times, we somehow ended up together. Who’s to say that won’t happen again?” you ask.

“What are you suggesting here? To… see if we meet again?”

“Exactly,” you nod, feeling proud of the solution you’ve come up with. “You believe in destiny and I don’t. If we meet again, I’d be willing to question that belief. We go our separate ways. If it ends up being a onetime encounter, we’ll remember it with smiles on our faces. And if we meet…”

“I don’t let you walk away again,” he smirks at you. You don’t say anything as that smirk turns into a genuine, real smile. He means it, he actually means it. And if you meet him again… you will too. “What happens if we run into each other back home?” he asks.

You remember how you talked last night, realizing that the two of you were hanging around the same places before, perhaps even at the same time. It made you wonder how many times you have passed one another, without a second glance, thinking of other things, of other people. Running into him back home seems more likely than seeing him again here in Paris.

“Then we say hello and see where that takes us,” you answer adamantly.

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

He offers you his hand from across the table and you shake it firmly, suddenly a lot more hopeful than you were moments ago. No, you don’t believe in destiny but if there’s someone that could make you question that, it’s Park Jimin himself.

“Fucking hell,” you curse under your breath as you wrestle your way through the crowd – for the first time since you’ve arrived in Paris, you were stuck in the metro during rush hour and you have never felt so many backpacks smacking your face in such a short amount of time.

Trying to get Google Maps on, you make your way up the stairs and into fresh air, taking a deep breath when you do. If your phone is correct and based on your previous experiences, it’s probably not, you’re a five minute walk away from the Luxembourg Gardens.  A perfect way to end your last full day in Paris – outside and hopefully away from any kind of crowd.

You walk in the direction your navigation deems right, checking every few seconds if it had started spinning out of control like it did yesterday – there is nothing more stressful than your GPS telling you to turn right and once you do, immediately telling you to take a sharp left.

It’s the smell that makes you take a detour – it’s always the smell. Sure, you could continue to sheepishly follow your navigation but when the smell of freshly baked pastry smacks you in the face, you know where you’re heading. The bakery is fairly empty and you test your poor French as you order a plain croissant.

Damn him and his plain croissants. Something that should be so simple and so irrelevant now irks you, almost to the point of you changing your order to a chocolate one. You don’t, already knowing that you’re nowhere near proficient enough in French to explain your change of heart.

The lady behind the counter is a bit of a bitch, not waiting for you to put your wallet away before she hands you your meal, giving you a dirty look when it takes you a second too long to take it from her. Offering her a sour, kiss-my-ass smile, you take the pastry and head towards the door, now trying to juggle your food, phone, wallet and the door handle, all at once.

You’ve just managed to close the door behind you and turn around, nearly avoiding a collision.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasp, gripping your phone and the pastry harder, stopping them from flying out of your hand.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!”

Your heart stops at the sound of his voice. You slowly look up, scared of both confirming and denying your suspicions, unsure which one would hurt more – him being here or him being a product of your imagination. You know that voice and you know it well.

It’s him, looking panicked and checking if you have a hold on your things. “I’m sorry, I…” he goes mute once his eyes meet yours and he realizes it’s you.

Jimin stares at you, not saying anything. One second before the encounter turns uncomfortable, you watch in amazement as he grins at you, a grin so wide and genuine your heart skips a beat.

“I… I could have dropped my croissant.”

He huffs a small laugh at your horribly timed Vine reference, pursing his lips as he tries to hide his smile – why, you don’t know and don’t care to find out because he can’t do it. He can’t hide his smile and it’s evident that he’s happy to see you. So are you, thanking and cursing at destiny at the same time.

Taking your empty hand in his, he says nothing as he intertwines your fingers and starts walking, slowly leading you away with him. You follow him, desperately thinking of what to say, of what to do but somehow too panicked to actually do anything. It feels like one of you should do something and apparently, he thinks the same because he suddenly stops and turns your way.

He puts his hands on your face, pulling you in for a kiss. The moment your lips are pressed against his, you remember how much you’ve wanted to do this since the last time you’ve kissed him, before walking down the steps of his boathouse. The relief that fills you as he deepens the kiss makes you a reluctant but firm believer in destiny.

No words are needed, you know that now. So when he leans away and smiles at you, you smile back, reaching for his hand again. He leads the way and again you follow, knowing you’re definitely not going to regret it this time either. THE END