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aquaticmercy · 11 days ago

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Waste a Moment / Part 5

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by : @remoony

Word count : 2.7k

Note : I’ve got this queued up so if you asked to be tagged in the last 12 hours, I have not added you but will add you to the next one! It’s my masters graduation ceremony and I have a lot of people to catch up with so won't be very active today. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“From Behind Your Eyes”

Monday.

Things began to shift between you and Bucky in subtle ways.

It started with small moments. Today, during a walk through the city, he asked if you wanted to stop by a bakery.

“Your favourite," he said with a soft smile.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. You didn’t know it was your favourite bakery—it had only opened a year ago

You had no recollection of it existing, let alone stepping inside.

Yet, when you stood outside the little shop, taking in the scent of freshly baked bread and buttery pastries, you sighed in recognition. Like your senses were telling you that this was the place, even though your mind was blank.

Bucky held the door open, letting you step inside. The bell above the door jingled, and that sound struck something deep within you. Was it... loss? Or comfort? You weren’t sure.

He handed you a croissant without a word.

When you took your first bite, something clicked. It felt right, the taste, the texture—the buttery flakiness melting on your tongue. It was comforting, familiar, even if the memories that should accompany it weren’t there.

You couldn’t explain why, but for the first time, a puzzle piece fell into place.

You glanced up at Bucky. His eyes were fixed on you, watching your reaction closely.

"Good?" he asked, his voice careful, almost too casual.

"Yeah.” You nodded, swallowing the pastry.

It was more than good—it felt like home. Whatever that meant these days.

Wednesday.

The scent of pancakes filled the air on Wednesday morning.

You heard the sound of sizzling batter before seeing Bucky standing over the stove, smiling at you.

"A whole tablespoon of butter and two of maple syrup," he said, placing a plate in front of you. He was busying himself with the last touches, but you could see the concentration in his movements, the care he had put into even something so simple.

You stared down at the plate, your fork hovering just above the fluffy stack. It looked perfect, like it had been made specifically for you, and in a way, it had. You couldn’t remember ever eating this combination of specific measurements before— you always thought you were a cereal eater. But somehow, the moment you took that first bite, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

A comfortable silence settled between you two as you ate. The pancakes were soft, the butter melting, and the syrup soaked through just enough to make each bite rich but not overwhelming. It was perfect.

He was perfect.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you watched him out of the corner of your eye. There was something endearing about how well he knew you, even when you didn’t know yourself.

The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself drawn to him— not just because he was familiar, but because he made you feel safe.

And somewhere along the way, that safety began to shift into something else.

Your heart started to skip a beat when he laughed. Your stomach fluttered when he’d touched you. You found yourself looking for more and more excuses to be around him.

You caught yourself staring at him more than once—like now, as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

Your chest tightening in ways that were starting to feel dangerously familiar. A crush.

Bucky looked up and caught your gaze, and you quickly focused back on your plate, heat rising to your cheeks.

Friday.

Today, you were curled up in the living room, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders when he handed you a book.

"You read this a couple of years ago," he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. He held out the worn copy of a short book, fingers brushing against the frayed edges. "Thought you might want to read it again."

You took it from him, your eyes skimming the cover. The title stirred nothing at first—just another gap in your mind.

There was a quiet confidence in the way he handed you the book that maybe, just maybe, this small thing would help.

As you read, something unlocked within you. The words slipped into place like they belonged.

Like they had always belonged.

Sunday.

By the time you finished, it had become your favourite book once again.

"You knew," you said, feeling a little shy, admitting how easily you'd fallen back in love with it.

Bucky smiled, the kind of smile that reached his eyes, though there was always a hint of something dark behind it. "Some things don’t change."

You wanted to believe him, but you knew better.

The truth was, so much had changed. The pieces of your life felt scattered, rearranged in ways you didn’t always understand.

Bucky… he was a constant. It was as though he saw parts of you that you hadn’t yet rediscovered.

You noticed it in the quiet moments—the way Bucky would linger in doorways, watching you, or how his voice softened whenever he said your name, like he was holding onto a precious gem.

You weren’t the person you had been before, and yet, with Bucky, you started to feel like maybe you didn’t have to be.

Still, there was an unspoken thing that hung between you, something that Bucky carried but never fully acknowledged.

Monday.

Bucky had trouble sleeping, as he would do when he was under a lot of stress.

He laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He could feel his racing heart, as if it wanted to claw its way out.

In his mind, he replayed the moment that haunted him every night—the words he’d said to you.

“I feel like I can’t breathe around you.”

He had said it with a cold finality, and regretted it immediately.

He’d only ever driven you away to spare you from the darkness he dragged around like ankle weights. You deserved so much more— someone free from shadows that never seemed to leave.

Even if you’d forgotten, he couldn’t unburden himself from the knowledge that he’d pushed you away when he should have held you close.

And when he did finally fall asleep, nightmares haunted him.

In the dream, he watched realisation dawning on your face— as you remembered the things he’d said, the hurt he’d caused. You looked at him with that same raw, wounded expression he’d seen before, the same one that haunted him on sleepless nights.

In the dream, you turned away, just as you had before, only this time you were walking into the dark embrace of death. He reached for you, desperate to take it all back, but the distance between you grew.

He’d run and run, trying to follow you, but at the end of the tunnel, he’d see you limp body lying underneath the rubble.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. He laid in bed, trembling, drenched in sweat.

Unable to stay there, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got up. He found himself heading down the hall toward your room.

The light in the guest room was dim, the door left slightly ajar, as it always was. You told him it made you feel less alone, that someone was nearby if you needed them.

Bucky found himself standing just outside, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest.

You looked so peaceful, so innocent in sleep, untouched by the memories that plagued him.

Quietly, he leaned against the doorframe. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I feel like I can’t breathe around you,” he whispered.

It was true then, and it was true now—though for different reasons.

Back then, he’d said it to drive you away, to keep you from seeing the broken parts of him he didn’t want you to know.

But now, every small smile, every lingering glance, every hesitant touch stole his breath, until he was choking on the overwhelming affection he felt for you and on the regret of what he’d said to you.

“I thought I didn’t deserve you.” He swallowed. “I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping you away.” His eyes studied you, memorising every scar, every curve. “But I was wrong. and you’ll never know…”

All he wanted was to tell you the truth, to give you the choice to stay or to go. But the thought of you choosing to go… he couldn’t bear it.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, and Bucky’s heart skipped a bit. For a split second, he thought he’d woken you, but you settled back against your pillow, your cute snores filling the air again.

He let out a small sigh of relief.

He lingered a moment longer, allowing himself this one selfish moment to simply be there, watching over you.

He stayed for ten minutes.

Ten turned to thirty.

And thirty minutes turned to an hour.

Then, he started noticing things.

At first, it was subtle— his enhanced hearing noticed that your breathing quickened. He then saw your brows knitting together.

He knew the signs by heart— a nightmare.

His chest tightened as he watched, his metal fingers curling around the doorframe. He wanted to reach out, to wake you before the horrors took hold. But he froze, unsure if his presence would be a comfort or if it would only make things worse.

You whimpered softly, The sound was like a bullet to his brain, slicing through the peace he had found watching over you.

Bucky knew— perhaps too well— all the ways a nightmare could lay you bare, exposing the things you wanted no one else to see. Who was he to interfere, to try drag you out of the darkness when he himself lived in it?

Then you whispered his name. The sound sent a chill down his spine. His name, spoken with a tone so raw and broken it made his heart ache. Were you dreaming of him? Of the words he had said, the pain he had caused?

He didn’t know why he stayed as he watched you wrestle with whatever horrors your mind had conjured. He took a small, shaky step forward. His mouth opened but nothing came out.

Your breathing grew ragged, your hands clutching at the blanket. Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, shame brewing inside him.

He knew he should be there for you, but he couldn't bring himself to cross that threshold, to invade the fragile privacy of your dreams.

Finally, your breathing steadied, the nightmare subsiding. Bucky released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

He took a step back.

He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t tried to help.

He watched a second longer, making sure you’d found peaceful sleep again. When he was certain you had, he turned and left for his room.

As he closed his door behind him, Bucky let out a shaky sigh. His body slid on the floor, pressing his palms against his eyes as he tried to block out the image of you—fragile, broken, and alone in a nightmare he might have caused.

He wrapped his hand around his knees, rocking slightly in an attempt to keep himself sane.

He shifted slightly, feeling an odd dampness against his skin. It was only when he brought a hand to his face that he realised his cheeks were wet, his shirt damp where the tears had dropped.

He hadn't even realised he started crying.

The tears kept coming, slow and steady, trickling down on his face.

He thought of you, peaceful again now, but still vulnerable, left to face nightmares he was too afraid to pull you from. He thought of the words he’d spoken to you, the ones he could never take back. The ones that had hurt you more than he’d ever wanted.

The tears were relentless, a silent admission of all the things he’d buried—his regret, his self-loathing, his desperation for forgiveness he was too afraid to ask for. His body shook with quiet sobs, his breaths shallow and uneven.

And for the first time since he thought he’d lost you, Bucky let himself cry for everything he’d lost.

For the moments he’d missed, the chances he’d thrown away, the love he’d pushed aside out of fear. And as his tears finally slowed, leaving him a hollow shell of himself, he realised that this was the price he’d paid for pushing you away all those years.

Tuesday.

“Do you ever have nightmares?” you asked between breakfast bites, trying to sound casual as you picked at your food.

You didn’t know how to admit it at first, but even when you slept through all of last night, you hadn’t slept very well. Every time you’d close your eyes, you’d find yourself trapped under layers of crushing weight, and the fear would trap you in unconsciousness, unable to wake up, unable to separate what’s real or fake.

Bucky paused just slightly before he looked up. For a moment, he didn’t know how much to say.

“Yeah,” he replied finally, cautiously. “It used to be worse.”

You nodded, encouraged by his honesty. “Mine are… strange. They’re just pieces. I don't remember them all.” You looked down at your hands, unsure how to continue. “It doesn’t even feel like they’re mine.”

“How come?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s… I—I feel like I’m trapped under something heavy. I can’t breathe, and when I try to move, it just…”

You stopped in your tracks, the nightmares slipping away just as your memory had.

“And I see you sometimes,” you admitted sheepishly, “I feel you pulling me out of the dark.”

Bucky’s hand brushed yours across the table.

He swallowed hard, knowing that was where he found you. How he found you. Crushed under the rubble, barely alive.

Still, a wave of relief washed over him. If there was any comfort to cling to in all of this, it was that he hadn’t caused your nightmares. You hadn’t heard his quiet confession from the night before, those fragile words spoken in the darkness while you slept. You didn’t know.

You didn’t know what he said.

You didn’t know.

You can’t ever know.

A twisting guilt formed in his stomach— would I really rather have her dream of a crushing pain over the painful words I said?

“They can’t hurt you,” he said finally, his voice stern with conviction. He was convincing himself, really, more than you.

You felt the cold of his metal hand, but your cheeks started burning.

You met his eyes, and for a moment, the vulnerability between you was tangible.

“Thank you, Bucky.” Your voice was barely a whisper. “For making me feel like I’m not alone.”

He looked down. A small, shy smile tugged at his lips. “Anytime.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. His hand lingered on yours, fingers tracing small circles against your skin.

You didn’t even realise you were leaning in until you felt his breath against your lips—warm, shallow, like he was fighting the same internal battle you were. His eyes flicked down to your mouth for the briefest second.

The pull between you was magnetic.

His fingers trailed up your arm, lingering at your forearm, and it was that touch—the coolness of his skin against tour veins—that undid you. Your breath hitched, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst from your chest.

And then, without thinking, you started closing the gap.

His lips hovered over yours, not quite touching, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

It was a heartbeat away.

But then—

The sound of your phone shattered the moment, vibrating against the table.

Sam’s name flashed on the screen, his timing almost painfully ironic.

“Hey,” you answered, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“Hey!” Sam was his usual chipper self, oblivious to what he’d interrupted. “We’re discussing a training program for you if you want to come back on Thursday?”

You glanced at Bucky. He had turned away slightly, focusing on his half-eaten plate. “I— I’ll think about it,” you replied, feeling a pang of disappointment as you hung up.

You glanced at Bucky, wondering if he felt the same strange disconnect.

He didn’t say anything. His expression had shifted back to that neutral calm he so often wore.

You wished you had the courage to say something, that you could break the silence and address what had nearly happened between you.

You were too unsure, too awkward to bring it up. You weren’t sure what it even meant—whether it was a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness, or if it was something more that neither of you were brave enough to confront.

“I think I’m gonna start training again on Thursday.”

-to be continued...

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austinbutlerslovers · 9 months ago

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Avec Moi

Label Mature 18+

Summary

You are hidden away in Austin’s luxury Parisian hotel while he does his press tour in France. He tries to keep you separate and all to himself, the only normal piece of this life anchoring him down.

He sends you on a sight seeing tour preoccupying you for the day while he attends a photo call and his movie premiere. When he finally returns to you it’s almost midnight

Entering the suite he is so happy to finally appreciate you and spoil you, it’s your anniversary after all. Even though every day he loves you beyond compare, he makes it special. He takes your breath away with a beautiful view and an even more satisfying orgasm.

Established relationship girlfriend

Smut•romantic•gifts •traveling •morning/shower sex•nipple play•oral sex female rec• lingerie• blindfold•sex against a window•multiple •orgasms •cream pie•anniversary sex

Inspo: Austin in Paris France? 🇫🇷 Oui Avec Moi= With You

Avec Moi

Austin keeps his public and private life very separate. He values you as a treasure all to himself. Whatever career or life you had is now completely absorbed into his. He needs you with him at all times, bringing you every where he goes. You begin to lose track of the dates and times when he takes you on a whirlwind international press tour for his latest film.

You wake up early morning now in France, it is from a sharp knock at the door followed by a ring. Austin rolls over to hold you, the hot skin of his chest warms your back. He gives you a quick kiss on your temple before he climbs out of bed leaving you to rest.

You are in one of the most expensive hotels in Paris over looking the city. You arrived so late at night from your international flight you didn’t even have time to explore the room. The suite has 3 wings; the master suite, the living room, and the foyer, there is also a roof top patio.

Everything is white with gold overlays. Ornate trimmings wrap every edge and panel up to the hand painted high vaulted ceilings. It is a Baroque, Rococo dream. Words you learned reading your guide book about France on your multiple connecting flights from Mexico the previous day.

Austin ties on a robe and leaves the master suite. He closes the double doors quietly behind him to give you privacy and let you sleep. You can still hear everything through the thin decorative doors.

“Mr. Butler the hair and makeup team is here to set up may we offer you anything to eat or drink while you wait?” A woman asks.

“Yea I’m really craving some dark chocolate croissants, do you think you could get a few of those with a light breakfast, no dairy though” As soon as he asks his request is carried out.

Within a few moments a bellman rolls a trolley in with an entire assortment of fruits, sweets, juices, breads, eggs,and of course his dark chocolate croissants. Austin quickly eats before his big day.

He opens the doors to the master suite and closes them quickly behind him. He brings his event outfit with him from the stylist, hanging it the walk in closet as you sleep. His hair and makeup team need more time to prepare in the living room. He climbs back in bed resting on top of you staring at your sleeping face. He wants you to wake up.

He plants soft kisses on your lips as you sleep arousing himself more with each one. When you finally wake up he smiles down at you eyes twinkling his new favorite dainty chain swings on his neck catching your eye. He knows you’re exhausted from all the traveling but he wants you.

“You gonna be here when I get back later?” He asks teasing for making you travel so much. You sleepily nod yes. He pets your hair back lovingly and stares into your eyes. “Do you need money to go out today?” He asks gently. You nod again a smile forming on your lips. You know he wants you to explore Paris having fun while he works.

Slowly climbing off of you he retrieves his wallet and stands looking down at you laying in bed. He unfolds his wallet and pulls out a crisp bill. “How much?” He asks throwing one note and you collect it. He throws another just as you reach the first. You catch it as it flutters down.

You finally wake enough to chime in “Austin how much are these?” He smiles as he keeps raining them down on you one by one. “Hundreds I think” he says not paying attention to the amount, more excited watching you climb out of bed and bend down to collect them.

He makes a trail of them to the lavatory. “Austin this is like a two thousand then” you say in shock holding the stack of euros. He pulls you to him with one hand the money pressed between your bodies.

He takes the stack out of your hand placing it with his wallet on the bathroom counter and kisses you. He quickly kneels down stripping off your silk panties from your nightie set. “Austin we don’t even have time, you have a photo call and a premiere today” you say in a hushed tone knowing there are people working in the next room.

He’s already absentmindedly kissing up your thighs. “Austin.” You say firmly and he stands taller than you peering down at you softly. “But it’s our anniversary ” he confesses smiling. You didn’t even realize what date it was.

You smile back up at him appreciatively and give him a sweet kiss on his lips. “Go to work and when you are back we’ll celebrate.” you say gently. You reach around him turning on the shower to move him along.

He mock pouts starting to get in. Before he does he pulls you in too, soaking your nightie top and holding you against him under the shower head. He drenches you completely. ”Austin!” you shriek in surprise. He laughs as you smile at him he’s so so annoying when he sets his mind on something and nothing can change it.

He already has your soaked top over your head discarding it. He turns you to press your hands against the glass “Just real quick” he rasps and lines up his stiff cock with your entrance. You relax and he pushes his cock fully inside of you until his hips meet the back of your thighs. You let out a soft moan and your clit pulses from the stretch of his size.

He waits for you to adjust, and reaches his had around stroking your clit as he begins to gently thrust into you. He wants all his cum out of him and inside of you so he can work clear headed while you fantasize about him all day.

He squeezes your supple tit in his hand as he bends you over. The time is ticking. You help him by placing your hands higher above you on the glass spreading your legs wider and arching your back down. He wishes he had a picture your waist and back are a work of art at this angle.

He gives you several good thrusts holding your waist, then pulls you back by your hip bones pounding his cock deep making your core tighten as you gently moan for him. He thrusts faster bouncing you against his cock to make you quickly climax.

“Aus! I’m….” he pulls you back flush against his chest knowing you’re going to cum and strums your clit hard. You clench on him panting loudly and stifling your moans as you have your first intense orgasm of the day.

When you finish at your peak he presses your chest against the glass and grips his strong hands around your waist. He places his thighs beneath yours and plows into you repeatedly until his cock is swollen tight ready to release.

His abs constrict as he groans in pleasure throbbing his warm cum inside of you. He pants heavily as his hips falter slowing down.

He holds you still for a brief moment as you both catch your breaths. Once you settle he holds your waist and slips his heavy cock all the way out making you both moan.

He has to quickly finish rinsing off and leaves you in the shower. He rushes drying off and brushes his teeth before grabbing his wallet. He swiftly puts his outfit on in the bedroom to meet his team in the living room.

You finish in the shower a moment later. As you brush your teeth you stare at the stack of euros on the counter. ‘It’s our anniversary ’ his words repeat in your head making you smile. The wheels are already turning in your mind of what you want to get for him. You blow dry your hair and put on a simple form fitting dress. You can’t wait to see what Austin is wearing he must almost be ready by now.

You slowly open the double doors of the master suite a sliver to peek. He’s sitting in one of the ornate chairs in the living room having his hair touched up by the stylist. He is waiting patiently twisting the ring on his pointer finger around with his thumb.

He is dressed in all black as usual. It’s a double breasted suit paired with what looks almost like a construction workers boot and you giggle at the contrasting styles. He looks over to the master bedroom hearing the familiar sound of your happiness and locks eyes with you smiling.

His face is so stunning drawing you to enter the living room to get a better look. Several of his team members are bustling about. You sit on the sofa watching him as the stylist finishes.

He stands to look at himself in the full length mirror inspecting every little detail of his face and hair. He finds everything suitable and nods to his assistant who brings him a heavy trench coat to complete the ensemble. He flips the collar up as he lifts it over his shoulders and the stylist fixes it back. She goes over his coat with a lint roller.

Your eyes wander up his tall frame, he looks so handsome and powerful. You smile to yourself thinking he looks like a Parisian prince when in reality he’s a talented American actor from Anaheim.

Everyone begins last minute checks and explanations going over each detail of the schedule with him. He interjects a few questions and then they are set. Security informs the team down stairs that he is on the move.

Every one walks with him to the door almost rushing him out with excitement for the day “Wait” he stops looking for you “ Baby ”he calls out and you hurry to him.

Several people have to make space. He holds you close smiling down at you.“I love you and I’ll see you later “he says never breaking his gaze” I love you too” you say staring up at him feeling so enamored.

He plants a soft kiss on your lips and holds his hands cupping your jaw lovingly before he lets you go. You reach and squeeze his hand one last time before he slips away. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you giving you a wink.

Everyone exits the door and it slams shut to silence.

You look around at the palace like room wondering what you should go do. You spot your Paris guide book on the living room ottoman and grab a chocolate croissant from the cart on your way to read it. You plop down on the sofa and begin to flip through the pages as you eat.

Suddenly the hotel room phones ring all at once around the suite making you jump. You pick up the closest one.

“Hello?” You answer

“Bonjour Mrs. Butler I am calling to confirm the arrangement time for your pick up.” She says in a heavy French accent. You smile at her mistake calling you his wife but you don’t correct her

“My pick up?” You ask to clarify if it’s for you

“Yes madame there is a driver to take you sightseeing today arranged by your husband” you cover your mouth shocked in delight that he planned this.

You don’t correct her the second time she calls you his wife either. You look to the gold vintage clock on the mantle it’s 8:15 am.

“I can be read in 30” you say confidently

“Excellent Madame the driver will pick you up at the main courtyard in front of the lobby. Please take a moment to write down this information.

Pierre black Mercedes license plate AA229AA”

You exchange goodbyes.

“Okay thank you goodbye ”

“Je vous en prie”

You are beaming with a smile. After you eat breakfast you put on your makeup and don a long back trench coat over your dress paired with slip on tennis shoes.

You collect your phone and purse heading down the private elevator to the lobby.

You find the car with the matching plate parked where the receptionist said it would be and climb in closing the door. “Piere?” You ask just to be certain “Bonjour Mrs. Butler, yes I am Piere I will be your driver for the day. This is from your husband“ he says handing you a red envelope. He begins driving you away from the hotel as you open it.

You slide out an elaborate crimson red card written in Austin’s handwriting.

It reads:

To my love,

I wanted to take you to each of these places with me but we don’t have time during the press tour. I’ll be thinking of you all day wishing I was there. I couldn’t ask for someone who loves and supports me more than you do.

I love you,

-Austin

Your pout your lip cutely he’s so thoughtful. You read his list on the opposite side of the card.

Arc de Triomphe

Fontaine du Jardin du Trocadéro

Lunch-Francette

Eiffel Tower

Marché Saxe-Breteuil Market

The Lourve

Dinner Le Garde Robe

You are taken a back It is a full day of activities when you were only expecting to be gone a few hours. Austin must really want you to enjoy Paris so you eagerly tackle the list.

You sight see, shop, and eat the entire day away. Ending the itinerary at Le Garde Robe winery sipping a glass of expensive Chateau Margaux. It’s such a spectacular and highly sought after wine. You spend the remainder of your cash to buy an entire bottle for Austin’s anniversary gift. You have it placed in a wooden gift box with 2 Reidel glasses and a wine opener.

You return to the hotel at 10:23 pm happy, exhausted, and lightly drunk carrying tons of bags. You walk through the enormous beautifully decorated lobby down a corridor to the private elevators swiping your card and entering.

As the doors close you swipe your key card again to gain access to your floor. You rest back against the elevator wall with all of your new purchases in tow letting out a breath. Paris is definitely an amazing city.

You exit on your floor and head to the end of the hall for the VIP Master suites. You swipe your card and the handle whirs as it unlocks. You enter into complete blackness.

You quickly set your bags down and reach for the light panel. You click on the lights and look down realizing you are standing on fresh red rose petals, you gasp. You follow the trail of flowers into the bedroom.

The bed is freshly made with a black Versace box placed on top with a bow. A note rests against it reading “Open Me” in cursive. Your eyes grow wide from the surprise.

You sit on the bed and pull the silk ribbon to open the box. Your fingers pull up the daintiest black lace bra of a lingerie set as you read the second note inside “Wear Me”. You smile so impressed by Austin’s romantic gestures all day.

You want to wear it immediately and walk toward the lavatory. Until your eye catches the closet doors and you stop.

The closet is tied shut with a big black ribbon wrapped around the handles. It has a note hanging in beautiful cursive which reads “NO Peeking!” Your eyes light up with excitement, you will definitely wait.

You wash off your body using a new Parisian fine milled soap you purchased that smells heavenly. You towel off and blow dry your hair. Sitting at the vanity in the lavatory you do your makeup and spray your favorite fragrance and rub lotion all over your body.

Finally you open your gift box from Austin and put on your lingerie. It practically glides onto you the lace is so fine. You look up in the mirror and instantly feel seductive.

You see your pussy and nipples through the silk so sheer against your skin. You trail your hands on your curves. You look incredibly sexy and you smile to yourself, Austin’s going to defile you immediately.

You hear the front door lock beep and whiz open filling you with excitement. You are unsure how to greet Austin quickly grabbing a robe and tying it tight to make the lingerie a surprise reveal later.

You emerge from the bathroom hearing his voice coming from the living room “ Baby did you get everything? Look at all these bags !” You hear him laugh. You peek shyly from the bedroom biting your pointer finger in your mouth cutely like buying all the items was a mistake.

He beams at you and you rush into his embrace. He smells crazy, like a mix of city air, his cologne, and light sweat. He looks exhausted. You hang your arms around his neck and stare at him in gratuity “Thank you baby , for all of this. I love it” he grins so big he can’t make it stop. “Let me shower I want to spoil you some more” he says staring in your eyes with a hint of naughtiness. You let him go and begin to move your bags under the entry way table to put away later. You completely dropped them where you stood when you saw the rose petals.

Once Austin is out of the shower fresh and comfortable in black boxers he calls to you. When you come to the bedroom he’s waiting at the closet grinning , it completely slipped your mind he had another surprise to give you.

“Did you peek?” He asks as his fingers release the ribbin. He grabs ahold of the handles making you wait in suspense until he hears your answer. “No of course not “ you out right admit.

He pulls open the doors. The entire floor of the walk in closet is covered in rose petals. You cover your mouth in disbelief. ”Austin this is too much” you say without thinking. He grabs your hand pulling you in. At the center sitting on top of the jewelry station is a large bouquet of crimson red roses as he pulls you closer to stand in front of them you see a red Cartier box resting on top. Your heart flutters wildly.

For a split second you think he’s going to propose but the box is bigger. He smirks watching you try to figure out what’s inside. He takes the box in his hands and presses the clasps to release the lid and unfold the panels.

It’s a pendant similar to his dainty chain with a diamond in the middle. Its so radiant the clarity sparkles flashing brilliantly in its case completely mesmerizing you. He sets the case down on the jewelry station and pulls the pendant out.

You turn to face one of several full length mirrors and finally reveal your surprise from him. You untie the robe and let it fall to the floor. Austin stares at you in the lingerie dumbstruck “Fuck baby…” he says low and husky staring at you as his mind wanders to fucking you until you’re screaming in satisfaction.

You pull your hair over one shoulder smiling at him to remind him of his task. He regains his focus and stands behind you unclasping the pendant and bringing it around to rest on in your chest before clasping it back shut.

He watches as you study yourself. You smell so good, you look incredible, and your body is covered in his gifts. His boxers are tenting with the massive erection he has for you.

Your breaths increase and your lips part admiring the reflection of how absolutely beautiful and stunning you look in the expensive lace lingerie and Cartier pendant. “Do you like it?” He asks as you lock eyes in the reflection.

You turn to embrace him kissing his lips, the real thing you want. He smiles against your lips knowing you like the gifts, until you kiss him so heavily he becomes aroused. He picks you up wrapping your legs around him and brings you to stand at the foot of the bed.

As expensive as the lingerie is he wants it off he wants to touch and see all of your skin. He slips his hands under you bra straps pulling them down reaching around you to unclasp it letting it fall to the floor.

He leans in and cups both breasts with his hands letting out a groan, they are so soft. He massages one and gently sucks onto the other flicking his tongue around the nipple inside of his mouth. He pulls his face back and laps at one nipple and then the other until a moan escapes your lips as you feel the wetness pool in your panties. He continues to lick and suck the buds one at a time until he drives you over the edge.

He looks up into your blown out pupils. You are panting in desperation to be filled with his cock, but not before he gets his present first. He lays you down and settles between your legs placing his hand across your stomach. He trails kisses down your navel to your panties.

He runs his hand up to your knee and back down your thigh between your legs. He hooks his thumbs into the delicate lace and slides your panties to your knees. “Look at this beautiful gift I get to unwrap“ he says mesmerized staring between your legs.

He pulls your panties all the way off and gazes in lust at your slick wet folds warm and ready for him. Once he settles back between your legs he places a kiss your inner thigh “Mine” he says peering up at you with a devious grin, you giggle at his possessiveness.

The sudden touch of his soft tongue between your folds ignites you. He eats you softly and delicately taking his time on you. It makes your heart beat so wildly you feel like it will burst. You look at his soft blonde locks and his angelic face. His are eyes closed as he devours you like his dessert.

You place your hand in his hair giving a gentle tug as you moan. You want him to know how much you enjoy the feel of his soft lips and tongue giving you so much satisfaction. He moans into you and your thighs tense from the pleasurable sensation. He does a few final licks and tilts his face up smiling at you. Your body is completely relaxed and ready for him.

He lifts you from the bed to standing and plants a kiss on your lips. As you stand in place he slips a black blind fold tucked in his waistband up to your face and ties it tightly to your eyes.

He waves his hand in front of your face checking if you can see. When you don’t react he grins.

He turns off all of the lights in the room before pulling open the black out curtains flooding the room with glowing moonlight. He strips out of his boxers.

He takes your hands leading you across the room then he stops pressing you forward against a glass window. It’s so cold you gasp as your nipples react becoming harder. He stands directly behind you holding tight to your waist line. His soft lips never leave your neck trailing kisses down.

His hands massage along your waist down to your hips. He slips one hand between your thighs grabbing a handful of your sex. You let out a breath as he squeezes a handful of your pussy and kisses the shell of your ear. The way he’s breathing and pressing his naked erection against you makes your clit swell lusting for him so badly.

He can’t hold back either feeling his cock pulse against you. He widens his stance and rubs his hard cock on your wet pussy. A jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine as you let out a soft moan. He places one hand gently around the front of your throat the other he has on the base of his cock holding it steady.

He gently pulls you back by your throat lining his cock to your entrance to make you empale yourself on him. Chills expand across your body as you feel his tip pierce through your entrance. He pushes his hard cock through your soft walls making you clench on him and gasp as he pulls you flush to his body.

Another pleasurable moan escapes your lips once he’s fully inside. He caresses your throat as he kisses your temple on the silk blind fold. He pulls his hips back sliding his cock all the way out to the tip.

His hands grip your neck tighter as he shoves himself fully inside rocking your body against the window. You begin to moan uncontrollably as he gyrates into you.

He thrusts you harder into the window your tits pressing against it each time. It makes you so aroused that he is manhandling you. He increases his speed grunting each time he pounds between your legs.

Your core is pulled tight as a spark of pleasure ignites inside. You cry out his name in a desperate moan. “Are you gonna cum?” He breaths against your ear” “Yes Austin I’m so close“ you admit as chills cover your entire body.

Once you clench around his cock his hand releases the blind fold from your eyes and you see the the Eiffel Tower glittering radiantly against the black night sky.

“Uuuhhh Austin !” is all you can cry out as you orgasm. Waves of euphoria crash into your body at your peak of pleasure and he holds you firmer as you come down in bliss.

He gently gathers a hand full of your hair and sensually tilts your head back exposing more of your neck. He kisses your most vulnerable spot as he charges to release inside of you. He presses his thighs against the backs of yours and works his his strongest thrusts into you. He’s so powerful you begin going listless ready to cum again.

He wraps his strong arm around your chest to hold you in place against him as you orgasm a second time. He’s grunting heavily in your ear driving you insane. You love that sound so much when he’s about to release in you.

His grunts turn into deep moans. You feel his cock thump wildly inside of you as he orgasms spilling his thick cum into you. It fills you with so much warmth you both moan in unison.

His thrusts slow to a stop and he just breaths in your ear as you both come down. He places his hands on your lower back and carefully pulls all the way out. He rests his head against yours and wraps you in his arms.

“Austin it’s so pretty” you say staring at the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. “I was looking at you the entire time” he says with a loving smile. He tucks your hair behind your ear placing his face next to yours to share the view “Happy Anniversary baby, I love you” he says gently in your ear where he plants a kiss. “Happy Anniversary I love you too Austin” you say endearingly. A smile forms on your lips remembering the wine.“I haven’t even given you your gift yet” you say coyly. He looks down at his cock “I could go again” he says absentmindedly.

You giggle turning in his arms staring up at him “Austin I have a vintage bottle of Chateau Margaux for you” he smiles at you face blushing in embarrassment, sex with you is always on his mind. ”Thank you, I can’t wait to try it“ he says bashfully.

You play into his wishes. “I definitely want to give you another gift after we drink it though” You admit staring at him seductively. He smiles pulling you into a kiss. “Lets get drunk and do it all over again” he says excitedly. You smile and bite your lip you are absolutely drunk in love with him and would happily do it all over again with him indefinitely.

~*End *~

Master List

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#austin butler fandom #austin butler #austin butler reader #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austinbutler #austinbutler x #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine

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imaginesandbandfiction · 9 months ago

Text

Triad Part 9 — Reunion Part 2

A Cazriel x Reader Headcanon

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is 3200 words of self-indulgent smut that ALSO moves the plot forward and then a 1100 word funny/sweet little gift at the end that ALSO ALSO moves the plot forward. If you want to skip the smut, just reading the bit beneath the *** will give you enough of an idea of what happened and why it’s going to be important in less explicit terms. Listen to Total Control by DJO if you want additional ~vibes~ and see if you can guess the two other songs that inspired/are referenced in this part. First person to guess each wins a drabble of your choosing (word choice tbd by the vibes I’m feeling while I write it lol).

Click here to be added to the taglist so you never miss an update!

Warnings: Pure smut with dom/sub undertones, choking and restraints included. Buckle up folks!

When Az wakes up a few hours later, his chest hiccups with a sharp intake of breath. With his brain still stuck under the mountain, he struggles against the restraints confining him to the bed.

His thrashing startles you and Cas awake, and while the male loosens his grip and scrambles backwards, you tighten your arms around Az’s waist. Shadow swirl all around you, just as confused as their master.

“Shhhh,” you whisper, rubbing soothing circles around his belly button. “It’s okay, you’re safe. It was just a dream; you’re back home now.”

You keep whispering sweet reassurances as the shadows start to settle, wrapping you and Azriel in their calming chill. Slowly, he stops trying to wriggle away and relaxes in your arms, eventually twisting around to look at you.

“‘M sorry,” he mutters, voice still hoarse from sleep. You check the clock on the wall, noticing that it’s well past dinner time already.

“Don’t apologize,” you say, raising your hands to wipe the tears from his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. “It’s our job to take care of you, Azzie.”

“And we love our job,” Cas quips, crawling across the bed with a steaming mug in one hand, which he holds to Az’s lips. “So be a dear and let us do it, yeah?”

Azriel rolls his narrowed eyes, but dutifully takes a sip anyway. The hot liquid merges with his insides, soothing aches both physical and mental.

Once the tea is gone, Cas reaches over for a croissant and lifted it up to Az’s mouth.

“I can feed myself, you know,” Az complains, reaching out to try and swipe the pastry from Cassian’s grip. Cas laughs and pulls it away, teasing him.

“Please? Just this once?” He pleads, eyes widening as he sticks out his lower lip in a pout. “You weren’t the only one affected by shutting off the bond, you know.”

The look Az gives him suggests that there will be hell to pay for this later, but Cassian’s entire face lights up when Az parts his lips. He takes small bites and chews slowly as both males stare at each other, bond shimmering with pleasure at the intimacy of the act.

It’s a gesture of trust on both parts and you watch, breathless and teary, as the intensity of their gazes deepens with each bite. After Cas shoves the last bit in, he lets his fingers linger longer than necessary, ghosting against Az’s lips.

Az swallows, smirks, and then sucks Cas’s fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue

“So that’s how you want to play this, huh?” Cas growls, patience draining from his body. You see it in the way his muscles tighten, a sign that he’s desperately clinging to the last of his self control.

Saying nothing, Az just hums around Cas’s fingers and it’s fucking hot, the way your usually dominant mate can so easily slip into a submissive role while still holding onto all the power. But through the bond, it’s clear that they both need this.

Cas needs to burn off some of the anger and frustration that had built up during Azriel’s absence, and Az (though he’d never admit it out loud) needs reassurance, to feel loved and desired. Letting his mates have their way with him is a sure fire way to calm the insecurities that have grown like ivy during his prolonged isolation.

Besides, he’s never fully defenseless. If things go too far, his shadows are always there to lend a helping hand in regaining control.

You make eye contact with Cas over Az’s head, matching grins on your faces as the possibilities flash down the bond, filling your minds with the most delightful images.

Letting his lips fall open again, Az runs his teeth along the fingers that start to drop just hard enough to send a shudder of pleasure down Cas’s arm. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, heart working double time to accommodate how rapidly his body awakens.

“On your back,” Cassian whispers, the power he’s trying to contain escaping through his voice where a hardness sharpens the edges of his words, turning them into weapons.

“Or what?” Az asks, scooting away from you so he’s fully facing Cas. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow, a half-smirk grazing the corners of his lips.

Red magic flutters out of clenched fists, siphons struggling to contain it all.

“You’re acting real smug over there,” he hisses, leaning in closer to Az, “for someone who’s seen me tear armies limb from limb.”

The darkness seeping into Cas’s eyes has Az straining against his tight sleep shorts, the confines of which are a sweet kind of agony.

And Azriel is smug because he knows exactly which buttons to push to get what he wants.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he whispers, eyes darkening as he smirks at Cas from across the room.

It’s a callback to when they first met, when Cassian had made it his personal mission to make Az’s life a living hell. Things came to a head one night after they’d been out drinking and they ended up fighting behind one of the seedy dive bars littered throughout Windhaven and the surrounding forest.

“RHYS DOESN’T NEED ANOTHER BROTHER,” Cassian bellowed, feeling his magic sparking beneath his skin.

Something in Cassian broke when Azriel’s lips had hardened, the Shadowsinger’s steely gaze piercing straight through Cas’s heart as he growled “I’m not afraid of you.”

It made Cas feel squeamish which, in turn, stoked the fires of his internal rage. His veins stung as red-hot flames licked their way through his body. Clenching his jaw and then each muscle below it, he used brute force to tame his errant magic.

He raised his arms, ready to shove the infuriating Shadow Master away when shadows swirled around him, tightening into shackles around his wrist. His eyes widened; he’d finally found someone who could give it back to him as hard as he liked to give it.

With one eyebrow raised, the silent Shadowsinger held out a hand. The shadows only released their grip when Cassian slumped forward with laughter tumbling from his lips. Cassian and Azriel clasped hands and were brothers from that day forward.

And though Cas’s jaw twitches now just like it did then, it’s not laughter that escapes his lips but a Cauldron-damned snarl. In a flash of red, he surges forward to clamp a hand around Az’s neck, shoving until messy curls thump against the headboard.

“You do look so pretty in blue,” Cas hums, candlelight reflecting off his teeth as he bares them in a wicked grin.

“Come here darling,” he says, reaching over to you with his free hand. You slip your own smaller one into it, mirroring the look on his face as he tugs you closer. “You keep quiet,” he says to Az, tossing his words out like an afterthought as he turns to look at you.

You look up at him all batted lashes and blown out pupils and he melts, all of the lines on his face disappearing. He pulls you into his side, letting his arm snake around your waist.

“And you, sweet little thing,” he whispers, lowering his lips to brush against your pulse point, “can get comfortable riiiiight here.” Cas arranges you on Az’s lap, straddling one of his thighs with your ass just barely brushing against his cock.

He squeezes Az’s throat a little harder, just for a few seconds, and then lets go completely. Az is completely silent, staring up at Cas with wide, eager eyes.

“Good boy,” Cas says, patting Az on the cheek before turning his full attention to you. His eyes flash a deep, blood red as he waves a hand behind him like an afterthought. From his fingertips, red magic shoots out like twirling arrows that wrap around Az’s wrists, pinning them to the headboard.

If he wasn’t so horny, Cas would be in a state of shock, but it’s like it doesn’t register that he shouldn’t be able to do that. Or at least that he’s never done that before. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and from the burning, crackling blue magic flowing through the bond from Az’s side you think that Az would agree if was capable of coherent thoughts.

Az’s wrists are bound tight enough that he can feel the restraints pressing into his skin, but they’re still malleable and comfortable. His shadows surround the red bands, curious and excited.

Cas leans in to press a firm yet gentle kiss to your lips, murmuring against them. “He’s being so good, isn’t he, angel?”

You agree, letting the desire buzzing in your body ooze out through your words. “So good.”

Then you stick your tongue in between Cas’s lips, coaxing a breathy moan from the male knowing it will have Az frothing at the mouth. He loves making the two of you put on a show for him, so you’re going to give him exactly what he wants. Except you make the rules this time, so you take your time exploring every crevasse in Cas’s mouth. Eventually, his hands slide up your waist, shoving up your thin top.

“Off,” he commands, leaning back to watch you slip the fabric over your head. You toss it aside and arch your back as you fold forward to press your hardened nipples against his bare chest.

“Pants, too,” he instructs, waving a hand at you. Within seconds you’re completely bare, cunt soaking Az’s pajama pants. Instinctively, you rub your clit against his thigh a few times and your ass brushes against Az’s clothed dick.

It has him rocking his hips back and forth, needing just a little bit of friction to take the edge off of his overwhelming desires. Keeping his mouth shut is taking too much of his focus so his body’s getting antsy.

“I think he liked that,” you say, acknowledging Az without turning around. Instead, you scoot forward, pressing your knees into Cassian’s sides to lift yourself and free up space for you to reach down, freeing his cock from its cloth prison.

Cas hums, saying nothing as he tightens his grip on your hips, lowering you onto him. He bends his legs, propping them up next to Az’s hips, and stretches you open, slowly easing himself inside. Behind you, Az whimpers, making Cas smirk as he tugs you down until your chests are flush. That gives Az a full, unobstructed view of what’s going on.

Once you’ve adjusted to Cas’s size, you start to ride him, chasing a rapidly building high. Cas guides you, chin on your shoulder so he can stare straight at Az while he says “I want you to come on my cock, can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you hiss, grinding yourself down so his tip circles that sensitive spot deep inside you.

“Then we’re gonna get at least one more out of ya before it’s Az’s turn. He made us wait, so now we’re making him wait.”

Az is squirming behind you but staying silent—Cas never said he couldn’t move, only that he had to keep quiet. Like he can read Az’s thoughts, Cas laughs; a sharp, growling chuckle like a predator messing with his prey. “And I know you think you’re getting away with something back there, but I can feel you moving. Keep going, if you want, but you’ll pay for it later.”

This new side of Cas has you mumbling nonsense, just fragmented words and phrases conveying the message to keep going, right there. He uses his bent legs to his advantage, pounding up into you. The hands on your hips squeeze tighter and you hope they leave bruises behind so you can match Az.

It doesn’t take long for you to find your release, milking every last aftershock until you slump onto Cas’s chest, boneless and breathless.

“Got another one in there for us?” He whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I can try,” you mumble against the curve of his pecs.

“Good girl.” He helps prop you back up and, from his spot behind you, holds a hand out towards Az. The glowing red bonds dissolve, freeing his wrists, and he immediately scoots forward. Cas lifts you up, grabbing your ass to make room for Az to shimmy down flat on his back and then settling you with your knees next to his ears.

Two thick fingers dip into your dripping cunt. Cas collects some of your slick before shoving you down onto Az’s waiting lips.

He moves those fingers lower, circling the rim of Az’s hole to ease it open. Az whimpers, finally getting the touch he’s been wanting and it’s almost too much too fast.

Cas slides his free hand down the curve of your ass and onto Az’s neck, curling his fingers around to press against his mate’s pulse point.

“I told you to keep quiet,” Cas snarls. Shadows nuzzle up against the hard planes of Cassian’s body, murmuring apologies that only Az can hear.

You feel Az still beneath you but are so close to your second peak that you keep grinding against his face. It only lasts for a few seconds before Cassian loosens his grip.

“You better make her cum. If you want me to fuck you, I want to hear Y/N scream your name,” he whispers, leaning down to graze his teeth against the skin behind Az’s ear.

“Please, Az,” you whine, fingernails digging into the headboard as you writhe against his mouth searching for your release. His tongue darts into your folds and then he sucks on your clit, lapping up towards it with the flat of his tongue. “Fuck, do that again.” He obliges, wanting nothing more than to feel your walls fluttering against his tongue, to please you, to please Cassian. It’s getting to be too much, having Cas’s fingers working his hole open and you humping his face.

When he dips his tongue into you again, you stutter into your climax. Your hips thrust up until your clit hits Az’s nose and then you grind down, each small movement sending shockwaves through your system.

“Az,” you cry, slumping back against Cas as you’re hit with the full force of a second orgasm without getting the chance to recover from the first. It hits just on the pleasure side of the pain/pleasure spectrum and you ride it out, pulsing walls sucking his tongue back in.

“Good job, honey,” Cas murmurs, wrapping an arm around your chest to pull you in as tight as possible. You let your core fall away from Az’s mouth and Cassian helps you crawl off of Az. Collapsing on the bed next to Az, you curl into his side, seeking out his warmth.

Love you, you mutter through the bond, sending a flutter of purple magic his way. Shadows wrap you in a soothing cocoon in answer.

Cas tugs Az down the bed, flipping him onto his stomach and pulling his hips back so Cas can slip his tip into the loosened hole.

“You ready for me, baby? Think you can take it?” Cas asks, low and breathy since he’s teasing himself as much as he’s teasing Az.

“Yessss,” Az hisses, trying to tip his hips forward to take more. Cas barks out a laugh and smacks a flat palm down on one of Az’s cheeks.

With your head curled to the side, you have a perfect view of the slight jiggle of Az’s ass. Cas’s other hand tightens around the sloping waist leading down to toned hips, and then he slaps again two, three, four times.

“I never said you could speak,” he scolds. Az’s eyes are bright and glinting with unshed tears as he grasps desperately at the last remaining shreds of his self control.

Cas waits for a full two minutes, slowly pushing his cock in deeper. Az stretches to accommodate him, tight rim tugging to try and speed the process along. “Fuck, you take me so well.”

When his pelvis is flush against Az, he bends down and slides his hand into the dark hair standing out against the white sheets. He tips Az’s head to the side, exposing one ear so he can mutter against it. “Okay, you can speak now, baby. You’re doing a good job, Azzie.” Azzie. The nickname shouldn’t arouse him like this, make him clench even tighter around Cas. It’s the name that you call him when you’re feeling sweet, when you really want something, or when you’re trying to get his attention when he’s really, really broken. Az isn’t sure which one of these things Cas is trying to communicate. All three, probably, with the way he’s nipping at Az’s earlier hard enough to break the skin.

“Cas,” Az groans, arching his back to rub his dick against the silk beneath him. You scoot down and push him up on his forearms, slipping into the space beneath him to line your head up with his leaking tip. Cas starts thrusting, strokes wild, deep, and messy as he loses himself in the feeling of Az’s tightness, pounding against his prostate.

“Not gonna last long,” Cas grunts, body frothing with lust and magic after spending so long teasing his mates.

You suck Az in between your lips, swallowing as much of him as your current position will allow, and feel him twitch against your tongue.

“Me ‘neither,” Az mumbles against the curve of your stomach, right below your belly button. His lips ghost against your skin, sending cool shadows in the direction of his breath.

He fucks into your mouth every time Cas bottoms out in him, pushing him even deeper. Cas doesn’t last long, spilling into Az with a strangled choke. Azriel speeds up, hips bucking wildly as he takes

“Gonna come for us, baby?” Cas rasps, running his hands up and down Az’s thighs, slumping forward to keep his dick inside, softening against Az’s prostate.

“Y-yes,” Az keens as he spills himself into your mouth like all he was waiting for was permission. His cum drips down the back of your throat and you swallow it all, sucking him through the aftershocks of his orgasm until he whimpers, overstimulated and wriggling in between you and Cassian.

Cas pulls out and guides Az until he’s laying back with his head and shoulders propped up by only the biggest, fluffiest pillows. You curl up against his side and lift your hand to Az’s neck, grazing the darkening bruises there. Within seconds, Cas has his hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing it tight as he pulls your hand away.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, letting his own free hand settle atop Azriel’s collarbone, fingertips following the trail of marks at the base of his mate’s neck. “I want him to wear them like a necklace.”

Az flushes the prettiest shade of red you’ve ever seen and you hum in acknowledgement. You turn to face Cas, grin as wild as your post-fuck hair.

“Next time, I want you to choke him ‘til he’s blue in the face.”

Golden, molten-lava lust oozes through the bond followed by a bright white flash of shame that’s engulfed by shadows in less than a second.

***

Az is up early the next morning, needing a moment to himself before his mates wake up. Alone at the kitchen table with only the slowly rising sun to keep him company, he works on shrouding the memories of last night in the darkness at the very back of his mind.

When his shadows alert him that someone’s coming up the walkway, he bolts to the door to catch them before they knock or, Mother forbid, ring the bell and wake his slumbering mates. He still has his coffee in one hand when he swings the door open, scowling

“Why, good morning, Shadowsinger,” Rhys drawls, a shit-eating smirk spreading across his face, smooth as butter. “I can come back later if you’re currently indisposed.”

And—oh. Az’s free hand flies to his neck, fingertips ghosting over the bruises littering his throat. In his haste to get to the door, he forgot to deal with those.

Rolling his eyes, he swings the door open wider, beckoning his brother in.

“Come in, you mongrel. But if you wake my mates, you’ll choke on my shadows.” The threat is light-hearted but completely serious when paired with the ice cold glare pinching at the corners of his eyes. Shadows nip at Rhysand’s heels as he follows Az into the cozy little kitchen, sinking into one of the worn, wooden chairs surrounding the table.

Azriel opts to lean against the counter, one leg propped up and a hand clutching the cool marble. Rhys waves one hand, pouring and summoning a cup of coffee with a flick of his hand.

“Show off,” Az snorts into his mug as he takes a long sip of his (black) coffee.

“Somebody’s jealous,” Rhys teases as he adjusts the cream and sugar levels until they’re just right.

Az lowers his mug revealing a nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Of you? Never.” Disgust lasts mere seconds before laughter is bubbling out of his mouth, rumbling deep in his chest. It helps him breathe a little easier.

“I wouldn’t mind swapping places with you for a few days.” Rhys winks as he lifts his mug to his lips.

“You’d have your hands full with those two.” Az waves his mug, gesturing vaguely towards his neck. “This is an anomaly.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is. Cassian always did like being thrown around a little bit too much.” Both males laugh, thinking about a younger Cas holding the full force of his power back in fights, grinning up at his opponent with a mouthful of blood and asking Is that all you’ve got?

It’s quiet for a while as they sip their coffee, but then Rhys sets his mug down and leans forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on the table.

“It’s okay if you liked it, though. They’re your mates, brother. It’s a safe way to be vulnerable, to let your guard down.”

Az’s hazel eyes narrow and his shadows spring into action, swirling around his feet. Rhysand waits patiently, knowing that cracking Azriel’s hard exterior would take time and a delicate hand.

Eventually, he speaks.

“I…enjoyed myself. Cas’s magic is much more powerful than I thought.”

“Oh?”

“It was damn near refined. I’ve never seen him have that much control over it, not even on the battlefield.”

Rhys hums and cocks his head, picturing the explosive bursts of red that had cleared battlefields many times before.

“That makes sense, actually. Cassian’s always been afraid of his power, more comfortable using physical force than magic. It could be a mutually beneficial exercise for the both of you—for all three of you, really. By letting your guard down, you likely allowed Cassian to tap into some of your self control. And the unequivocal trust that stems from bond ensured that both of you felt safe enough to let power flow freely through the bond. I suspect that if you keep practicing, Rhys pauses to flash a wink and a cheeky grin at the blushing Shadowsinger, “then eventually you’ll be able to borrow from each other outside of the bedroom, too.” He punctuates his sentence with a shrug; after all this Triad Bond was rare, so his ideas were merely conjectures.

“So you’re saying we can strengthen our magic by having sex?”

“Sex is a powerful act—of love, of trust, of acceptance—it could become a safe space for you to explore the depths of your powers together.” Az twists his face up in a (hilarious, in Rhys’s opinion) mixture of confusion and intrigue dusted with disgust.

“This isn’t one of Y/N’s trashy romance novels.”

“Or…maybe it is?” Az’s eyes narrow and his shadows stiffen like they’re offended. “Is it really so hard to believe that you’re worthy of a grand love story, brother?”

Azriel frowns, but before he can answer you stumble into the kitchen with Cassian a step behind you to prevent you from falling. Your feet are heavy as your body tries desperately to cling onto sleep. The sight of Azriel leaning against the counter with a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips and one of Cas’ oldest sweaters with the sleeves bunched around his wrists prompts you to scurry faster—the soft version of the Shadowsinger is your favorite.

“Morning, Azzie,” you mumble against his shoulder as you press your face into the soft wool, arms around his waist squeezing tight. Behind you, you hear the familiar low rumble of Rhys’ laughter and are grateful for the opportunity to bury your head further into your mate to hide your blush. You hadn’t noticed him; tunnel vision took over as soon as you saw Az looking sweet and cozy with his baggy clothes and steaming mug of coffee.

“Oi, I’m here, too,” Rhys teases, prompting Cassian to pull him into a bear hug.

“Good morning, Rhysie,” he croons, peppering sloppy kisses all over the High Lord’s face. Rhys chokes on his laughter as he tries to shove the brute off of him.

Cassian is stronger, though, and only tightens his grip further.

“Careful, brother,” Rhys drawls, suddenly stilling as he catches Az’s dark and stormy gaze locked on them, a slight twitching of his jaw betraying his well-concealed jealousy. “I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble later.”

Cas loosens his grip and turns towards Az, grinning at the sight of his mate’s narrowed eyes.

“That’s exactly what I’m hoping will happen,” he says, swatting at the errant shadow nipping at his neck.

Rhysand backs away, hands held up in surrender.

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you to it. And, Azriel, do try to keep your mind open, trust is a powerful magic.”

With that, a cackling Rhysand disappears, leaving you and Cassian to deal with the sputtering Spymaster left behind.

Taglist: @wallacewillow0773638@hnyclover@anutellaa@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog@queerqueenlynn@brujitafantomatico @nickishadow139 @starcrossedsan @dustyinkpages

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

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Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter Two

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person) Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Word count: ~2.8k Series masterlist

Chapter summary: Alicent's birthday dinner proves to be eventful in more ways than one.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

She flops down onto the sofa next to her flatmate, once safely back inside, huffing a dramatic sigh and replaying in her mind the mortifying moment that Aemond refused her kiss.

Mysaria takes out her earphones and closes her laptop, turning to her with a smirk. “So, sugar baby, how was your evening?”

“Shit.” She shoots back, dipping a hand into the open crisp bag that sits between them and taking a few.

“Let me guess, didn’t look anything like his picture?”

She shakes her head, speaking around a mouthful of crisps. “Exactly like his picture. I tried to kiss him and he said no.”

“Sounds like a win to me.” Mysaria says with a shrug. “If you can get away with not doing that sorta stuff and still get the money then you absolutely should.”

She sighs. Therein lies the problem, with Aemond she wants to do that sort of stuff.

The rest of the weekend passes by uneventfully, with no further word from Aemond, no matter how hard she wills for it as she stares at their existing text chain.

She has to suppress a strangled sounding squeal on Monday when he texts her while she’s at work. Her hand flies to her phone the moment she sees his name light up her screen with a buzz.

Are you working today?

She is almost embarrassed at the speed with which she replies.

I am. Why?

She feels her breath hitch as his response comes instantly.

I’ll swing by at lunch time.

She’s unable to concentrate for the rest of the morning, too nervous to focus on anything other than the fact that she’ll be seeing Aemond in a few hours. The time passes painfully slowly and she feels as though she’s anxiously drummed her fingers on every available surface until finally it’s noon.

She spots him in the foyer as she heads downstairs. He is instantly recognisable; taller than almost everyone, the top half of his pale hair is pulled back from his face in a bun, while the rest hangs loose around his shoulders. His fitted black shirt is rolled up to the elbows and paired with a well tailored pair of suit trousers and expensive looking dress shoes.

He gives her his subtle trademark smirk when he sees her and she immediately feels self conscious under the intensity of his gaze.

“Thanks for giving up your lunch break for me.” He says after she’s greeted him. “I figured it would make our story more believable if I’d actually seen you at work. We’re bound to get asked questions at dinner on Wednesday.”

“Oh…sure, no problem.” She feels herself deflate a little upon hearing that this isn’t a visit because he simply wants to see her.

“I brought you a little something, guessing you haven’t had lunch yet?”

He hands her a thick, white box that has ‘Cédric Grolet’ inscribed in gold lettering. It’s a bakery she’s read about in Time Out Magazine, but never visited. In her opinion, anyone willing to spend six pounds on a croissant has more money than sense. She opens the box, her eyebrows raising in surprise as she looks at the delicate pastry inside.

“You brought me a custard tart.” She meets his eye with a grin.

Aemond scoffs. “Parisian flan, actually.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks heat up as she holds his gaze. “I’ll eat this later. Don’t want to risk it around the exhibits.”

He nods, a mixture of amusement and something she can’t quite place evident in his eye as he looks at her. “Shall we then?” He gestures for her to lead the way.

She guides him around the museum and she is impressed with the depth of his knowledge as he tells her what he knows regarding Ancient Egypt and Greek history. Likewise, he pays rapt attention when she explains the timeline of the Vikings and Saxons, asking relevant questions and nodding enthusiastically as she answers.

For the first time in a long time she feels genuinely listened to when she speaks about the subject she’s so fiercely passionate about. It’s nice to have someone take an interest. The conversation flows easily and all too quickly an hour slips by.

“I should let you get back to work.” Aemond tells her, pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time. “I need to get back to Vhagar anyway.”

“Vhagar?”

“Yeah.” Aemond says, and for the first time since they met, his face lights up with genuine happiness. “She’s my doberman. She’s getting on a bit, so I try not to leave her with the dog walker for too long if I can help it.”

She feels herself melt a little at this admission. As if he wasn’t already perfect, he was an animal lover to top it all off.

He’s quick to compose himself, clearing his throat and returning to his stoic demeanour. “Anyway, I’ll pick you up at six on Wednesday, okay?”

She nods and they wave goodbye to each other. She heads back to work, a slight spring in her step for having seen Aemond. She can’t believe how much they have in common, smiling to herself as she wonders when she’ll get to meet Vhagar.

She’s brought crashing back to reality when her phone buzzes with a text from Aemond.

For working through your lunch break.

It’s immediately followed by a notification from her banking app. A one thousand pound deposit from A. Targaryen.

She knows she should feel elated by the money, but it’s a sobering reality check. He’s not your boyfriend, this is transactional.

When she arrives home from work on Wednesday afternoon, she is overwhelmed by the idea of having to get ready for Alicent’s birthday dinner. There is no way she can reuse the dress from Jace and Baela’s engagement party, and everything else in her wardrobe feels far too casual for a family as high end as the Targaryens.

She’s distracted momentarily when she catches sight of a package sitting on the kitchen side.

“Parcel on the side for you!” Mysaria calls out from her bedroom.

“I see it, thanks!” She shouts back, working to remove the packaging.

Inside is a Cartier box, with a note; ‘Would really like you to wear this to dinner - A.’

“Well, then, what is it?” Mysaria asks, creeping up behind her and resting her head on her shoulder. “It arrived this morning and I’ve resisted the temptation to open it all day!”

She gasps as she opens the box. A white gold necklace inlaid with diamonds, and a single sapphire at its center, rests inside.

Mysaria lets out a low whistle. “You could sell that and put down a deposit on a bloody house!”

She rolls her eyes. “I think he intends for me to wear it, not sell it. But what the fuck am I going to put it with? It’s going to look like I’ve put tinsel on shit!”

An hour later, having rummaged through Mysaria’s wardrobe, she’s finally ready, having paired a long sleeved, silky button down top with a faux leather skirt. Simple enough for a casual dinner, yet dressy enough to compliment the completely over the top jewelry that now sits around her neck.

Aemond arrives and is ever the gentleman, opening the passenger side door for her as she climbs into his car. Her eyes linger a little too long on the way his expertly tailored suit hugs his body. Thankfully, his attention is focused entirely on her throat, so he doesn’t notice.

“Necklace looks good.” He says buckling his seatbelt. “We’ll have to do something at some point about the rest of it though.”

Her mouth gapes open in shock. “What’s wrong with my outfit?!”

He reaches across, rubbing the material of her top between his thumb and forefinger. “Polyester.”

The touch of his fingers in such close proximity to her skin makes her feel so light headed that she can’t find it in herself to be offended. Wordlessly, he starts the car.

“So, I should brief you on what you’re getting into before we arrive.” Aemond glances over at her as he drives. “It's my mother's birthday. She won’t have cooked, she never does; she’ll have ordered Thai food. Her partner, Criston, will be there, so will my brother, Aegon, and my sister, Helaena. There’ll also be my half sister, Rhaenyra.”

She doesn’t miss how Aemond tenses up as he speaks of Rhaenyra. She can’t help but feel panicked at how intimate of an affair this will be, especially as this is only her second date with Aemond, if date is even the right word for it.

“What about the rest of your family that were at the engagement party?”

“Most of the people there were not anyone I’d consider family. My grandfather’s away on business and ‘Nyra knows better than to bring her boys. Mum won’t want them there. None of us do.”

The grip that Aemond has on the steering wheel tightens and his jaw clenches. She decides not to push the subject any further, it’s clearly a touchy one and she simply doesn’t know him well enough to pry. The rest of the drive passes in silence.

The townhouse they pull up outside of is lavish, a blanket of green ivy covers the outside. Aemond is quick to take her hand as they walk up the path to the front door. Her heart races at the feel of it, and she has to battle to remind herself that it’s all for show.

Alicent gives them both a warm welcome, pulling them into a tight hug with a kiss on both cheeks. She looks radiant as ever as she leads them through to a large dining room, with a long mahogany table at the center of it.

Helaena jumps up as soon as she sees them, giving them both a hug, while Aegon opts to remain seated, making a mock salute as he takes a swig from his beer bottle.

Aemond was right about the Thai food, as Criston enters shortly after they arrive, carrying several paper bags from a place called Patara and places them in the middle of the table.

Aemond pulls out a chair for her and she takes a seat, her eyes fluttering closed involuntarily as he presses his lips to her temple. A shiver runs through her.

“Get me a fork, would you, Hel? I’ll be here all fucking night trying to eat with chopsticks.” Aegon says, leaning forward to rummage in a bag.

“It’s Thai food, you eat it with a spoon, not chopsticks!” Helaena shoots back.

“That’s not a fork though, is it?” He rolls his eyes exasperatedly, pulling out tubs and setting them down. “Get me a fork!”

“Get your own fork, dick.” She fires back.

“Will you two stop it?!” Alicent hisses. “I just want one family dinner without an argument. Rhaenyra isn’t even here yet, stop opening the food. Aegon!”

She hurries from the room as the doorbell rings.

The mood around the table shifts. She notices Aemond rubbing his fingers together absentmindedly, his teeth grinding ever so slightly. Without thinking, she reaches over and takes his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back, shooting her an appreciative look.

Rhaenyra sweeps into the room, looking glamorous. Her long, light hair is pulled into an intricate braid and a pair of teardrop ruby earrings hang delicately from her lobes.

“Apologies for my lateness.” She says with a tight smile. “Difficult to be on time when you have to make separate dinner plans for the side of the family that aren’t welcome.”

“Oh god, she’s started already.” Drawls Aegon. “Come on, who had ‘as soon as she arrives’ in the sweepstake for when ‘Nyra would start her bitching?”

“Aegon!” Alicent scolds him, her brown eyes widened with anger. Her face softens as she turns back to Rhaenyra. “Ignore him, I’m so pleased you could make it.”

The two women exchange a warm embrace before taking their seats.

The meal passes in relative high spirits, in spite of its awkward start. Expensive red wine is shared around the table, as they all dig into dishes of soft shell crab mango salad, chicken massaman and vegetable pad thai.

Alicent asks her more about her line of work, while Aemond interjects that he’d dropped by to surprise her with lunch. This little anecdote is met with excited coos from both his mother and sister.

He plays the part of attentive boyfriend perfectly. Dishing out food onto her plate, feeding her from his fork and placing his hand on her knee at regular intervals. The longer it goes on for, the more difficult it becomes for her to remember that it’s all an act. The way her body responds to his touch is certainly not for show, however; there is no pretending when it comes to the gooseflesh left in the wake of his hand on her skin.

As the meal is drawing to its end, Rhaenyra sits back in her chair, running her fingers along the stem of her wine glass. “So, I was planning on making a gift of Dragonstone Cottage to Jace and Baela, since they’ll be needing a place to live together once they’re married.”

“That’s not yours to give away.” Aemond tells her, staring at her with an intensity that’s almost frightening.

“Father didn’t name an owner in his will. Technically, as first born, everything goes to me.” She says with an offhand shrug.

“That’s such bullshit!” Aegon seethes, over the rim of his glass.

“Don’t.” Criston warns. “You’ll upset your mother.”

“Maybe this is best talked about another time.” Alicent says, shooting an apologetic look around the table.

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it, Mum? You never want to talk about it and she always gets her own way, just like when Dad was alive.” Aegon says, his voice raising an octave with every word.

“Oh, I think you’ve gotten far more than what is owed to you.” Rhaenyra glares at him.

Aemond slams his fist on the table, causing everyone to startle. He stands abruptly, storming from the room.

She isn’t sure of where to look, she has never felt more uncomfortable in her entire life than she does right now. The atmosphere around the dinner table is horribly strained and she is suddenly glad of the opportunity to play up to her part of concerned girlfriend in order to get away from it.

“I’ll…um…I’ll just go and see where he’s gone.” She says shakily, eager to get away from the sour, sullen faces that now surround her.

She finds Aemond stood outside in the back garden, leaning against the railing of the patio decking as he smokes a cigarette.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.” He responds, taking another drag.

“Anything in there that you wanted to talk about?” She offers meekly.

“I don’t pay you enough for that.” He sighs.

Her face falls slightly at this. Each reminder of what their relationship really is is like a punch to the gut. She leans against the railing, placing her hand next to his.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry. If you ever do need to talk though, I’m happy to listen.”

Aemond flicks the cigarette away, crushing it under foot. “I just…just once it would be nice to feel appreciated.”

“I appreciate you.” She tells him honestly, her little finger stroking over his as she stares up at him.

His face softens as he looks down at her and for the first time since she stepped outside she feels like he is seeing her, really seeing her. His hand moves from the railing to brush her hair away from her face and as his eye moves from hers to her lips, she leans up and presses them to his. This time he doesn’t stop her.

He tastes of cigarettes and red wine, it’s a heady combination, intensified by the plushness of his lips. All too soon, he is pulling away, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that.” He admits.

“But I wanted to.” She pleads earnestly.

He wraps his arms around her then, one hand clutching desperately between her shoulder blades, as the other buries itself in her hair. He kisses her like he is a man starved of oxygen and he needs her to breathe. She whimpers as she feels his tongue work itself against her own. Nobody has ever kissed her like this before, it makes her head swim and heat lick at her lower belly.

“Go to dinner with me on Friday.” He says breathlessly, once their lips part. “Just me and you.”

“I’d love to.” She whispers.

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avastrasposts · 10 months ago

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A Baker's Dozen - Seven

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

Javi P got a lot of attention last week, both his visit to the bakery and for the many Pickled Peña fics he starred in. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! It really means more than you probably reaslise! It's been a rough week and I feel lucky to have found a great community here and to have found so much fun and enjoyment in writing to keep my mind off things.

This week's Pedro boy is dedicated to my lovely friend @secretelephanttattoo who is not only an amazing writer, but also one of the best people I've meet on Tumblr. Love you ❤

Series Master List

Working in a bakery almost every day means you pick up on people’s habits, whether they come into the shop or not. You know the bookshop owner across the streets always arrives ten minutes late on Tuesdays. The bodega owner next to your bakery always picks up his dry cleaning on Fridays and the dry cleaning lady always throws out her trash on Thursday evening. And you know that the cute guy with a dimpled smile always walks past your shop at about eight forty-five every weekday morning.

He hasn’t always walked past, it started just a few weeks ago, but now it’s routine. You’d first noticed him when he stumbled over something on the sidewalk, smacking his hand against your window to keep his balance, and making you jump. He’d given you an apologetic smile, that’s how you know he’s got a deep dimple on his left cheek. And a really, really, great smile.

The next morning you noticed him again as he glanced in through the window and smiled, a quick wave as he hurried down the street. And the same thing the next morning and then it was a routine. Around eight forty-five, between customers, you’d keep glancing over at the window until you see him walk past in his well fitted business suit, always a tie flapping in the breeze. He has a routine with those too you notice; a blue tartan pattern on Mondays, slate gray on Tuesdays, navy blue with white dots on Wednesday and the then tartan one again on Thursdays before he ditches the ties on Fridays. You wouldn’t go as far as saying that seeing him is the highlight of your day, but when one day he doesn’t pass by, you notice. And when the rest of the week passes and he doesn’t show up at all, you feel a little bit sad, even though you never even spoke with him.

Monday morning, eight thirty, and you’re working your way through the morning rush, serving coffee and selling croissants and cinnamon rolls, he suddenly appears again. But this time he’s in front of your counter, holding on to a credit card as he smiles down at you.

“Hi,” he says, the dimple deep in his cheek, “I thought it was about time I stopped by and said hello properly.”

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless, he’s even cuter, and handsome, up close, and you’re suddenly very aware of your shiny face, straggly hair and stained apron.

“I’m Marcus, Marcus Pike,” he says, holding out his hand, “I’m the creepy guy who slams into your window and never comes inside.”

“Hi Marcus,” you reply, taking his hand, hoping yours isn’t too sweaty and clammy, “I’m the creepy baker who stares at you every morning.”

He laughs at that, a warm sound that makes your spine tingle as his eyes crinkle at the corners, a wide smile making another dimple pop on his cheek.

“I guess we need to be less creepy then,” he chuckles, “maybe I can start by buying a coffee like a normal customer?”

“That sounds like a good start,” you smile back at him, “what would you like?”

“A cappuccino, please,” he glances up at the coffee menu behind you.

“Coming right up, anything else?” You motion at the fresh croissants and pain au chocolat piled up on the counter and he looks at them with longing.

“I would love too, really…but my job, we’ve got this fitness test thing in a few weeks and I’ve got to be in shape for that. That’s why I started walking to work, instead of taking the metro.”

“Come back when the test is done then, if you pass, it’ll be on the house,” you wink at him over your shoulder as you start preparing his cappuccino.

“Now there’s the motivation I need,” Marcus laughs, stepping back and glancing over the selection inside the display cases, “But you don’t have my favorite I think.”

“No? What’s your favorite then?” you ask, “No, wait, don’t tell me, let me guess.”

“Ok,” Marucs smiles as you hand him the cappuccino in a takeaway cup,” what’s my favorite?”

You look him up and down, and he grins and takes a step back so that you can see all of him, holding out his arms and giving you a little spin.

“Hmm…business suit, always a tie, well polished shoes and a job that requires fitness tests…” you hum, enjoying the chance he’s given you at properly taking him in. His suit stretches almost tight over his broad shoulders, hugging his biceps, and when he holds out his arms, the shirt underneath hangs on for dear life. The suit jacket lifts up over his butt as he turns and you’re given the privilege of eyeing it for the first time. It’s just as cute as the rest of him and you have to mentally chastise yourself for ogling.

“What’s your guess?” he smiles, coming to a stop in front of you again.

“Carrot cake, but you wipe off the frosting to stay healthy,” you say and he manages to look both cute, amused and offended at the same time.

“No way, I would never sacrifice the frosting!” he says, pretending to be insulted as he grins, “but nice try, I really like carrot cake, but it’s not my favorite.”

“Hmm…maybe-”

“No,” he interrupts you with a wave of his hand, “you get only one guess per day, you can guess again tomorrow.” He gives you a warm smile and as he taps his credit card to pay for the coffee.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, keep guessing,” he says, stepping aside to let the man who’s just stepped into the shop approach the counter. With a final wave he disappears out through the door.

The next morning he turns up again, as the morning rush dies down, and orders another cappuccino.

“Canéles,” you say, pointing at him. “Fancy, French, just the thing a guy in a smart, well tailored suit would like.”

Marcus grins and shakes his head, “I don’t even know what they are, but keep guessing!”

“Give me more clues then!” you protest as he takes a sip of the coffee you just handed him.

“Hmm…I used to play bass in a band in college,” he says and you raise your eyebrows. He does not look like a bass player, or any kind of band member for that matter.

“Special brownies?” you ask with a wink and Marcus almost spits out his coffee.

“Definitely not,” he splutters, chuckling as he wipes his chin, “and you only get one guess per day.”

“Says who?” you ask, but you already know the answer, Marcus’s grin tells you.

“I do, my game, my rules,” he gives you a wink and heads for the door, “see you tomorrow!”

Wednesday he comes in a little bit earlier and hands you a travel mug.

“This looks brand new,” you say and he nods.

“Decided I should save on the environment, and your takeaway mugs,” he smiles, leaning on the counter while you start preparing his coffee, “What’s your guess today then?”

“Cinnabons,” you say, glancing over your shoulder, feeling butterflies erupt in your belly when his face splits into a wide grin. But he shakes his head and you give him a mock scowl.

“You’re impossible to guess!”

“Keep trying, gives me a reason to come in every morning,” he replies, “Not that I need a reason though,” he adds, a pink flush suddenly creeping up from beneath his shirt collar as he gives you an uncharacteristically shy smile.

“I’ll keep trying if you promise to keep coming in,” you smile back at him, you can feel heat creeping up your own cheeks as you hand him his travel mug. And of course his fingers touch yours, just a light brush, but enough for both of you to glance down at your hands. You jump a little as his breath catches and when you look up at him again, his lips are parted and you see the tip of his tongue peak out, just for a split second, before he composes himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he smiles, “thanks for the coffee again.”

Thursday he’s a little bit late, and he hurries through the door with his tie hanging around his neck, untied.

“Sorry, I worked late last night and slept through my alarm this morning,” he huffs as he reaches the counter.

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” you smile, “I only sell you your coffee,” you hand him the cappuccino you’ve already made him and he gives you a grateful look, “and let me fix your tie while you caffeinate yourself.”

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” he sighs and takes a long sip of the coffee as you walk around the counter and stand in front of him. You look up at him, taking hold of each end of his tie, and you suddenly realize you’ve never been this close to him before. There’s always been a counter between the two of you. Now he’s standing barely a foot away and you can smell his aftershave, warm and woody, as you adjust the tie.

“Over…under…over again…” you mumble to yourself, trying to remember what your dad taught you, “up through the neck and down…there, got it,” you say, gently tightening the tie up against the collar as Marcus lifts his chin up, “but you might want to adjust it.”

“No, it feels perfect,” he says, giving you a warm smile, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile back at him, tilting your head up a little to be able to meet his eyes now that he’s standing so close. You should really move back but he smells good and his eyes are so soft looking, the way he just smiles at you.

“What’s your guess?” he asks, smoothing his hand down over his tie as you drop yours to the side.

“What?” you mumble, slightly distracted by how his throat bobs just over the knot in the tie where your hands just where.

“What’s your guess for my favorite baked thing?” Marcus says again and you blink, catching on.

“Oh, of course! Uhmm…brownies? But real brownies, gooey in the middle and crunchy corners?”

“Oh….that is definitely high up on my list, but not my absolute favorite, you’re getting close though,” he grins at you, putting down his coffee mug on the counter.

“I’ve got to run, but….are you free tomorrow, after work?” he asks, his eyebrows knotting together as he waits for your answer.

“Yeah, I’m free,” you say, you can’t stop the smile breaking out on your face at the question and he smiles back at you.

“If you want, I’d really like to have dinner with you, maybe we can both drink something this time?”

“That sounds nice, I’d like that, Marcus,” you reply, butterflies multiplying in your belly as he gently puts his hand on your arm, “and I’ll definitely figure out what your favorite is by then.”

“It’s a date then,” he grins, “you supply my favorite and I’ll sort the rest, I’ll come by at closing, ok?”

You nod and before you know it, he’s leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

Friday morning Marcus stops by and buys his, by now, regular coffee, “So what’s my favorite?” he asks with a cheeky grin and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Not telling you,” you smirk at him, “I’ll serve it tonight, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it figured out now.”

“I can’t wait,” he chuckles, winking at you before he grabs his travel mug and hurries off to work.

Your day drags on and your nerves tingle every time you glance up at the clock at the wall. When the shop quietens down after lunch you prepare what you hope is Marcus’s favorite dessert, putting it in the fridge for baking later.

Just a few minutes before the clock hits closing time you hear the jingle of the doorbell and look up to see Marcus step through it. He’s changed out of his usual business suit and is wearing a leather jacket over a gray t-shirt and jeans, a bright smile as he gives you a wave. You ring up your final customer, bidding them a nice weekend as Marcus lingers to the side, and then you get a chance to say hello to him as you go to lock the door and flip the sign.

“Hi Marcus,” you smile at him as he steps forward.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against your cheek, leaving the spot tingling and your skin warm. When he straightens up he smiles at you, his eyes soft and crinkling at the corners, “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a slightly unusual plan,” he says, pointing to the duffel bag he’s got hanging from his shoulder, “Dinner’s on me, but in your kitchen.”

“You’re cooking for me?” you ask and he nods.

“Seems only fair, you’re making dessert, so I do the rest….well…” he gives a little embarrassed shrug, “with a little bit of help from my favorite restaurant.”

“Sounds like a nice plan,” you say, putting your hand on his arm and his smile brightens again, “come, let me show you the kitchen then.”

You lead him past the counter and into the back room, the kitchen clean and ready for tomorrow, except the dessert for Marcus. “What do you need?” you ask, “Help yourself to anything.”

“First of all, I need you to sit down,” he says with a smile, looking around the kitchen for a chair and spotting only the stool with wheels on, “Not many places to sit in here, huh?”

“When would I have time to just sit around?,” you laugh, taking your apron off and throwing it in the dirty laundry basket in the back room, “I usually just sit on the counter.” You heave yourself up onto the large workbench as Marcus starts unpacking his duffel bag. He’s hung his jacket on the hook by the door and now he’s crouched down, digging through the content at his feet. The gray t-shirt hugs his shoulders, stretching tight over his back and riding up, exposing a strip of bare skin just above his jeans. It’s so far from the man in the well fitted business suits you’ve been seeing every morning for the past few weeks, a much more relaxed Marcus.

“Do you wear the suits every day because your job requires you too?” you ask, taking the opportunity to stretch your tired back as you get settled on the counter, baking all day takes a toll on your body.

“Yeah, I don’t mind them but I prefer the days when I don’t have to wear them,” he answers, standing up and placing a stack of boxes next to you on the counter. “No peeking,” he says in a stern voice, smirking at you and you hold up your hands.

“I’m not touching anything,” you reply, “But I never asked what you work with?”

“I work at the FBI, with art theft,” he says and you widen your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re an FBI agent?”

“Yeah,” he furrows his brow as he looks over at you, “do you..is- is that a problem?”

“No, no, not at all, I’ve just never met an FBI agent. It makes being a baker seem very tame is all.”

“Maybe tame is good sometimes,” he chuckles and looks around the kitchen and his brow furrows again, “Hhmm…hang on, I’ll be right back,” he says, grabbing the bag and going out into the shop again, “No peeking!”.

“What are you doing?” you call out to him as you hear tables and chairs being moved around.

“Nothing, just setting things up, just wait there,” he calls back and a few minutes later he comes back to the kitchen.

“Now, let’s get dinner ready,” he smiles, “Plates and a small saucepan?”

You direct him to them and soon he’s arranging food on two smaller plates.

“Miss,” he says, winking at you and holding out his arm, “Let me show you to your table.”

“How nice, please lead the way,” you smile at him and slip off the counter, taking his arm. He brings you out into the café part of the bakery and leads you to one of the small round tables by the window. He’s put a white table cloth on it and set two candles in the middle, another few candles arranged around the shop. The sun is setting outside and in the dim light of the shop the candles spread a golden glow, giving it an atmosphere you’ve never seen before.

“Marcus…this is lovely, I’ve never had my shop look so nice before,” you say, sitting down as he pulls out the chair for you, “It’s so…romantic,” you let it slip out without thinking but Marcus puffs up a little and beams down at you.

“I’m glad you like it, I really like your shop,” he smiles, “and I really like the shop owner, I wanted to make it special for you.”

“You might be my very favorite customer, Marcus,” you smile back up at him, your cheeks heating up and he grins.

“First course is coming right up,” he says with a smile and disappears into the kitchen.

“You should give food walking tours of the city,” you joke as Marcus smiles at you from across the table. “I’m so full but I still want to go and eat at all your favorite places right now.”

“I’d take them here first,” he says, “and make sure everyone knows where the best bakery in town is, but…” he leans forwards and grins at you, “Speaking of baking, I want to know if you’ve guessed my favorite dessert yet.”

You give him a soft laugh and mimic his movement, leaning forward to meet him across the table, “I think I might have, I just need to go and turn on the oven and then they’ll be ready in a few minutes. But I just realized, you never said what my reward would be for guessing correctly.”

Marcus hums, tapping his long fingers on his chin as he looks at you, a mischievous smile making the corner of his mouth curl up.

“I don’t think we agreed on anything, but if you go turn on the oven and I’ll come up with something good,” he says, his smile widening, making your skin heat up as his eyes seem to suggest something enticing.

Thank god for your industrial oven, it turns on and heats up to the right temperature in no time. While you pull out the dessert plates and take the ice cream out to soften, it hums to life and pings. The dessert goes in and you set a timer and go back out to Marcus, sitting down at the table again.

“It just needs a few minutes,” you tell him, “did you come up with a reward?”

“Yeah, I did, but what if you guess wrong?” he asks, “I need a reward too.”

“If I’m wrong…” you say, thinking out loud, “you tell me your favorite, and no matter what it is, I’ll make it for you.”

“That’s a nice idea,” Marcus smiles, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, the t-shirt stretching tight over his biceps, you swear you can hear a seam ripping behind him, “but I like my idea better.”

“What’s your idea then?” you ask, giving him a suspicious look, he’s got a very happy grin as he looks at you.

“If you guess wrong, I can take you on a second date,” he says and you laugh, that’s probably the easiest reward he could’ve asked for and you see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he sees your laughter.

“Hardly a difficult reward, Marcus,” you smile at him and he gives you a warm smile back, “But what if I guess right, what’s my reward then?”

“If you guess right, you get to take me on a second date,” he grins and you feel little happy bubbles in your chest as his soft eyes stay locked with yours, you can’t help but smile widely back at him.

“Deal, Marcus,” you say, holding out your hand to him. He leans forward and takes it, his large hand enveloping yours, thick fingers gently closing around yours as you both shake on it.

“I can smell chocolate,” he grins, glancing at the kitchen, “I think you’re on the right track.”

“I know you, Marcus,” you laugh, “all serious business suits on the outside, but a wild child on the inside, bass player and all.”

“Hardly the definition of a ‘wild child’,” Marcus chuckles, “now, if I’d been lead singer or lead guitar, then maybe.”

“Well, the dessert is only a little bit of a wild child, the defining factor is that at its heart, it’s very romantic, just like you.”

Marcus gives you a slightly embarrassed smile, “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“That you’re a romantic? Of course, but I like it,” you smile softly back at him, turning off the timer that’s just gone off, “Moment of truth. Did I guess right or not?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m getting a second date either way,” he says, winking at you as you stand up and head to the kitchen.

Pulling them out of the oven you quickly plate the dessert and scoop up the vanilla ice cream, finishing with a light dusting of cocoa. Your hip bumps open the door to the shop and Marcus watches you eagerly as you bring the plates over and set them down on the table.

“If this is what I think it is, you’ve got yourself a second date,” he jokes and grins up at you.

“That’s not helpful, Marcus,” you laugh, “either way, you’ve got yourself a second date.”

“I know, that’s the beauty of this deal,” he chuckles, picking up his dessert spoon and looking at you expectantly, “Can I guess?”

“Sure, go ahead,” you smile and he pokes the dessert lightly.

“Chocolate fondant?” he asks, looking up at you, raising his eyebrows, before he digs the spoon in and cuts it open. The soft chocolate cake exterior gives way to a thick river of chocolate that pours out of the interior of the little cake. Marcus giggles and scoops up a bite of both cake and sauce and puts the spoon in his mouth, humming at the flavor and closing his eyes. You watch with pride as he tips his head back and moans, the spoon still in his mouth as he sucks it clean.

“How did you know?” he asks, a bright smile on his face when he’s finally done with his first bite.

You shrug and smile back at him, “You’re not a health freak, you didn’t recognise the more complicated French pastry, you like gooey brownies and you’re a romantic. Chocolate fondant seemed like the obvious choice. Decadent, sweet and just the right amount of fancy,” you grin at him.

You take a spoonful from your own fondant and put it in your mouth, watching the chocolate flow out from the inside, just the right amount of undercooked to keep the inside flowing and warm. The chocolate flavor spreads across your tongue, paired with a hint of vanilla and salt, rich and warm and you let an involuntary moan escape. When you glance up you don’t miss the dark look Marcus gives you, his eyes fixed on your mouth as he takes another spoonful.

“You really guessed right, I love chocolate fondant, but I’ve never had one this good before,” he says, humming around the big piece in his mouth. “How come you don’t have them in the shop? Actually, don’t have them in the shop, I’d buy them all every week.”

You giggle at his blissed out face as he takes another big bite, dropping his head into the palm of his hand as he sucks the spoon clean, “It’s like hot chocolate, brownie and chocolate sauce all in one fluffy soft shell of cake.”

“I’m glad I guessed right, seeing your happy face makes me happy,” you smile at him and the tips of his ears go a pink in the dim light as he clears his throat and chuckles.

“Coming to your bakery makes me happy,” he smiles, scraping the last bit of fondant from the plate while he looks up at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and it’s your time to feel the heat rise in your face, his grin widens as he sees you shift awkwardly in your chair and glance at him with a smile.

“Really, getting my morning coffee has become the highlight of my day,” Marcus says, “How sad isn’t that?”

“Not sad, you coming into the bakery every morning has been the highlight of my day,” you say, finishing off the fondant and putting the spoon down while Marcus watches you with a smile. He suddenly pushes his chair back and stands up, holding his hand out to you.

“Dance with me,” he says, the warmth of his hand spreading across your palm and down your arm as he pulls you to your feet.

“There’s no music, Marcus,” you laugh but he just grins and spins you around before catching you in his arms, one around your waist, the other still holding on to your hand as you put your own hand on his shoulder.

“Who cares about the music,” he says, gently swaying you back and forth while he gives you a soft smile, “it was just a clever ruse to get to hold you.” His hand on the small of your back is lightly stroking the fabric of your shirt and you’re very close to him, pressed up against his chest as he holds you near, moving slowly in a circle. You can smell his aftershave, mixed in with the dark chocolate of the dessert and without thinking, your hand slips into the soft looking curls at the back of his neck. Marcus tilts his head as your fingers play with the silky strands, letting go of your hand and moving it slowly to cup your face, his thumb stroking the soft skin on your cheek as he seems to inhale slightly and dip his head to yours.

His lips are just as soft as you’ve imagined them, warm, gentle, as he parts them and tastes you. His steady hand holds you close, the curve of his strong nose brushing up against your cheek as he angles his head to better kiss you. You feel your fingers gripping his hair, willing him to press you even closer to him. All of his warm, solid body is pressed up against yours, his hand at the small of your back sliding up to hold you closer to him, your own hand gripping his shoulder, steadying yourself as you feel like melting into his touch.

He’s still swaying the two of you gently, your lips moving slowly together, tasting the chocolate on each other's tongues. Heat is creeping through your body, wrapping around you, as you feel him tighten his hold on you, his breath skating over your lips as he exhales, a quiet groan leaving his throat.

“You taste so sweet, even sweeter than the dessert,” he mumbles, his mouth close to yours, “I never want to stop kissing you.”

You stand on your tiptoes to reach more of him, your hand around his neck, and part your lips for him, letting his tongue lick into your mouth with more fervor. He also tastes sweet and the way he pulls you closer as you steady yourself against his chest makes you moan under his increasingly heated kisses. He’s not swaying you anymore, instead he lets you melt into his body, his arm holding you up, as he bends his head, another groan slipping from him as he feels your tongue slip around his own.

Marcus’s kisses make you forget the time, where you are, and not until he pulls away with a sigh, do you open your eyes and look up at him. His eyes are dark, filled with lust, and it’s mirrored in the way his body feels against yours, his arousal a clear presence between you. And you can feel your own fill your core with heat, a slow shiver as you touch upon the thought of having him even closer.

Marcus keeps his eyes locked on you, his warm hand gently stroking your cheek as he seems to take a deep breath, composing himself. Your fingers are still toying with the impossibly soft curls at the back of his neck, letting them slip through your fingers, and you feel like you might drown in his dark brown eyes if he doesn’t release you soon.

“Is it too soon to ask for a second date tomorrow?” he whispers, his eyes dropping down to your lips again, and then back to your eyes as you shake your head.

“No, tomorrow sounds like a very good idea,” you mumble, slightly hazy from the way his hands never stop touching you, warming your body and sending shivers to your core.

“Ok,” he mumbles back, “can I kiss you again?”

“If you do, we might not get out of here tonight, Marcus,” you smile at him and he chuckles, nodding and pulling back a little.

“You’re very right, maybe it’s best to save more kisses for tomorrow.”

“I look forward to them though,” you say, letting your fingers slip from his hair and down over his shoulder, caressing his arm, his wrist, and finally his hand. He takes your hand then, enveloping it in his larger one, and brings it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to it.

“Tomorrow then,” he smiles.

Part Eight

@harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x ofc #marcus pike x reader #a baker’s dozen

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keyrey · 4 months ago

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ꕥ𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰/ 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢ꕥ

“When my father didn’t have my hand, he had my back.” —Linda Poindexter

■□■(SFW, family headcannon.)■□■

𝓡𝓮𝓭, a testament to never-ending strength and courage. White, a resemblance of peace and purity. Denmark, a hot-ass place to be in the middle of summer, wearing a thick cream colored suit and tie. It’s what you’ve been trying to tell your headstrong, handsome, manly hunk of a husband all evening. Although somehow, you’ve ended up bundled in layers of silk sheets, the orange sun peeking through the sheer curtains, the ever-so-calming timbre of Farum Lake and rustling leaves, cradled warmly in the embrace of the man we all know and love, Kento freaking Nanami.

“I swear I’m gonna break that damn clock one day,” you blurt out before your mind can register what you said. A slight offense on your part—forgetting that the clock you’re so avidly pressed about was Nanami’s grandmother’s, one of the last remnants of her being. Grandpa Soren’s house is the worst place to be in the scorching summer heat. Do you want air conditioning? Buy a water bottle and a bucket of ice. If it weren’t for the croissant bakery, the ice cream truck, and the taco joint down the road, you’d flee right back to good ol’ Ammurica on the first flight available, but… this is one of the sacrifices you have to make when you have a husband, right?

"I love your commitment to destroying antique furniture. Maybe we should replace all our furniture with IKEA next."

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his snarkiness. He does that sometimes, most of the time. “Nanami—” “I apologize.”

“Yeah, you better, fool!” You laugh heartily, chest hurting as you throw a nearby pillow at him. But of course, with his trained Jujutsu reflexes, he dodged it perfectly even though he’s retired.

“Dammit! I will get you next time!” The other pillow you were about to chuck straight into that gorgeous face of his, got halted by the creek of the rusty metal hinges. You both looked, craning your heads to the side.

Slimy fingers which most definitely were coated with snot and boogers trailed up your sides. An ooey, gooey monster? No… just your five year old girl, Jasmine, who runs in the house like she owns the place. You refuse to tell her that one day, she will.

Jasmine held one of those velcro wooden pizza sets that you can mix and match. You guessed it was her favorite feature because it was the only explanation for a pineapple, salmon, mushroom and pepperoni pizza all in one. To make it even better, her slobbery fingers made an excellent argument on why NOT to indulge in this intriguing delicacy. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDYYYYYYY!!!!” Jasmine was your crazy ball of energy, you really have no idea how she is such a contrast to both your and Nanami’s personalities.

Grandpa Soren shuffled into the room, his long beard swinging slightly with each step. Coupled with an angular visage. The lines on his face told stories of loneliness, but his eyes brightened as they took in the sight of his family.

His voice, though worn and gravelly, carried a tender note as he spoke. "I'm sorry," he said, running a hand through his beard, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "She just really wanted to see you on your birthday, Nanami."

Jasmine returned to galloping around the master bedroom like the centaur she is– should be.

"She's too fickle! Slips right out of my hands!" he chuckled, shaking his head in amused resignation.

“How would you all feel about a birthday breakfast in bed, hmm?” Now we’re talking. You were the first to raise your hand, NOT your birthday. Nanami looked at you, a knowing look on his face. A nod of confirmation, and Grandpa Soren is gone, whisked away into the wonders of the kitchen.

The scent of warm pastry dough, buttery and slightly sweet, mingled with the eggs, created an irresistible symphony of smells that tickled the senses.

“Daddyyyyyy!!!! Why not eat my pizza!!!!!?? Is delicious!!!”

She really needs to go back to preschool. You couldn’t hold back your reaction, a fierce chortle, eliciting a brown faux fur pillow right in your face, shutting you up immediately.

Nanami went into full-on dad mode, a mode that even when you two are alone, is hard to turn off. Literally, his pupils dilated fully, looking like a straight up puppy. He seemed to snake off the bed effortlessly and onto the ground, kneeling down to her level. You witnessed his hands tremble in fear as he stuck out the tip of his tongue to taste his daughter’s creation.

“You like? You like, daddy!!???”

He tried his hardest not to break his facade and provided Jasmine with a crooked smile, attempting to hide the sensation of his stomach twitching.

“Delicious, baby. Make Daddy another one?” And thus began the start of a grave mistake that eventually roped you and Grandpa Soren around in it as well. Sour expressions ran through the family. Luckily, you were no longer burning in the heat as Grandpa invested into a fan. You thought you’d never see the day. Only Nanami would risk his life for his daughter’s wooden pizza creations. This is why Nanami is daddy. Our very own daddy.

╰┈➤Banner (Canva rules) ╰┈➤Fanart drawn by yours truly - KeyRey. ╰┈➤Special thanks to @cafekitsune for the divider! ╰┈➤ Extra special thanks to @pseudowho for inspiration to start writing again ahhh! Love your work ❤️

(I don’t know if I was supposed to tag, sorry! New to the unspoken rules of tumblr etiquette 😅😅 >.<)

■□■<Unrelated Teaser for a potential sequel>■□■ An autistic dog accompanied by an autistic girl, an uncalled for turn of events, but my current reality as he shakes in my arms, petrified by the sharp, whirring whistles of red, white and blue. A symbol of bravery, peace and freedom. But we all know expectations and realities provide an unequivocal sense of falseness. Which is why a compressed thunder jacket, warm cozy blankets and bread coated in peanut butter, stuffed with an anxiety pill inside is the way to go.

Extra little note: A few mistakes might've went under my radar when writing this, please don't be afraid to point out corrections! ⇣⇣Real footage of Nanami and his baby⇣⇣

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fukurodani-fc · 6 months ago

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Here's a few things about Fukurodani's no.7 : Konoha Akinori (a headcanon)

He makes the simplest, most normal things hot as hell. Here's a panel to prove exactly that:

You can say whatever you want, but this panel has never left my head since the first time i read it four years ago. It's a simple phrase. "Nah. Dun wanna.", so why does it hold so much impact? Simple. Because he's Fukurodani's no. 7: Konoha Akinori

2. People call him the "the Jack of all Trades; Master of None" but here's a few things he's actually good at:

2.1. He is incredibly smart. He's street smart and book smart. His favourite subject is Chemistry, and he has the periodic table memorised in one day simply because he's bored. 2.2. He's very good at baking, especially pastries that many claim difficult. He makes the fluffiest croissants and everybody goes crazy for them. 2.3. Konoha is a terrible singer, but he is actually good at dancing. The only time you'd get to see dancer Konoha is when he's hammered. You will get to see this side of him when he's had 7 shots of soju.

3. Konoha is a good ass dresser. Here's a few pictures yet to support this brainrot of mine:

4. Konoha loves animals and he has a number of cats at home, and he names them after chemical elements. His favourite cat is a Siamese cat which he names Silicone (because it's a SIAMESE)

5. Konoha enjoys hiking and he would go hiking every weekend. In his bucket list, he would like to hike at all the hiking spots in Japan. He would like to climb Mount Everest one day.

6. The only sport Konoha enjoys is volleyball and he sucks at other sports. He can't kick a ball to save his life.

7. He is extremely bad at relationships and flirting in general. Konoha is good at making friends and keeping a conversation, but he becomes a mess when people tell him they like him or when asked to flirt, he says the dumbest shit, embarrassing himself.

8. He is a family man. He is overprotective of his sisters and would always scare the men who try to ask out his sisters which brings me to my next point:

9. Konoha is bad at making enemies. He can't fight for shit and he has never been in a fight before, simply because he is liked by everyone. He may appear angry, but that's all there is in him.

10. Konoha is not only overprotective of his family, but he is also overprotective of his friends (Akaashi especially) and would always find ways to help them out. He hates it when his friends fall into a slump (though he may appear tired of Bokuto's antics) and he is always the first to give them advice.

i love him so much guys. pls love him too.

#haikyuu #fukurodani #konoha akinori #headcanons #konoha is so hot i can't stop thinking about him #konoha brainrot all day every day #jack of all trades #master of none #i love konoha

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iridescent-solstice · 8 months ago

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ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ: ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴅ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ. | ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: {MDNI‼ This fic gets graphic and kinky near the end. I do not want you to interact with this, please respect my wishes or you will be blocked} |

★彡[ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ ɪꜱ ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍʏ ɪɴᴄʀᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴡ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ ɪɴ ʙᴀᴋɪɴɢ, ᴍᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇ ʙᴀᴋᴇʀʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅꜱ. ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ 내복곰 ɴᴇʙᴏᴋɢᴏᴍ'ꜱ ʙᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴠʟᴏɢꜱ]彡★

✧･ﾟ☆｡˚🍮⋆ ˚ ☆

You watch silently as the quiet whisking of cream echoes in the silent kitchen. It was close to 3am, yet both you and the Trancy butler were wide awake. One would assume you two were up to some... um inappropriate behaviour. It was quite late after all. But contrary to popular belief, Claude was not always up to nefarious actions. Sometimes, it's the simple day to day activities that would end up gaining his interest. Like crocheting in the garden with a cup of tea long after the master of the manor had gone to bed. Or other times, tending to the garden, maybe even a game of chess against himself...

The clinking of bottles provided the perfect ambience as he mixes various different ingredients in an attempt to rid out the taste of lemon. He's a bit of a perfectionist. So, when he accidentally added a tad bit too much, while chatting with you, he became hell bent on fixing it. Yes, it is almost unnoticeable, the lemony touch, but he refuses to let it go. So, you sit there all quiet and pretty in your knee length nightgown, your legs swinging back and forth as you try not to laugh at his apron. His eyebrows furrowed as he focused, with an intimidating glare in his eyes. Yet you could hardly feel yourself scared when looking at him due to his attire. A small white bandana holding his hair back from his face, makes him look….funny. Not that you’d ever admit it. You swallow a chuckle at his attire. Not wanting to distract him anymore. Pfft, you weren't sure how much more teasing he'd tolerate from you.

For all his indulgence in meaningless human activities, he never once thought he would be sharing these moments with another. To demons, said activities are useless after all. No need for said food, and even if needed, there was no need to craft it himself. Yet he does. Perhaps he even seeks it for his own enjoyment. That would explain his insistence on perfecting his baking techniques... Yes, this late at night, because when special interests arise who's to stop him? Who with the authority to hold him back anyways. But perhaps he yearns for someone to share it with.... That would explain his lack of irritation towards you when he accidentally added a bit too much of an ingredient. Getting carried away when listening to you was quickly becoming one of his worst traits.

However, as you struggle to stifle a yawn as your teary eyes forbid you from staying awake any longer. Vision becoming blurry but just as you were about to cave to your slumber. His voice rings out. "That seems about right. Here, try it." Before your eyes have even opened properly, he's shoving his index and middle finger inside your mouth. The tips of his gloved fingers covered in a small sample of the cream he just prepared. You gag and immediately hold his wrist in weak protest. But his glare quickly stops any intention to push him away. Eyebrows raised as if daring you to stop him. He knows you won't though. "Go on, tell me what you think." Swirling your tongue around to taste the whipping cream about to be used, you watch a small grin creep onto his face. Your eyes roll back to your head with a quiet groan. It actually tasted quite nice. If he could be arsed to, guests would flock to the Trancy manor to taste his pastries.... As you mull over the thought of advertising his cooking to your friends and family, his eyes begin to dart to the newly whipped cream, and then back at you. Low lidded eyes suddenly glowing as he watches you. Perhaps he won't reserve it for the croissant, his mind quickly finding a new better use for his newly prepared assortment. "So? Don't tell me you've forgotten the task at hand already... Well, that's a shame I thought I taught you better."

✧･ﾟ��｡˚🍮⋆ ˚ ☆

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jellalism · 1 year ago

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Diluc x GN!Reader fic: In safe hands

You are having a depressive episode. Diluc takes care of you.

Word count: 1018

Genre: Comfort

Content warnings: Depression, not wanting to eat, and anti-natalist thinking (i.e. thinking it is better not to be born).

Notes: First published on AO3 a year and a half ago. Thought I'd finally post it on here, too.

Read below or on AO3.

You sit on the couch of the Dawn Winery Manor. Knees up, nestled under a blanket, staring into space. Comfy, but you’re not happy. It isn’t that anything is particularly wrong, but you’ve been feeling down today. The whole week, really. It’s just one of those episodes you have every once in a while. You know you’ll get through it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. On the worst days, you can barely drag yourself out of bed, eating is a chore, and doing any actual work is an impossible task. Today is perhaps not that bad, but not much better either. Add to that, the terrible boredom. If you had anything to distract yourself with, it might be bearable – but what do you do if your very diversions seem insurmountable tasks themselves? You sigh.

“y/n?” Diluc stands in the middle of the room, taking his coat off. You hadn’t even noticed him coming in.

“Hey,” you say. You wish you could be more outwardly enthusiastic, but you’re too sapped of energy. Inwardly, though, you are quite happy to see him.

“I see you are not doing so well.” He pauses, then walks up to you, bends over, and kisses your forehead. “Hold on, I will make you some tea.”

You murmur a word of thanks, but probably too softly for him to hear as he leaves the room. He could just have one of the servants make the tea, but he prefers to care for you with his own hands. Besides, his expertise doesn’t only pertain alcoholic drinks. He knows the exact right way to make tea, too. None of the servants’ tea can match the Master’s.

You listen to Diluc making noises in the kitchen, as he left the door open. Bringing the water to a boil, measuring the amount of tea, taking the pot from the cabinet – all the while humming a soft tune. Diluc has told you before that humming is an indispensable part of making good tea. You have your doubts, but have no reason to complain; you’re quite content listening to his song. Diluc isn’t free of his own demons, but he can get into the tasks at hand and lose himself in it, which allows him to hum in such a carefree way.

After a couple of minutes, Diluc returns, carrying a tray. On it, a pot of tea, two cups, and… a croissant. Why must he be so perceptive? you wonder. He definitely noticed you haven’t eaten – it is like a sixth sense he has. Diluc places the tray on the table and, without a word, starts pouring the tea. Then he puts one cup in front of you, giving you a smile and a wink. The second cup he places next to yours, and then he seats himself next to you on the couch. His arm goes over your shoulder and pulls you closer to him. You relax, leaning against his body. It’s warm, comfortably warm. You close your eyes.

“Tell me what is on your mind.”

You are silent for a moment, collecting your thoughts. “I don’t know,” you start softly. Diluc murmurs an encouraging sound. Still trying to find the right words, you continue: “Sometimes I just feel so down without an apparent reason. And once I’m that way, the negative thoughts come pouring in, to keep me held down. I fear that I’m never gonna be alright. That I’m not worthy of love. That I’ve misled people into loving me, because if they truly knew me, they wouldn’t stick around. That it'd be better for everyone if I were never born.”

“I respectfully disagree, my love.” Diluc replied. “You are… quite someone, you know? There is no need to be afraid that people would cower at the sight of the ‘real you’. I have been with you for some time, and you have bared your soul. And I am still here, remember? I love you with all your insecurities and wounds, all your mistakes and the things you think are imperfections. I have seen all of you, and I am ‘sticking around’. I love you, and I love being with you.”

A single tear runs over your cheek. “Thank you,” you say. The response feels inadequate, but you can’t quite put your feelings into words. “That means a lot,” you add, turning to face him. He smiles at you in a loving way. His right arm still wrapped around your shoulders, he brings his left hand to your face, holding your chin. His touch is ever so gentle, like you’re a beautiful yet fragile flower. You close your eyes as he leans in. His lips touch yours, press upon them with reservation betraying unparalleled devotion. He tastes like apple cider, with that slight taste of cinnamon.

As the kiss comes to an end, Diluc doesn’t lean back, but rather embraces you tightly. “You mean a lot to me,” he murmurs in your ear. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

You make no sound, letting yourself melt in his arms. They are so warm, so safe. Diluc breath tickles your neck.

After a while, Diluc lets go of the embrace, though one of his hands searches yours and holds it. With the other hand, he reaches for the plate with the croissant and picks it up. “Eat something, sweetheart.” You look at the pastry with aversion. Diluc doesn’t fail to notice. “I know you do not want to, but I do not wish to see you neglect your body. If you cannot do it for yourself, do it for me, alright?” He looks at you imploringly and softly squeezes your hand.

“Alright.” You remove your hand from his hold, take the croissant from the plate and take a small bite.

“Good,” Diluc mumbles under his breath. His now-freed hand goes to your head, and starts playing with your hair. “It’s so soft.”

As you slowly eat the pastry, Diluc continues his play with your hair. His fingers are so delicate, so careful. If it’s under his care, eating isn’t all that bad, you suppose.

Notes

Thanks for reading! I really enjoy reading your comments, whether that's as an actual comment or just your reactions in the tags of a reblog. So if you enjoyed, please leave a comment!

#genshin impact #diluc x reader #genshin x reader #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x gn!reader #diluc x you #genshin x you #genshin x gn!reader #my writing

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midnight-pluto · 11 months ago

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COFFEE: PG.13 — meet the parents

COFFEE: tim drake x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: Tim meets a barista that gives him what he needed most — a large coffee with way to many shots of espresso. Though what happens when just a single action changes the other's life, forever?

coffee master list || prev. || next

FRIDAY, JUNE 23 2023 - 9:30 PM

DATING A LITERAL celebrity. But dealing with parents who still you’re still eleven is even harder — well, to you at least.

Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky today since their focus wasn’t on you. Unfortunately, their focus was on your partner who was just nodding along to their endless rambles on how they most certainly should treat you right.

“Not that I have any doubts that you aren’t treating Y/N right it’s just,” your mother gestures her hand towards Tim, “You don’t look very, well.”

“Mom!” you whisper scream, appalled at her bluntness. You place a hand on Tim’s thigh as a way of apologizing on your mothers behalf to which he slightly snorted at.

“What? I’m just saying,” she remarks.

Lightly squeezing his thigh in slight frustration, Tim places a hand on yours, intertwining your fingers with his and letting it hang inbetween both of your chairs. Exhaling through your nose, your frustration stars to simmer back down until your father speaks up.

“How much money do you make?”

“Enough,” Tim nods which your father looks at him blankly before sipping on the coffee you made for him. You sigh at their words, hanging your head low in embarrassment making Tim let go of your hand to rub the top of your back soothingly.

“Oh my— you can’t just ask that, especially in public!” your mother scolded to which your father just softly chuckled and nodded.

Wanting to get this interaction over with, you interrupt by saying, “If you guys just want to sit here that’s fine but I gotta get back to work soon so just come back to the counter when you’re ready to order.” You hurriedly push your chair back in when your parents nod — signaling that you were allowed to be dismissed.

FRIDAY, JUNE 23 2023 - 10:27 PM

IT WASN’T LIKE you weren’t used to an overwhelming amount of people in the café, you actually preferred it since it meant you were more likely to get paid more. However, what you weren’t used to were the concerning amount of people crowding the windows just to see a glimpse of the one and only Bruce Wayne.

To be completely honest, you knew for a fact that most of those of reporters outside were from other cities since the main ones in Gotham have been desensitized to the sightings of the local billionaire.

Headlines of Bruce Wayne doing normal daily things in a regular persons life got old after a while — oh wow, he’s at a gas station buying chips! That will definitely get a lot of attention.

The only reason you were freaking out internally was simply because that was that there was close to a hundred people outside the small café which probably made you more nervous than the man in front of you.

“Is there anything else that’d you would like?” you ask, putting on disposable gloves and grabbing the croissant he had requested. Placing it into a small bag you remove your gloves and tap the screen once more.

“No I’m alright,” he said, taking out his wallet for cash and putting the exact amount of money on the counter on top of another bill.

Counting the bills in your hand you raise a brow at the stray hundred given. “Take it as an apology for bringing a lot of people around here.”

Nodding at his explanation you pocket the money and give him his croissant, “Enjoy the rest of your day!”

“You too,” he nods, walking out the front doors and the crowd follows.

You let out a sigh of relief at the lack of eyes on you, resting your hands on the edge of the counter as your heart rate slowed as it had unknowingly quickened at the amount of eyes on your form.

Feeling a comforting rub on your lower back, you turn to see Tim standing there with a smile, “You did good.”

Smiling back at him, you rest your head on his shoulder as a form of relaxation to which he placed a chaste kiss on your forehead in response.

SPECIAL NOTE: i was supposed to post this on Friday but I got distracted by building a Christmas tree 😔

TAGLIST: @grandstrangerphantom @marsbars09 @fabitheraven @lovelypitasworld @dyjcksn @mae77eris @sugarrush-blush @djchik @soundsfunbutno @apizzacalledmel @strangetrashblog @cipheress-to-k-pop @harleycao @unhingedtimdrake @a-homosexual-homosapien @aquarii-doodles @love-stayz @criminallycan @hecate-frenchfries [ if your name isn't highlighted then I wasn't able to tag you. if you would like to join, feel free to send me an ask or to comment! ]

#coffee ☕️ - tim drake #tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x gender neutral reader #coffee shop au #tim drake x y/n #tim drake x you #batfam #batfamily #duke thomas #batbros #batman #steph brown #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #red robin x reader #red robin dc #smau dc #dc smau

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blurredout10 · 2 years ago

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This Is Not A Date

Upgraded Connor (RK900) | Nines/ Reader fanfic

Rating: Mature

Wordcount: 5560

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, emotionally curious nines, groping, smut, p in v sex, rough, kinda soft kinda not lil boi

Link to AO3 here or continue below cut:

You envied him, really.

Holding down a forefinger, the imprint fogging your phone screen, the victim of your poking quite literally quivered under your fingertips; a damn bloody dating app. Its cornered ‘x’ be the only good idea it gave you since its offered romantic prospects surely weren’t.

It shakes a violent plead of mercy, like the castle clown prancing joyously, a jingle bell on its neck collar shaking its head desperate no’s where you snapped two fingers for its forthcoming executions. Disappointing. As per usual.

But punishing the joker meant nothing if its replacement came from the same circus. You downloaded another app, pinky peach hearts pictured on a mobile symbol, your expectations had sunk passed the depths of hell.

You were no less given the attention, a text ping except for a joker's bell. Despite Detroit’s ever-growing gene pool with the doubling population of both humans and androids, your huddle of situationships barely satisfied you, lacking a spark you so craved. Matches appeased your eyes, descriptions void of icky pick-up lines, but with every other text you were sent, something scrunched up your face worse than the last.

“Why are people so boring?” you vented to the brioche-scented air, very much aware that fine-tuned android ears had spaced out. You’d grown to suffer alone.

He didn’t have to worry about bearing the weight of carried conversations, he was perfect. Bloody hell looked it too.

Nines envied you equally, but for the opposite reasons.

There hadn’t been a day's rest of his HUD, notifications running haywire like sugar-induced children running laps in a playground. But even little humans collapsed in exhaustion — you did a lot of that — and energy was spent, Nines’ string of leeching matches never tired.

“How tall are you?”

“Glad we matched! My place or yours?”

“How big did they make you?”

“Boring indeed,” silencing the utter mess of thirsty texts, he turned his attention back onto you, a croissant half-stuffed in a stun where you hadn’t expected an answer. Flakes stuck to your lip as you chewed, fluttering eyelashes moaning for you at the fill of French delectables. Your reactions amused him. People were boring, indeed.

You, however, were quite interesting.

Many months of a developed friendship had the both of you puzzlingly closer. Intending to better work efficiency, Nines fed into your friendly advances, but he hadn’t expected to actually enjoy your company. You two had clicked like polar forces, self-fashioned laws of physics in your own little world together.

Nines, surprisingly, was a pretty handsome wall to talk to. You enjoyed every little teenage-like whisper of gossip you shared, to which the android’s sharp ears picked up on the latest in the DPD. You’d grown accustomed to his partially stiff persona as he did to your free-spirited one. The moon to your sun, and he surely brightened in your gifted happiness. Kindred souls hand-in-hand, shoulder-to-shoulder, you were there for him, and he was there for you.

Nines scoffed at deleting another chat thread with a persistent match mate.

It started as a joke. ‘I can get more bitches than you,’ though you knew you were speaking out of your ass. You did not, dare you say could not get more bitches than a man who mastered being a man, despite being made plastic and steel.

Eyes blue like arctic winds, soft but intimidatingly focused in burning through flesh, his face sculpted unfairly to turn heads his way. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist that looked good in anything, even you could admit that. You were no stranger to getting asked about his romantic status.

The sheer size of him shifted uncomfortably in the little bakery’s equally little seats, shoulders swallowing the back of his chair as if his steel spine served a replacement. Discomfort, albeit making him stir again to lean forward with a frustrating twitch of brows, was still foreign to him; a bitterness that squirmed deep in his chassis. It had taken a while to identify and label the feeling.

Experience was the tutor in the study of emotional understanding. Experience was his guide to an emotionally coloured world and discomfort was by far the dullest, sluggish and unattractive hue he’d come across.

Nines heard an audible moan deep from your chest, satisfaction making you lick buttered fingers clean. Your palate cleansed except for pastry bits on your plate, following a trail to your lap, above your chest and still on your bottom lip. You, however, were that bit of colour that sagged his shoulders, the bit of colour that made him agree to silently accompany your weekly brunch ravishment.

His chest shook in a chuckle at seeing you no less a mammal in its habitat, wild and careless, waving away thrown looks at your poor table etiquettes. Hair frenzied in a mess, your posture slouched as if you owned the ground around you, you had a flair of contentment with everything you did. Interesting human, indeed.

“I wasn’t aware wearing your afternoon brunch was socially acceptable,” he quipped and your eyes widened, patting hands rubbing away crumbs that doubled his laughter. Croissant bits projectile in his direction, ultimately landing on the table and his lap.

Your phone announced itself, a text ping waking up your screen with the surprising icon of a newly downloaded dating app. Flat on the table, Nines perked in out of curiosity. Your spread grin was better at drawing his attention.

It could only mean one thing.

“I’ve got a date on Friday.”

-.—.-

It just happened.

Somehow in some weirdly fated way, you and Nines had your dates aligned. When you’d dress up for a dinner evening, he’d be suited up for one couple of roads down. The forgotten competition falling into a routine of complimenting each other’s outfits, you pointlessly fixing his collar and escorting either into another’s hands.

As expected, you’d gasp at the sight of his fitted dress shirt, threaded buttons pulled taunt to the rise and fall of his chest. Bigger biceps smoothed into the arms of his blazer, an icy pair of eyes that’d drop anyone to their knees; you watched appreciatively, blessing your eyes with what his dates would be so lucky to sit across.

Dang, he looked good. Who needed dinner if desert sat inches away?

And he’d eye you similarly, following the curves and dips of your dresses, a taunting hug of fabric an extension of your skin leaving little to the imagination, not that he had any. Loose silk that hung low, embraced your thighs just right, it was enough to have you smiling at your reflection. You liked to look like this, beautifully sexy, earning heart eyes from victims you’d never contact again.

Nines was effortlessly attractive, but you sure believed you were too, and confidence was already half the charm. There was a reason your dating race lingered neck-and-neck, people wanted him and people wanted you.

Still, you didn’t understand why serial dating was so damn hard.

Nines excused his admiring as a friendly reciprocal to yours and then you interlinked arms, trotting in pretty shoes to leave some date awestruck.

Struck, definitely, so much so they didn’t show.

“Fucking flunked on me,” all of your hours getting ready wasted for nothing. A dangling table light held you in spotlight, the universe laughing at your misery. The waiter dared to make a brief visit, scurrying away when you shot daggers, Phone glued to your ear, you lined a fork with distracted fingers, “I went through all that effort, for what?”

“He dodged a bullet,” Nines teased, a smirk leaking into your speakers. You groaned annoyingly, a tad bit hurt though you’d never mention it. Nines only chuckled, “are you not hungry?”

“Of course, I am,” your volume had diners eavesdropping, you lowered it, “but I’m not gonna sit here and eat alone like some… loner .”

An elderly woman leaned into your line of sight, doing little to mask her judgement.

“It’s embarrassing,” you sighed, straightening up subconsciously. Nines remained silent, a little something nagged you, “tell me you have better luck than me.”

He did. Unlike you, Nines was glad his date didn’t show.

“Unfortunately, detective, I have been cancelled on too.”

“No. Way.”

So, obviously, the next step pretty much carved itself out. You were both in need of a nice dinner, dressed to impress, and without your respective dates. Nines took no longer than necessary to join you, filling in the void of an empty seat as you did for him.

This happened again, from your silk dress to a casual getup, and again, from fancy dining to amusement parks. From black tie gallery visits to turtleneck picnic dates. You found it harder to believe Nines was getting cancelled on when he kept miraculously showing up.

It wasn’t a date, even if it always looked like it and you’d get ready as such. Painted lips smiled at him rather than some other guy, and neither of you was complaining about it.

Upon reaching the front of the queue to an ice cream cart, did someone first state the obvious.

“Here’s one for you and a drink for your partner.”

You stilled, “oh, we’re not- he’s not-"

“Thank you,” Nines took your waffle cone, giving it a tasteful lick before handing it to you. He walked away before you could protest.

“What was that?” You fell behind his longer strides struggling, Nines always found it amusing.

“What was what?” Pale flickers of his eyes were a tell of his naivety, “are we not partners?”

Work ones, sure. “Pretty sure she was calling you my date.”

For his advanced prototype kinks, he hadn’t preconstructed that theory. It was his turn to freeze, the ice of his irises solidifying the rest of his body, the only tell that he hadn’t fallen stasis being an amber spin on his temple. His abrupt halt had you bumping into his back with a grunt.

Though your complaints died into laughter at seeing him so… off guard.

“It’s not so bad,” you nudged him, elbow meeting his midriff, its proximity to his thirium pump regulator pulled a heavy huff through his voice. You winked, “you’d be lucky to score with me.”

Park attendees walked in their chatter, dogs let off their leashes, rolling in the glass with both furry flesh and synthetic plastic alike. Families shared inside jokes, children playfully screaming on the lake’s perimeter. Information coded everywhere in his scans, the broken grid of his deviancy reminding him of his freedom.

But he grew overwhelmed around you.

The past few mutual flunks hadn’t exactly been… mutual. The moment you’d text him your date was boring, or the guy left you hanging again, he’d be the one to disappear mid-mingling and scurry away to accompany you. Surely, that’s what it meant to be a good friend, right?

He wasn’t looking to replace your flings. He just merely wanted to be there for you. Be a light of colour as you had been for him so many times before.

Nines blinked erratically, warning ambers giving him away.

“Jeez, I’m not that bad,” you joked but he caught wrinkled brows of concern, following another lighter playful nudge on his arm. The contact teetered on the edge of overwhelming his processors.

Neither of you talked about it.

On came another Friday evening, a ping reminding you of a ‘Tomas’ looking forward to seeing you. Your dressing table mirror applauded the artistry of makeup whilst you merrily shoed up, throwing a text back via that dating app 2.0.

“I’m so sorry! Can we reschedule?”

“No show again,” you sighed, lying out of your ass, “how’s that android with the green hair doing for you?”

“I’m afraid she does not feel interested anymore,” also a lie, Nines had pretty much blocked the persistent woman.

Getting comfortable in the back row of your local cinema, which was supposed to be Nines escapade for the day, he passed you a popcorn bag, one he’d already bought for you. Lights dimmed at the title screen, Nines sneaked a glance at you, silently admiring the palette of your makeup. Nines liked it when you played with pigments, orange and purples finely painted on eyelids, bringing out the colour of your eyes. It pleasantly stimulated him.

“What?” Curving in a half-smile, you caught his ogling.

“You look lovely, detective,” it was pretty much routine at this point, to compliment you. Though this time, the air hung heavier, the smile never making it to his lips, his thirium pump straining for a beat when your vitals jolted the slightest.

He said it so sincerely; why did he sound so different? Your retort wasn’t given voice, a prickle of shivers meeting your extremities in a blush, you were glad the darkness covered for you.

You swallowed down. He cleared his throat. The movie went on. But the heat of your body, the subconscious leaning on his arm, close enough he could decode the product in your hair, the movie wasn’t plenty distraction.

And as if rA9 evilly taunted him, a couple cornered in the cinema audibly moaned, latched onto each like horny teenagers. You bobbed your brows at him, ‘kids these days’, but your skin grew hotter, ultimately arising a glitch or two in his system.

“The movie was great,” you gulped a smile when he walked you home, kicking lone rocks, eyes weighed to the pavement, “I guess, I’ll- I’ll see you.”

“Yes-,” he spoke too quickly, nodding, “I wish you a good night, detective.”

You blinked, “you too. Goodnight to you too.”

“Thank you.” His feet shuffled, “I shall go now.”

“Get home safe, alright? Goodnight, Nines.”

“Take care, detective.”

Awkward couldn’t even begin to describe it.

-.—.-

The competition was long gone, dating threads snipped weeks ago when you decided to delete the apps once and for all. Nines had pulled from the single scene even before you did, gulping down excuses as to why he decided to bail on all his prospects.

“No, we’re friends,” you’d say. Friends that helped each other down a couple drinks. Friends that slow-danced at New Jericho’s fancy dress party, to which Connor had invited you both. Friends that publicly teased each other with a flutter of eyelashes and hot heavy breaths.

“Since when were you two dating?”

“This is not a date!”

Said you at a party where Nines was your plus one, glued to your side like your extension.

It was getting ridiculous.

Eventually, neither of you spoke about seeing other people, just assuming the other would turn up. On paper, and even in person, you both looked pretty stupid in denial.

But one night, clinking afters with your department crew, did the dusted line between friendship and something more sharpen, something that made sense in the entanglement of your not-dates with Nines.

Officer Wesley was clear in the intention to woo you and have you in bed, playfully raking his gaze and hissing out a compliment. He leaned in closer, elbow atop the bar front with a daring smile. Admittedly, you missed the thrill of being a tease, slipping your tongue out to wrap around the straw but not enough to give him a show. Wesley caught on your game, and for the officer he was, he’d happily play cat and mouse.

But this time, things felt different and flirting with the dirty-blonde man felt wrong. Flirting with anyone felt wrong. And you couldn’t understand why.

You flickered in the RK900’s direction, only to find him already watching Wesley talk you up at the bar. A heartbeat thumped particularly loudly when he held your eye contact, leaning back in his booth whilst tonguing his straw similarly to how you had done it.

Fucking hell.

“So, how about that drink?” The officer reminded, thumbing at the display of bottles behind the counter.

Holy shit. You didn’t want to be like every other victim to the reeling of those darkened blue eyes, you weren’t like that.

With a double take, you caught that damn triumph smirk on his face, as if he could see exactly what that tongue did to you, being on the receiving end of it. Fuck him, you wouldn’t let him win.

Nines’ smirk faded as soon as you gave the officer your undivided attention, edging your barstool. Your touch crawling up his arm, soft lips leaning closer to his ear and speaking just out of earshot. It had the android inexplicably grinding teeth.

That was another thing about deviancy it had taken him a while to calibrate; urges. The urge to partake in conversation, or flee from it even, the urge to tease you to the point your cheeks were coloured tomatoes. It was this urge that had an added darkness looming over you, two icicles boring into the back of your head.

Sixth sense tied a thick knot in your throat.

Wesley cleared his throat too, sitting up straighter, “Nines, you ah - you good?”

The android didn’t look it, stalking over your shoulder like he’d no less bite into your neck and suck you dry in one go. But if this officer be a conquest you wanted to take to home, Nines would personally help you put on a show.

That’s what good friends did, right? Help each other?

He slitted fingers between chunks of your hair, pulling your head aside abruptly, the contact freezing you in place. You gasped as he lowered his mouth, speaking to the shell of your ear but loud enough for Wesley to pick it up, “we know you want to fuck our little detective, officer.”

Nines dragged his lips against heated skin, tongue peeking out to taste you. And just as he expected, his HUD blasted with paintballs of colour at the encoding, his pump fluttering when your lashes did so.

His other hand dragged up your waist, curving at the shape of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples. Lips replaced his tongue, and a trail of android saliva burned into your skin in his venturing down your throat. You took a staggering breath, forcing your eyes open, not realising they had closed.

“Your advances could use some work,” Nines spoke to Wesley, the man’s larynx bobbing at the sight of you melting.

Large palms curled inwards on your thighs, pushing them apart on display and kneading flesh through fabric. You held back a moan, biting down on the feeling of leaking arousal. God, when did Nines feel so good?

Nines smiled against your skin, lipsing down the expanse of your neck whilst you pretty much leaned to give him more room. His tongue prodded and lined the length of your passing artery, tasting your fastening pulse, you shivered under him. Even if rendered speechless, your body did the talking.

Wesley couldn’t decide where to look, Nines prompted further.

“You just need a little push.”

Fingers roughly pressing between your legs, one push of a massage that forced a moan deep from your chest, and Nines retreated, taking a large step back. Wesley looked half as shocked as you did, your jaw clenching in the realisation of what just happened.

Nines leaned carelessly on the bar, unbothered in leaving you aroused. That was his intention, no? To give you and your prospect a push in getting things going? Which is why he blinked confusingly when you shoved him, a frustrated scowl leaving your lips before you stomped out. Wesley sat glued to his chair, still recovering. Nines ran out after you.

Light patters of rain met his scalp upon catching up to you. You groaned when he called your name.

“You can’t just- do that!” You yelled, frustration grating your throat, showers dampening your hair, “you can’t just-“

The android remained still, attempting to understand you with a series of yellow circles.

“You can’t just touch me like that, Nines!”

But his touch had arisen positive responses, his brow furrowed in confusion, “why?”

You stumbled, eyes widening, “why- why? What do you mean why? You can’t go around touching up random people! It’s- it’s wrong!”

You weren’t random people. Nines processed for a moment, rain splatters snugging the fabric of his sweater against his skin. His scanners quickly caught your gulp, “did you not enjoy it, detective? I assumed he needed a little push.”

You blinked again, dumbfounded. Who gave him the right to put on a show for Wesley? What on Earth goes on in that metal brain of his?

“That’s not- I wasn’t going to go home with him,” water collected on your lashes, “I don’t want him.”

A wave of understanding struck him. He had misunderstood you and his ‘help’ stood void of reason. And recalling the way he stalked over you, no reconstruction software helped in justifying what he did, because the urge didn’t do it for you, it did it for himself.

The warmth of your chest invited him, kisses digging into the valley of your neck whilst he continually decoded the electrolyte contents of your sweat. It quite literally fuelled him.

Deviancy was a strange thing, though the only explanation for why Nines wanted to taste you again; he wanted to hear you breathe out his name, shaking with need, begging for more.

You shivered under water pellets, the silence weighing down each of your breaths. And hidden in the muddle of conflicted feelings, you craved Nines to touch you again, give you a warmth in frozen winds. Neither of you moved, and the ghostly burn of his lips longed for his return.

“I’m going home,” you muttered, straying away from his scanners.

He wasn’t your date. You weren’t together. But hell, if the assumptions of such didn’t make your heart flutter, you didn’t know what will. Besides, Nines was the embodiment of allurement, poised and perfect, what would he do with the likes of you?

Arms wrapped around to wade off the cold, teeth chattering, you blinked a few before turning away to walk to your car, the gusts of wind trying to push you back. Nines wouldn’t see you as anything more than a friend, you were sure of it, but your disappointment was cut short when a firm grip latched around your wrist.

He twisted you, swallowing a squeak with a collided kiss. The colours returned, blinding him tenfold in pretty pinks and bubbly yellows, prompting him to press a hand firmly on the base of your skull and keep you there.

The tension in your spine remained, but you quickly came out of shock and fervently returned the moulding of your lips with his, hand trailing the flex of his pecs, damp fabric squelching under fingertips.

The hand on your wrist migrated to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His tongue poked into your mouth, making you gasp at the added anatomy whilst he curled around ravishingly, wet sounds amidst the ambient splashes of rain. Both of your minds dazed, Nines blinking ambers at devouring you and you suddenly patting his chest with a light push.

He pulled back to let you breathe but returned mid-inhale, this time eagerly tilting his head to see what better fit. He made out the whisper of his name between kisses, responding with an approving groan.

“Nines,” you tried again, water running streams down your back as it poured heavier. You wondered if hypothermia was worth it, “nines, wait-”

He kissed you passionately, hoping to swallow the colour of lips and paint his innards as such. Though he eased, slowing to a stop and you panted onto his jaw. He took in the sight, mimicked tears streaking your blue eyeshadow and mascara under the rain, he fought the urge to prod his tongue in your mouth again.

He awaited your rejection. As you loved to remind everyone, Nines wasn’t your date, always the friend accompanying you instead. He’d be lying if he said watching you with other people didn’t bother him.

But you didn’t scold him, nor push him away in a fury. You smiled, a toothy grin that you failed to bite away and broke into a soft giggle, “we’re in the middle of a street,” you shook your head, leaning a fraction of an inch closer, “and I’m soaking wet.”

Nines pulled into a smirk, “you’re welcome.”

There, the cherry rouge of your cheeks, that was another part of you he wished to consume wholly, preferably with his tongue.

Everyone else felt wrong, but Nines felt right.

And upon passing the threshold of your home, Nines proved the feeling to be mutual by meeting your lips again, vocally praising you when your arms wrapped around his neck. Kicking the door shut, his biceps wrapped you tight, squeezing the air in your lungs and suctioning it straight into his chassis.

He stepped you back, tongue dancing with yours, his fingers tucking away wet hair from your face. You gasped as you hit the wall behind you, his hip bucking into yours with a noticeable erection.

Hands rummaged under clothing, your damp shirt peeling off your skin with a gust of cold, leaving your hairs on end. The foyer’s air, however, grew dense when Nines hungrily eyed your body. Calm blue of his LED blinked an amber and he suddenly threw you over his shoulder.

“Nines!” You shrieked, your protests dying as he caressed the back of your thigh. He carried you to your bedroom, bouncing you onto the mattress with a look that kept you frozen. You gulped in anticipation as he undressed whilst you were only stripped of your shirt.

“Your body temperature has dropped to lower ranges,” he knelt between your legs, clasping your wrists immobile and kissing you into the sheets. You arched into him, gasping at the skin-to-synthetic contact. His lips ghosted to tongue at your jaw, a wet pad of the plastic muscle running up just below your ear.

“I must heat you.”

“You’re as cold as they come,” he pulled back to meet your remark, a teasing glimmer in your eyes. Nines kissed your collar, the sound of compensatory breaths prompting him to lower to your bra, unclasp it and swirl a perked nipple with his tongue.

The moon slitted through blinds, painting him a blue that matched his temple. A warm breath breezed over your lower abdomen, fingers gripping the hem of your pants and shimmying them off. Wet skin made you sensitive to his touch, a tingling working overtime where he wrapped around your thighs, his lips hovering over your remaining underwear.

Of all your dating partners, specifically those you had slept with, only a handful of them had been androids, and it never made it passed foreplay. Whether that be inexperience or hesitance, flings would be done after a touch-up.

Nines had his fair share of sexual partners, learning what got people going and what fed his desires. But your unfiltered storytelling exposed you of kinks and likes that a curious android like Nines couldn’t help fantasising about.

What would you look like under him? How did you sound when forced a rolling orgasm to ripple through you?

A devilish smile made his lips before he took your undergarments in his teeth, lust-blown eyes watching how you shivered at the sight of him dragging them off. Wrapping around you twice as tight, he gave you a flat lick from slit to bud, pushing down your hips to stop your squirming. He was glad to find you were, indeed, soaking wet.

Having him right there, head of brown bobbing up and down, experimentally sliding his tongue in places you didn’t know existed, the sight of him had you biting your lower lip, trying to chew down an embarrassing whimper.

His tongue made circles around your clit, flickering left and right at a gasping pace. Your hands found his scalp, splitting his hair into sizeable chunks, holding on like the handlebars of a rollercoaster; and the way he looked at you, pupils swallowing icy blue into a predatory black, a shiver ran down your back, clenching your thighs against his biceps.

Wet muscle prodded into your slit, eliciting a moan. You almost squealed when his thumb continued to press patterns on your clit whilst tongue-fucking you into the sheets. You pulled at the root of soft, chestnut hair, and he only picked up the pace, having you pant in line with his pace.

You tipped over unexpectedly, crying out your orgasm with an abrupt push against his mouth. Nines crawled above you again, making you taste yourself with a deep, sharp kiss.

To see you like this, body quivering for his touch, an undertone of pink blushing your skin, his field of vision saturated in the colour of you. He wanted more. He wanted to see you come undone again, paint you an orgasm that would stain him for the rest of his android existence. Maybe he understood why Markus created art so often, maybe abstract understanding was closer than he realised. Nines wished for nothing more than to place you high on a pedestal or pin you against the wall for reasons other than framing you a painting.

“Every date you were bailed on,” he whispered confessions on your skin, gently lipsing your shoulders, “I cancelled mine to join you.” You stiffened under him, muscles taunt under his lips, he clarified, “I’d much rather have you than anyone else, detective.”

Of course. You were right. Nines wouldn’t get bailed on that often, it was impossible. You mustered up enough air to speak, “if we’re confessing, I deleted the apps weeks ago.”

Like the robot he was, he halted mid-kiss, a shifting yellow giving him away as it did back at the ice cream cart. You were both lying to each other, simply to be in each other’s company.

You added with a tease, “you don’t have to lie to score a date with me, Nines.”

“I thought I was ‘not a date’,” blue-greys accused you.

“Yeah, I guess we’re both pretty stupid then.”

Your smile brightened the room, despite moonlight barely filtering through your windows, corners bordering darkness. Nines mirrored the grin, dipping down to kiss you with a newfound heaviness in his chest. He pulled off his briefs, lips never leaving yours, and lined himself between spread thighs.

Your breath hitched at the stretch of muscle when he pushed in, barely giving you time to adjust and pushing in further until he bottomed out. Or at least you hoped he did, you weren’t sure if you could take any more of him.

Breathing in each other's pants, he rocked slowly, fingers bruising your wrists, lips bruising your neck. Nines grew desperate to see you in the colour of his lips, turning purples in broken blood vessels. His pelvis smacked again your clitoris, grinding an added stimulation, your head rolling back, moaning his name right into his ear.

Setting a brutal pace abruptly, swallowing squeals in messy lip-locking, Nines stretched you to the teetering line of pain and pleasure, the head of his cock driving into a sensitive spot that jolted your nerves in bliss. He rutted like an animal, resting his forehead on yours, fucking you with a harsh snap of hips, your legs could only hold on for dear life. He loved to see the dip between your brows, raccoon-faced from messy makeup. It made him twitch inside of you.

“You feel so good. You look perfect,” he praised, bringing two fingers under your jaw to prompt eye contact. You met his darkened expression, his rouge curl tickling your forehead. Thumb shaping your lips, he pushed in knuckle-deep, pressing down on your tongue. You gave an instinctive suck as he growled, “you’re mine.”

Every thrust brought about a new sound from your throat, and with your mouth forced half-open, there was little you could do to stop them. Your eyes rolled back, toes curling at a rolling orgasm, the sounds of sex driving you to buck into him as he did you.

You were desperate, needy, and what was left of Nines’ restraint was snapped. He fucked hard, muttering profanities as he edged closer, seeing you at the mercy of everything he gave you flipping him inside out.

He wanted to see you like this, again and again. His thumb subconsciously retracted his simulated skin, a ripple in your mouth that diverted your attention, and a glowing blue lit up from below the whites of his hand. An interface, the both of you realised. You moaned at his display of intimacy.

Nines staggered into you, losing his rhythm.

You looked good in blue.

“Come for me.”

And with sharp thrusts, you arched into a mind-blowing orgasm, limbs shaking as he continually dragged in and out to chase his own. He spilled with a throb, panting at the chance of painting you inwards as you did to him, and watched the slowed pumping of where the both of you connected.

Though upon spotting a trail of blueish white leaking out of you, his hips bucked involuntarily, eager for another round.

You moaned in euphoria, and that was enough for him to keep going.

It was no surprise Nines adored the sight of you decorated in his markings, growling in every painted colour you presented. So, the next steps carved themselves, and you had a great idea for your next date.

Painting.

#dbh fanfic #nines x reader #nines rk900 #rk900 #dbh smut #dates #detroit become human #dbh #need me some emotionally curious nines

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darksigns-exe · 5 months ago

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A little birthday themed Jolly fluff for the lovely @circle-with-me 🩷🩷🩷 I was going to drop this into your inbox but it got a little out of hand 😅

Jolly on your birthday. Sweet boy has made plans in advance bc you can’t tell me that he doesn’t go all out for his loved ones.

Step one of his master plan is breakfast. He’s getting all of your favourites onto the table. Whatever you like he’s got it. Fresh juice, cookbook pretty pancakes, a very beautifully arranged assortment of fruit, croissants truly whatever you want. He bought flowers and there’s a little wrapped box right in front of where you’ll sit. Just a little thing (the real thing comes later)

For step two he’s pampering his darling. While he’s planned a whole day for you, he hasn’t stuffed it too full because he doesn’t want it to feel as if there’s no room to breathe. He got the face masks you like but never buy because they’re just a little bit too pricey and a brand new scented candle that fills the bathroom with that soft freshly washed linen scent.

Next stop is the second hand store you like for a little browse. Even if it takes a little convince you eventually let him pay for the pretty dress you’ve been looking at for a while.

After that he’ll take you to a cosy little café for a mid day treat.

You’ll head home for a bit after that. Watch a little movie, maybe get a little comfy and cosy if you catch my drift.

Later in the day he’ll take you out for a nice dinner. Jolly made a reservation at one of your bucket list restaurants as a special treat. It’s pricey but nothing is too expensive for his love. The food is fantastic, the service is excellent and the man next to you is the cherry on top of all of it. His hand doesn’t leave your thigh the entire night. He steals kisses once in a while and it always makes you giggle a little. God you’re so in love with this man, even though this is far from your first year together.

After dinner you’re going on a little walk together. You’re perfectly content with how the day went but of course Jolly has one more thing up his sleeve. Just when you think that things can’t get better he hands you another wrapped box. This one feels lighter than the first one.

You unwrap it and maybe you already knew that it would be that but actually seeing it makes your heart skip in the best way possible.

“Jolly?” You ask, not wanting to assume that it’s more than just a very beautiful ring.

“Yes, älskling?”

And when you look over to him he’s already down on one knee and how could you possibly say no to him.

#this one’s extra sweet gang #probably counts as soft boy hours #jolly karlsson x f!reader #hedycanons

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circus4apsycho8 · 1 year ago

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leaves. | cole & reader

𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝟹/𝟽 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚜' 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝 (𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘 + 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝).

Crunch, crunch!

The leaves crinkle underneath your footsteps, allowing you to revel in their song. You proceed down the sidewalk, no set destination in mind.

It’s one of those days where you feel the need to do something repetitive to allow your mind to wander freely, and what better way to do that than with a stroll through the fall-ridden atmosphere of your hometown?

You pass quite a few people on your way, some of them offering greetings as you make your way past a shopping center. Here, the crowd thickens a bit, causing you to weave between people until you find a way through.

You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful to be away from the mass of bodies. A few seconds later, though, the sound of someone calling your name catches your attention.

“Huh?” you mumble, turning to find someone working their way through the crowd as well.

A few seconds later, Cole emerges, dressed in casual clothing as he waves at you. You grin, turning towards him.

“Hey, Cole!” you greet, walking up to him. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” he agrees. “Though, I’ve gotta admit...I didn’t expect to see you out here this early. What’s the occasion?”

You shrug. “The weather has been nice lately, and I just felt like taking a walk today. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same, with the addition of picking up some pastries from a bakery that I like around here,” he adds, gesturing towards a pastel pink painted building behind the two of you. “They have the best chocolate croissants here.”

“I’ve heard,” you reply. “Care for some company?”

“Be my guest,” he responds, the two of you falling into stride down the sidewalk.

“Did you guys get the morning off from training?”

“Yeah, Sensei had to run some kind of errand that took him way out of town. You know how he is. Can’t say I’m complaining, though, what with how hard he’s worked us lately.”

“I’m glad you guys are getting some downtime,” you agree with a grin.

“It’s nice to have a breather. By the way, care to take a scenic route through the forest? It’s really pretty this time of year, what with the leaves and all.”

Leave it to the Master of Earth to know the prettiest forest routes. You’re all over it. “I’d love to!”

“Great! It’s this way,” he directs, increasing his speed a bit. For a moment, you struggle to keep up, but once he breaches the perimeter of the forest, he slows down and waits for you to catch up.

To your surprise, there’s something akin to a path cleared out. It winds throughout the woods, the sound of the town drowned out by the forest noise.

Sure enough, the leaves around you are like a crackling fire, both in color and noise. They crunch underneath your feet, their colors bright and vibrant all around the two of you.

“I can’t believe how many have fallen already,” you note, gesturing towards the deep pile of leaves lying beyond the path. “Some of these patches go up to my knee!”

“Oh, you think these are deep? Let me show you something,” Cole prompts, leading you in a specific direction. You have no doubt that he knows exactly where he’s going, though, so you follow, curiosity piqued.

Soon enough, Cole steps off of the path, eventually making his way towards a clearing. You notice that it leads to a playground behind a school. It’s a weekend day, though, so there are quite a few families here simply enjoying the cool weather while children play about, not having to worry about the confines of school.

“Look over here,” Cole states, pointing to a certain direction. “This place used to be my old elementary school. During fall, the janitors would always rake the playground every morning and make one big pile of leaves off to the side. So, if they’re still doing it, that means...”

Sure enough, there’s a giant pile of leaves situated off to the side, just out of view of the playground. Your eyes go wide at the size.

“Oh my stars!” you cry, eyeing the pile of leaves with wonder. “How long does it take to build up this many? And how have they not blown away by now?!”

Cole shrugs. “Not sure, but I remember I’d always come over here to mess around in the leaves. It was fun.”

You go to reply, but trail off when you see the Master of Earth eyeing you with a conniving expression. Narrowing your eyes, you take a step away from him.

Before you can get too far, though, he snatches your wrist gently before tossing you into the pile like you weigh nothing.

“Cole!” you shriek, tumbling into the mass of leaves. “What was that for?!”

He shrugs, mischievous expression returning as you surface. Your eyes widen as he starts falling forward, mind realize what’s happening too late. Just as you start scrambling to get out of his way, Cole topples into the pile.

An unfazed Master of Earth crashes on top of you, effectively pushing you down to the bottom of the pile. You’re suddenly buried alive!

“Cole!” you admonish, giggling through your fake anger as you push him off of you.

He grunts as he hits the ground, chuckling before the two of you poke through the top of the leaves.

“Come on, don’t you miss this?” he asks, poking his head out of the pile. A few leaves stick to his hair, face red with excitement as he grins. “You know...playing in the leaves when you were a kid?”

“I mean, obviously, but that doesn’t mean you have to crush me!”

“I just misjudged the direction of my fall,” he replies, seemingly unbothered by the additions to his hair. “Besides, it worked out in the end, didn’t it? We are both one with the pile now.”

“You’re so dumb,” you mumble, eyes shifting down to the leaves once more. You smile softly, sifting through them.

“Look at how big this leaf is!” Cole states, holding up a leaf that’s about the size of a dinner plate.

“Wow, it really is. I didn’t think leaves could get that big. It’s really pretty, though, isn’t it?” you mumble, tracing the faded veins of the leaf. Parts of it have been ripped or torn, but despite the damage, its color remains, even if it is a bit jaded.

The two of you avert your gaze upon hearing a foreign crunching, not caused by either of you. Immediately, your eyes are on your surroundings.

“I saw something moving over there!” Cole notes, pointing in the direction. You follow his gaze, noticing a dark flurry of motion scampering behind the bushes and through the thick layer of leaves.

“Is it an animal?” you wonder, realizing that the creature is too tiny to be a human.

“I think so,” Cole answers, leaning forward a bit.

A few moments later, a pair of small footsteps crunch atop the leaves, speeding up into a run before something darts into the pile of leaves. You and Cole glance at each other, surprised.

"I think that was a cat,” Cole comments, glancing down at the pile before scrounging around.

“Really? It ran by too quickly for me to see,” you note, hearing shifting emanating from somewhere underneath the pile.

A few moments later, Cole seems to have found it. “Here we go.”

And sure enough, Cole lifts a black cat out from the pile. The kitty simply mewls in response, not really fighting Cole’s gentle grip.

“Hi there,” Cole mumbles, setting the feline onto the ground. The cat stands still for a moment as Cole gingerly pets it, a soft smile adorning his face. A few moments later, the kitty returns to its leaf antics by pawing at the leaves.

“I think he likes the crunchy noises,” Cole observes, swiping a few leaves off of the top. They cascade down on the kitty, whose eyes grow wide as he starts batting at the falling leaves.

You giggle as the cat takes off towards a tree trunk; the tree itself isn’t terribly tall but provides a long branch that goes right over the leaf pile. It skillfully scales the tree, trotting across the branch before jumping into the leaf pile.

“Woah, he’s certainly got a system,” you comment as the cat bursts out of the leaf pile. This time, he trots up to Cole, gazing up at the ninja with expectant eyes.

Cole steps out of the leaf pile, causing the cat to stand back on its hind legs, its front pair coming to rest against Cole’s legs.

“I think he wants me to throw him,” Cole mumbles, grinning as he lifts the cat.

“What? How do you know that?”

“Watch.”

Cole gently tosses the feline into the mound of leaves, laughing as the cat is sent to the leaf void momentarily before scurrying back over to Cole and meowing happily.

“Looks like he doesn’t have a collar on,” you note. “I guess he isn’t a house cat, then?”

“Not sure. He seems to be doing well enough, though,” Cole replies, inspecting the cat before releasing him into the leaf pile again.

This time, the wall of leaves surrounding the cat collapses underneath its weight, allowing him to freely swipe at the leaves with seemingly infinite supply. You and Cole take turns playing with the cat, both enjoying your newfound friend.

“And some people say that black cats are bad luck,” you mumble, shaking your head as Cole strokes the kitty’s head carefully, the cat now lying in Cole’s lap as the two of you observe the trees above.

“That is just false,” Cole replies. “This guy’s just about as goofy as they come, isn’t he?”

You chuckle, watching as the feline stands back up, wiggling out of Cole’s grasp before nuzzling its head against the back of your hand. This elicits a smile from you as you pet it.

“We should head back soon,” Cole notes. You nod in response, feeling a slight tug to remain.

“What about him?” you wonder, glancing down at the cat.

“He’ll be okay,” Cole assures. The kitty seems to understand that this is goodbye, because he spares the two of you one last glance, meow, and nuzzle combo before skittering off into the forest once more.

“Thank you for showing me this,” you mumble.

Cole grins with a nod as the two of you get ready to head back. “Of course. I’ll walk you back home.”

#ninjago x reader #ninjagoxreader #cole brookstone x reader #cole x reader #cole & reader #cole brookstone & reader

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spiltscribbles · 1 year ago

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THE ONE WITH THE SOULMATE | WOLFSTAR FIC

Author's Notes: A reblog is like a butterfly kiss, and letting me know what you think is like a hundred hugs all at once.

“You are seriously insatiable tonight,” Remus rebukes, swatting Sirius’s hand away from where he was eagerly grabbing at his arse for another round of fun, positively delicious, bloody remarkable, mind-blowing fun. God Sirius thanks every deity above that he fell in love with such a secretive, little wildcat.

“Oi, wasn’t the whole purpose of this getting married shtick so we could do that whenever we please?” Sirius harrumphs, flopping back on their bed, starfished out as he watches his ridiculously beautiful husband dropping his towel to the floor and digging through their shared drawer for a new pair of pants. He really tries his damndest to not focus on how the dying evening light filters through their room’s open window, bathing Remus in this resplendent, almost heavenly glow, turning the tips of his eyelashes as golden as his hair and caressing the dips and valleys of his lithe muscles, accentuating the smattering of freckles on his thighs and the dimples he’s got on the small of his back. God Sirius can’t take his eyes off of him for even a moment. “Because if not I reckon I can sue for false advertising.”

Remus only sniffs at him, affecting a lofty air as he pulls on the green, turtle net sweater that Sirius especially likes on him for how it brings out the amber flecks in Remus’s emerald eyes and how it hugs his physique in the exact right breath to show off how bloody good looking he is. “We did that right when you came home from the firm, and then again in the shower less than five minutes ago. Don’t tell me it was that forgettable?” He asks with a pointed hiking of the brow.

“Never my lovely little croissant,” Sirius contends hurriedly, popping up from his lounging position to snatch for Remus’s boney wrists, and dragging the shorter man down to sit in his still very naked lap. “You are the best shag and handsomest fellow and—“ Remus claps his hand over Sirius’s mouth, probably trying to come off stern, but Sirius could totally catch the way the corner of his lips begin to flinch upwards— he’s endeared and Sirius knows it.

“Enough of that bollocks, else I’ll get a cavity.”

“But my beautiful crumpet, I want to sing your praises,” Sirius pouts mockingly, kisses the tip of his nose, while one of his well built arms slings around Remus’s slender waste, with his free hand slowly crawling up his inner thigh, thwarted nearly immediately by Remus standing up in a huff.

“Like a bloody mutt.” He scolds.

“Only for you my delightfully delectable cabbage,” Sirius leers, finally standing up and taking the proffered slacks so to get ready for this little soiree Lily’s law firm is holding for their fiftieth anniversary.

“When do you reckon these awful nicknames will drop off?”

“You’re the one who said you like it when I speak French at you,” Sirius goads, smacking Remus’s pert arse as he struts into their master-bath.

“Oi, when it’s spoken in the ruddy language, and not some awful accent you’ve conjured up.” Remus counters moodily before he grabs for one of the colognes on their vanity, and Sirius only smiles privately to himself, so beyond besotted with him that it’s getting detrimental for his health, exhibit A being how he very nearly squirts his aftershave right into his eyes.

But God Remus is so worth it.

The ballroom of the swanky, Mayfair hotel is dressed up in all the opulence that should be expected for a soiree made up of the throng of stuffy, stuck up solicitors that are present. Sirius is not impressed in the slightest, even if he can work the room for one of these parties as effortlessly as breathing thanks to his upbringing as the son of a Lorde and Countess; though he still hates the ambiance of it all, so much so that it makes his skin crawl to this day, but he promised to be here and at least Remus is right besides him, with Sirius’s hand in his back pocket and hazel eyes flickering to him every few minutes or so, as if attuned to Sirius and all his mercurial moods.

God he loves him.

“Alice and I have been shagging non stop,” Frank says, which works well enough to bring Sirius’s attention away from wanting to drag Remus behind the champaign fountain so to have his wicked way with him, and back to the conversation they’re all having; even if that means that instead of looking passive, Sirius is sneering over at Frank.

“Dacorum man.”

Frank apologizes, beyond glum. “We just don’t know what to do. The doctors say that we shouldn’t have this much difficulty with it, but we just checked before coming and still, nothing.”

“I’m sorry mate, that’s awful.” Remus tells him, and Dorcas nods along, but Sirius just rolls his eyes.

“We’re not even thirty yet for fuck’s sake,” he tells him. “Maybe ’s a sign for you both to stop trying to ruin your lives with a baby.”

“Shut it Sirius,” Dorcas hisses, kicking at his ankle hard enough to make him wince.

“Ouch, hey! I’m just saying, a kid’s a lot of responsibility, and commitment.”

“I’ve been with Alice since we were seventeen Black,” Frank tells him hotly . “I think I’m already properly committed.”

“Then what’s the point of the kid!”

Frank raises his brows, floundering with no words as if he just could not comprehend Sirius and all his Sirius-ness, which is fair, the only two people who’s been able to do as much turned out being his brother, (James), and his lover, (Remus)… Speaking of which…

“I’m sorry he’s acting like such an arse Frank, he doesn’t mean it.” the sandy blonde says cooly, giving Sirius one of his looks that he usually keeps designated for his more rowdy students. “Do you.”

Sirius glares at him before looking back at Frank and nodding stiffly. “Sorry mate, you and Flores would be marvelous parents, I’m just being prickish.”

“Nothing knew then,” Frank says, but it’s coupled with an amiable grin so Sirius knows he’s off the hook.

“Right, well why don’t I make it up to you by grabbing you a drink? Yeah?”

“See if they’ve got an iced white?”

“Me too Black,” Dorcas scoffs, doesn’t even bother to look at him to make the command.

“Righto,” Sirius claps Frank’s shoulder with a friendly squeeze, winking at Dorcas and glancing over at Remus before he goes. “Vodka tonic?”

“With lemon please.”

Sirius nods, still pecks him on the lips even if they’re sorta in a fight, as if Sirius could ever stay away for too long.

By the grace of God, the open bar is mostly vacant, except for a familiar head of messy hair he’s considered family for over half his life.

“All right Prongs?”

James pivots around, drinks already in hand and grinning at the sight of him. “Wow, didn’t even recognize you for a tick there Pads, you don’t even have your hand plastered to Moony’s bum!.”

Sirius smirks, tossing him a covert two finger salute as he saddles up besides him and orders the round of drinks. “What can I say Prongsy, the cheeky bugger made me vow to have it there constantly, can’t just jilt my bloke like that, can I?”

James grimaces with a roll of the eyes, and Sirius’s far accustomed to that look of exasperation from him by now. “You’re a mutt.”

“Would you believe you aren’t the first person to say that to me within the last hour?”

“God save our poor Moony.”

“Oh God doesn’t have to worry, I’m taking care of him just fine.”

“Are you being gross about my best friend,” Lily asks as she struts up towards them, looking like an absolute diamond, even if her nose is wrinkled indelicately.

“Aren’t I always in your opinion?” Sirius asks cheekily, trying to balance the four drinks in his grasp before she just rolls her eyes and grabs the flutes of wine for Frank and Dorcas.

“Your impossible prat-ness aside, I actually think you being all grossly territorial over Remus tonight is actually a good thing.”

“THat’s a first,” James says, but Sirius can only glare, suspicious.

“Why’s that? Oi! Don’t tell me that absolute plonker Dearborn is here!”

“Oh God no,” Lily startles, shaking her head as if the thought was too insane to even fathom. “’S just the firm’s just hired this new bloke and I’m really quite positive that he’s Rem’s soulmate.”

“Lily! Don’t say that!” James balks, glancing over at Sirius worriedly, but he in turn only laughs at the magnitude of the statement.

“Jesus, Evans, didn’t think you believed in that ridiculous shite?”

“’S not ridiculous Sirius! And yeah, ‘course I do, like James and I are definitely soulmates.” She twists slightly so to kiss the curve of James’s jaw, making him go a bit blotchy. Poor git’s wrapped around her littlest finger.

“And what? You reckon Remus and I are just here to kill some time?”

“No, don’t be a pillock,” Lily reproves. “’s just he’s his soulmate is all.”

Okay, Sirius’s amusement has officially given way to irritation, and he twists his head so to scowl down at her as they make their way to the others. “Alright Evans, explain yourself then, yeah? Tell me how he’s Moony’s supposed soulmate.

“Well he’s French.”

“I speak French.”

“He’s got amazing, blonde hair.”

“I’ve got amazing, black hair.”

“He majored in literature just like Remus.” Lily says airily, knowing that Sirius can’t match that being an architect himself.

“Well— I read all that snotty shite Remus asks me too.” He huffs, and Lily answers with a shrug to her delicate shoulders.

“Fine then, I’m wrong. You’ve got nothing to worry bout.”

She struts off to their little lump of friends as if to cut the conversation off completely, and Sirius is perfectly find with that. She’s acting off her bloody rocker. But, if Sirius stands closer to Remus than usual for the rest of the night, or if he ends up kissing his temple whenever he feels like someone is watching them, or if he glares at one of the blokes working catering after deigning to offer Remus an empanada— Well that’s Sirius’s business and his alone. He’s not intimidated by this soulmate shite, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like he’s trying to stave off the bastard or something. He does all of that simply because Remus is his husband now, and he loves getting to show that off to all onlookers, even the ones who may or may not be Remus’s soulmate.

“We’ve got dinner with Reggie and his latest girlfriend tonight,” Remus tells Sirius the following Tuesday, tossing the scarf his mother had gifted him last Christmas— with a matching one for Sirius— over his shoulder as they stroll around to the front of the Three Broomsticks for their morning coffees, hands linked and the early winter snow catching in both sets of their lashes.

And God does Sirius love the sound of that, of their schedules overlapping, becoming one almost. Loves the idea that where ever one goes the other follows. Sirius knows that they’ve both have their demons, from Sirius’s neglect and emotional abuse as a child— occasionally sprinkled with a good smack or two if his mother was particularly fuming. To Remus’s complex of never feeling like he can ever be enough, and the way Lyall had acted for years after Remus had come out to his parents as gay, coupled with his multiple hospital visits as a lad until they finally figured out his lupus diagnosis. But they’re better, so much fucking better now. Plenty of the credit going to the remarkable group of friends whom they’ve picked up along the way, but another huge chunk was finding one another, and Sirius knows it in his bones. Knows that there couldn’t be anyone else for him, and sure he knows Remus sometimes deserves more, deserves better— But he’s chosen him, he’s chosen Sirius. He loves Sirius. And it’s remarkable and unbelievable and amazing, and Sirius holds onto the sensation of it with hungry piety.

“Love? Did you hear that?”

Sirius jolts back to the moment, and smiles softly down at him, kissing the corner of Remus’s mouth in penance. “Yes, of course gorgeous. I didn’t forget, I’ll be home early and maybe we can have a lie down before leaving if you’ve finished grading those papers?”

Remus’s laugh right then is like the most splendid instrument Sirius has ever heard, light and magical and warm as a bonfire. “Try to be good and maybe.” He tells him with a cold fingered tapping of his nose before he flounces off to the main counter to order for them.

Sirius doesn’t know how long he stares after him instead of grabbing the gang’s typical seats up front, but is startled when he hear’s a choked out noise coming from behind him and sees Lily, panic faced and eyes wandering frantically.

“Oi, what’s squirming up your arse Evans.” He asks her suspiciously, thick brows furrowed.

“I didn’t know you guys would be here,” she explains so quickly that her words begin to crash into one another. “Oh bloody hell, the one time I have a late start!”

She stomps her foot and Sirius shoots her a fully fledged glower. “What is making you so damn barmy for Christ’s sake.”

Lily parts her lips, but no noise comes out, because right then someone follows her indoors, a very familiar someone if only based off of descriptions. A very tall, very blonde, very smiley looking someone.

Sirius hates him right on sight.

“I’m sorry I took so long at that shop Lily, my mother loves these, how do you say, snow globes?” The stranger says, shaking one for emphasis with Big Ben set in the center.

“Ridiculous tourist trinkets is more like it,” Sirius practically snarls, which earns him a confused look by the blonde and a tired one by Lily.

“Right then, well Sirius this’s Thomas Martin, Thomas this is Sirius Black.”

“Lupin-Black now, ta Lils.”

“Oh,” Thomas says, blue eyes blinking wearily. “Nice to meet you, ah, Sirius.” He extends his hand, and when Sirius shakes it he makes sure to feel the bloke’s bones crushing together, just so he understands who exactly he’s speaking with.

The French arse eventually pulls away, pinning Sirius with a one eyed squint as he curls and stretches his fingers.

“Oh God,” Lily groans, leading them to their spot and depositing herself onto the sofa with absolute exasperation, and Sirius only continues to glare at Thomas as he sits besides her, growing stiffer once Remus returns.

“Oh, hiya Lils,” he smiles, handing Sirius his drink before flickering his gaze to the fucking Frenchman.

“‘lo love, this’s the newest hire at the firm, Thomas. Thomas, this’s my best mate, Remus.” She introduces quickly, the fucking trader.

“Remus?” Thomas asks, dimpling down at Sirius’s fucking husband with bright eyes. And Sirius has to curl his fists so not to punch him right in the sodding face, only growing angrier when Remus chuckles and ducks his head, like he was nervous by him! Like he thought he was in fact very good looking and very charming and his damn soulmate.

“Yeah, blame that on my mum, she was big into the classics.”

Thomas’s grin widens even more and Sirius feels the pulse on his neck beginning to throb. “No, it’s very charming. My Grandfather was very, erm, focussed on those studies as well? Begged my parents to name me Enkidu. They thankfully refused.”

Remus laughs fully now, and Sirius wants to a punch a wall. It took him literal months to make Remus laugh like that— genuine and glimmering and gorgeous. “Lucky bloke. Though I do have to admit that Gilgamesh is a favorite of mine, I think I’ve read the epic twenty times over.”

“Oh mine too,” the fucking Frenchman says, stepping closer to Remus and now in front of Sirius fully, gambling bravely that Sirius wouldn’t try to cap him right here. “If you ask me however, I do believe that he and Enkidu are more than just, friends.” His eyes flicker down to Remus’s lips for a split second and when he looks back up his face is positively leering.

Sirius sees red.

“God, so nice to finally talk to someone who gets it, the professors I work under are usually so painfully heteronormative that it’s crippling.” Remus tells him, smiling kindly.

“Oh, I’m the furthest away from that, I assure you.”

He winks! He fucking winks! Sirius swears to God! He sees the bastard winking at his husband! His fucking husband! What the bloody hell does he think that platinum band on Remus’s finger matching Sirius’s own is suppose to represent! Holy shit!

“I’d love to read anything you have on the subject, most things translated to French are a bit clunky.”

He’s trying to ask him out! Right here! Right in front of Sirius! Sirius is going to strangle his snail swallowing neck! Thankfully, Lily must sense his inner turmoil because she interjects their conversation right then, asking Thomas to grab her a jasmine tea.

“Oh yes of course,” he nods congenially, rounding back on Remus before he leaves. “Would you like a pastry? On me.”

Is he trying to ask Remus to eat it off of him? What the hell! It took nearly a year of them fucking for Sirius to get Remus to bring food in the bedroom, to get to watch Remus lick the chocolate syrup off his cock. And what? Does he think he’s even got a chance so quickly!

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Remus grins and a part of Sirius dies on the inside. “But I’ll come tag along, yeah? I love talking about this stuff and Sirius absolutely hates this ancient rubbish.”

“I do not! I think these dead blokes are very interesting,” he harrumphs, heated, with pouting lips and crossed arms. But Remus only tosses back his head with uninhibited laughter in response, which makes the fucking Frenchman beam that bit brighter.

“After you,” he says with a swish of the hand.

Sirius is going to be tried for murder, and he’s not even sorry about it.

“’s okay love,” Lily reassures him, patting his head dotingly. “We’ll find you someone new.”

“I hate you Evans!”

“Don’t blame the messenger!”

Sirius is about to tell her just how much he does exactly that, but then he catches on the fucking Frenchman putting his hand over Remus’s to prevent him from sliding over his card and all the fight leaves him in an instant.

Sirius ended up not even going to the on sight location for the latest project he’s heading at the firm. He instead spent the bulk of the morning and part of the afternoon grinding his teeth as Remus spoke and barbed and giggled with the fucking Frenchman, like he was enjoying himself. And it was torture, watching the way they naturally clicked and got on— Literal fucking torture.

Sirius is still fuming as they sit in front of his younger brother and his newest bird, a pretty girl named Amal, who’s just graduated from a posh, fashion institute in the north of France. And Christ it’s like he’s being bombarded with the idea of that country all day.

“God that must’ve been such a wonderful experience,” Remus says, smiling as she leans forwards with a grin, speaking louder over the chatter of the busy sushi joint they had all agreed upon.

“Oh yes, the cuisine was simply unmatched, even if I did end up missing London, being home and all. Though I’m afraid my French is seriously dwindling compared to my English and Arabic now.”

“You should ask Reggie to practice with you, I know I love it when Sirius speaks the language.” He winks right then, making Amal crow with laughter and Regulus roll his eyes fondly. But Sirius stays peeved off with his hinged jaw, absolutely seething.

“Bet my hopeless brother recites poetry to you and everything, rose in his mouth and all.”

Remus laughs and Sirius suddenly has the horrid image of the fucking Frenchman doing as much outside the window to their bedroom, and is furious all over again.

“Well Reggie, Remus here does fancy all things French, foods and wines and blokes and just the whole lot.”

“Well good, we have something in common,” Amal snickers, lacing her hand through Regulus’s own over the tabletop. Sirius and Remus haven’t held hands since the waitress brought out their drinks, and remembering as much makes Sirius take a swig of his ail, hating everything.

“Yes well, you can say it’s Remus’s soulmate, France I mean.” He says, words beginning to slur. “He’s meant for French food and wines and blokes, innit true love? You’d prefer a French bloke?”

Amal frowns and Regulus pins him with a one eyed squint, befuddled. But Sirius only gathers his wits about him when Remus clammers noisily out his chair and tugs on his arm to follow suit.

“Reg order us the specials yeah? And a round of spring rolls,” he instructs, words clipped, and a small dent peeking out between his brows, like it does when he’s especially annoyed. “C’mon Sirius we need to talk.”

“But that’d be awfully rude,” Sirius retorts, already hates the flat, fuming tone Remus is speaking with, and feels good and properly nervous for the impending argument.

“They have one another, ’s fine. Now let’s go.”

Sirius concedes and pretends it doesn’t feel like he’s being lead to the gallows.

“All right prick,” Remus huffs, rounding on Sirius right after he locks the door to the single user loo. “What has gotten you in such a bloody awful mood.”

Sirius sniffs, arms crossed against his chest and his head tilted imperiously. “I’m peachy.”

“You’ve been acting like an arse ever since we had coffee with Lily,” Remus counters, reproving.

“Actually love, if you didn’t notice, Lily left about halfway through you and the blonde’s little clucking session.”

Remus furrows his brows now, pillowy lips pinched and looking lost as hell. “You’re angry because Lily left for work?”

“Oh for bloody hell Remus!” Sirius erupts, tossing his arms in the air. “I’m angry because you met your ruddy soulmate and now you’re going to ride off into the sunset with’m and read French poetry together while eating cheese and bread and talking about highbrow shit like Aeneid!”

Remus startles backwards, long lashes flapping and mouth gaped open. “Oh Christ, you’ve gone absolutely barmy. You’re mad.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I feel like I should call someone about my husband going bloody mental.”

“I repeat. Not. Helping.”

“What in hell has convinced you that this random bloke is my soulmate?” Remus asks, back to being patient as ever.

“Lily!” Sirius shouts. “She told me that you and the fucking Frenchman are soulmates! And she’s right okay! She’s bloody spot on.”

Remus rolls back his entire head now, groaning out, “You are such an idiot.”

“Real nice Moons,” Sirius frowns, doesn’t even know how to feel now, the anger seeping out of him the longer he’s standing besides Remus, leaving an awful, clawing abandonment in its wake.

“Did you ever once think to ask me what I think of the damn concept of soulmates? Hmm?” He asks, single brow hiked with pure condescension.

And oh.

Sirius is stuck for a minute there, doesn’t see an out to the question. “Well…. Erm—“

“Well if you had asked, like a normal sodding bloke! I wold’ve told you that I married you because I know your my soulmate you arse! And it isn’t because of some ridiculous notion of stardust or providence or whatever else. It’s because we grew together, and we fight for one another, and even when you’re being a complete prick or we’re arguing like mad you’re the only one I want. Only person I can ever see myself with, the only person I want to try this hard for. The only fucking person I ever want to call my husband! My partner! lover!”

“Oh.” Sirius breathes out, all his fears being strangled by the conviction embedded into Remus’s words.

And it’s like all of Sirius’s insides melt, like all the adoration and love and reverence he holds for Remus is pooling in his stomach and threatening to pour out his every orifice. And God he can’t even inhale, only scrambles to lock his hands around Remus’s cheeks and press his head against Remus’s own.

“Yeah? You really think that.”

“Hell, I thought the wedding and all would’ve made that clear.”

Sirius chuckles, only lightly, his thumb dragging beneath Remus’s eye tenderly. “God I love you, so endlessly. Please forgive me for being an idiot?”

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll keep you around,” Remus teases, bouncing on the balls of his feet to kiss Sirius’s nose and lock his arms around his neck, and the sensation of it— them knotted into one another— could never be replicated in a thousand years, not like this, not like them.

#Wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar fic #harry potter series #spilt ink #idk how to put read more with this update #PLEASE HELP

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