#he may also have a certain taste for long-haired pretty women. but it's way too awkward because its Sua so he runs away instead. lol.

[crustyfloor]

[crepesuzette2023]

For John's Birthday: some of my favorite John POV fics

Drop Chute (bookofapril). "The last stall on the end had an “out of service” sign on it: he darted in, locked the door, and sat down on the lid of the toilet. Thank god it was clean. He put his glasses in his pocket. Then he drew up his legs and rested his head on his knees, the cool embroidered satin of his trousers a balm on his forehead, safely hidden from sight." (1967, John vs. Robert F.)

I Think of Things We Did (J_Deandra_j). "He sucked Paul’s dumb, lovely fat lips, licked his teeth, tasted the drumbeat of Paul’s heart in the stubble threatening to erupt beneath his jaw, and his soul awoke like a sad bitch at the shudder of Paul’s skin under his tongue." (Obertauern)

at midnight (anonymous). "The first time John lets another man press against him, it feels like dying." (Long brilliant character study)

Sunday Driver (@boshemians). "Tara Browne is the kind of pretty boy who wouldn’t bat an eye at being called one. Proud of it, even, and not shy of an excuse to do just that—bat his eyes, or eyelashes really, at anyone. Men, women, dogs. It annoys John when Paul does it but it annoys him even more in Tara because of the money thing, the always having had it, so that he is not so much coy as simpering." (65/66, John v. Tara B.)

February in New Orleans (@eveepe). “Kiss it,” said May, from where she was tucked in beside Linda. “Go on, he likes that.”—“Do what she says, baby.” Linda leaned over to slide her hand into Paul’s hair and guide his head gently towards John. (John and May visit Paul and Linda in 1975)

deeper than oceans you run (@orphanbeat). "Rich kisses him slowly, purposefully, as he does them all. John thinks he probably likes Rich’s kisses the best, then realizes that they all must do." (Beatles OT4, Greek Island AU)

Our Version of Events (@javelinbk). "There are also some stories that have just tilted the world’s axis slightly, asking questions like if Brian hadn’t found them, would they still be famous? The answer, according to that writer, was no, which John felt gave Brian far too much credit and Paul’s bullheadedness too little." (John discovers fan fiction in 1971)

non nobis solum (downtothelastdrop). “I think it’s cute,” Helen says again. “The way he looks at you. He likes to push back, doesn’t he, but I bet when you get down to it he’d do anything you asked.” (John's fascination with Paul in school uniform)

Bermuda (@scurator). "Today he felt that life really might begin at forty, if a bloke could just admit certain predilections to himself." (1980 as it should have been)

The McCartney Issue (@pauls1967moustache). "It’s only because it’s Perfect Beatle Paul with a dildo up his ass that anyone cares at all." (John Lennon's purely artistic appreciation of Linda McCartney's Playboy spread of her husband)

dreaming of the past (@revollver). "Meanwhile, the real Paul, sweet boyish features and Beatle-cut grown a touch too long, can be seen on the coffee table, inspecting the cupcake wrappers on George’s plate. All John gets is a brief look: soft curve of a furred thigh as Paul darts behind the paper cups. Graceful calf and perfect, miniature foot. Tantalising glimpse of one arse cheek." (1969 John imagines Tiny Paul to distract himelf from the present–with delightful consequences)

ageless children, animal sweat (eyeball2eyeball): "Looks like Pete’s got his night lined up, eh?” He looks back to John and rests his chin on his palm and smiles, this small secretive thing, and John can’t help but be convinced that Paul knows what he’s thinking somehow — dangerous, that. “What about you?” (Hamburg)

[missmaywemeetagain]

Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

A/N: Somehow, against all odds in this absolute chaos of a week, I managed to bang out the "Army Elvis" prompt for this week today, like a maniac. I am both shocked and amazed that I wrote a smutty one-shot without overthinking it but also be warned this is hardly edited or revised, nor even really thought out! 😂

Thanks always to my sister wives in chaos and crime: @be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis and @from-memphis-with-love

TW: Smut! Orgasms! Basically no plot!

Rating: Mature 18+ || Word Count: 2.7k

Sergeant Presley (a one-shot)

He wants to fuck you. Oh lord how he wants to fuck you, from the moment you walk in the room and sit across the aisle from him.

Maybe it’s the curve of your calves and the way they disappear under your pencil skirt. Maybe it’s how your jacket notches in at your waist, accentuating your ample hips. Or perhaps it’s the fact that even with the conservative uniform and minimal to-do with your hair and make-up (as per regulations, of course), you still are absolutely gorgeous.

Or I’m just horny, Elvis thinks sardonically, shifting in his seat.

The movement catches your eye, and he watches curiously as you do a bit of a double take, eyes widening slightly in recognition before your head whips straight ahead.

He smirks to himself at that. It never gets old, the light that goes on in women’s eyes when they take him in in person. And he certainly isn’t getting much of it lately, being effectively shackled here in Germany, clad in his drab green Army fatigues.

Well, that’s not entirely true, he thinks as he pictures the fans that gather at all hours outside the house he’s renting while he’s here, about the girls he invites in. But it’s not quite the same, not the same at all, because his fame is tenuous and teetering here. Part of him is certain that they’ve all forgotten about him at home, despite the Colonel’s reports to the contrary, despite the new movie contracts and albums he is set to record as soon as he returns. However, the sliver of fear about his fate has burrowed deep these past two years and poisons him slowly, each day he is gone.

But now he’s counting days and weeks instead of months and years, and he can nearly taste being home. His fear and the antsy feeling that permeates him is overcome by anxious excitement now, so he’s feeling better than he has in a long time.

And here he is, getting his Sergeant stripes, and that fills him with a different sort of pride altogether.

So, perhaps it is all these factors combined that have him wanting to jump across the aisle, pull you into his arms, and kiss you silly.

He’s never seen you before and doesn’t know your name until they call you up to present you with your earned rank. Feeling a bit lecherous, he admires the view of your ass as you walk to the front and the heaving of your breast as they pin your stripes. Your pretty eyes catch his unabashedly heated gaze and pink floods your cheeks as he locks you in.

Elvis knows what he’s doing. While much of it is a natural sort of gift, he’s also honed his seductive abilities quite a bit in the last four years and gets paid a lot of money because of it. He’s also well aware that he looks good, filled out in a manly way but slimmed down in all the right areas, and right now, he’s not above using his looks to get your attention. And he so does want your attention, as much as he knows by virtue of your uniform and rank, you are completely off limits. He’s not stupid—he’s too close to the end for a court martial. Though he may not be able to fuck you the way he wants, it doesn’t mean he can’t have a little bit of fun.

Crossing his arms, he brings one hand to his mouth, letting his thumb catch on his full bottom lip and his mouth fall open slightly. Then he gazes at you with a pointed but dreamy stare, his eyes blinking slowly.

He watches you gulp and fidget at front of the room, all of which could be explained away by nerves of being put on the spot, but he knows he’s hit jackpot because there’s a little fire stoked in those lovely eyes now.

Tilting his head and raising a brow, he makes a private show of looking you up and down as you walk tenuously back to your seat. Giving him a glare of admonishment, you very purposefully do not look at him once you are seated again, but your hands wring in your lap, your leg crossing over towards him.

He’s flustered you. Warmth rolls over him, pooling in his pelvis, and through the rest of the ceremony, he tries not to think of bending you over your chair, yanking up your skirt, and sinking deep into your silky heat.

His cock twitches at the thought.

Later, fate intervenes on his behalf when he realizes you’ve been seated with him at the dinner banquet following the ceremony. He shakes your hand, introducing himself, letting his fingers squeeze and his thumb graze your palm a little too intimately. The gamut of emotions that flashes over your face before you bring down a stoic smile makes him chuckle.

He guides you to sit next to him, and while you hesitate at first, he knows he’s already won because of the way your eyes widen at the suggestion.

Now that you are close, his body goes into overdrive, and he is drunk on the sweetness of your perfume and the smoothness of your skin. He realizes he’s likely being too obvious in his flirtations but can’t bring himself to reign it in. The other men and women at the table have either consciously or subconsciously deferred to him and his charms, leaving no one to compete for your attention. He lays it on thick, wanting to eat you right up.

Elvis is hyperaware of every time you glance his direction, which is happening more often as he pulls you deeper into conversation, your cool exterior thawing bit by bit. But the way your eyes dilate and how you lick your lips when he brings the bottle of cola in front of him to his mouth has a zing of arousal shooting down his spine and straight into his cock.

Oh.

Nothing if not responsive, Elvis tongues the lip of the bottle before taking a slow drag of the sweet, fizzy soda. Your eyes are fixated now on his mouth, on the bottle, and he watches you catch your lower lip in your teeth as you stare.

Heat courses through him as he pulls the bottle away, tongue rolling over his bottom lip to catch the lingering drops of sugar caught there. You swallow visibly, and he doesn’t stop his teasing, unable to keep his lip from quirking into a delighted smirk at your attentions. Your eyes fly back up to his, as if just realizing you’ve been caught, and you flush a charming shade of red before clearing your throat and looking away quickly.

But every time he raises the bottle to his lips, your eyes catch like a moth to a flame. This time they follow his hand down as he sets the bottle on the table. Condensation gathers droplets on the cool glass and he relishes the smooth, wet feeling as he strokes the bottle with his thumb.

You fidget in your seat. It takes him a second to understand why, but once he does, he feels his cock chub up, caught mercilessly in his briefs and dress pants. The little, mischievous devil in him takes great pleasure watching you watch him make a show of gripping the bottle in his whole hand, slowly thumbing over the opening at the top again and again.

You choke a little and reach for your water, taking a deep drag and blinking rapidly, as if trying to come out of the spell he seems to have you under. You attempt to throw yourself into the conversation at the table, ignoring him with all your might, your body tense in your seat.

A challenge, he thinks, smiling.

Slowly, Elvis presses his knee into the side of your thigh, loving the way you nearly jump out of your seat in surprise at the contact. It’s like a bolt of electricity between you, and he starts to strain against his underwear.

Now that he has your attention, he places his hand back around the cola bottle, lewdly gripping it and slowly twisting his hand down and back up the glass. It’s truly not that far off from his actual size, so the motion feels almost too familiar, too easy. Your mouth pops open at the suggestive gesture and it takes everything in him to not lap his tongue into that delicate little mouth of yours. He matches his rhythm, stroking his knee against your leg, which also happens to provide some delicious friction in his pants. He feels you tense, squeezing your thighs together, and he cannot help but think of your little pink snatch likely staining your panties with slick right at this very moment.

Elvis almost groans aloud at that, catching it in his throat at the last second, but you seem to hear it and your eyes fly to his. Your pupils are blown out and cheeks are hot, and he can almost smell the arousal on you. Goddamn it, he wants to make you come, right here at the table, just for him, in front of everyone, who, wrapped up in their own conversations seem none the wiser at the seduction that is happening before them.

He’s hardly touching you but feels a surge of power when you fidget again, caught like willing prey in his stare. He can’t touch you more than he already is because that would get him in trouble, but if he can’t lay you across this table and fuck you senseless, he’s going to do it the only way he can.

His ministrations on the bottle are serving to arouse him just as much as you, each stroke making his cock twitch and strain and stiffen. Your eyes dart from his to the bottle, back and forth, your breath shallow and rapid. His eyes are heavy on you, unyielding, and look upon you as though you were under him, as though he were trapped and undulating in the heat of what he just knows is your perfect, untouched cunt.

You look back at him as though you know exactly what he’s thinking, as though your tight little hole is snug around him, sweet as honey, treating him right. Your hands clutch at your silverware, your napkin, anything you can get your hands on that isn’t him, and he knows you are well on your way to where he wants you because he can feel how your legs move back and forth, creating the friction you so desperately need between them.

He wonders if he can get away with touching you under the tablecloth, with sticking his hand into those wet panties of yours to play with your swollen and sensitive nub, but your skirt is too long and tight, and your jacket hides the waistband. No, he’s gonna have to be satisfied with eye-fucking you and jerking off this cola bottle.

Your chest starts to vibrate with tension as you try desperately to hold back the short little gasps emanating from your lips and he knows then that you are set to explode. You brace your elbows on the table, hiding the lower part of your face with your napkin, as if wiping your mouth, and he feels your hips buck. You do a helluva job not moaning and rolling your eyes back as you come for him, but he sees you drift somewhere else for a moment in your ecstasy, your eyes going blank as you pant as measured as you can into your napkin-shield.

Watching you unravel so gracefully and so untouched has his own orgasm sneaking up on him. The fact that he made you come just by looking at you but also at the element of public indecency involved has him clutching the cola bottle so hard he might break it. He wants to palm his dick with his other hand, but he knows he can’t be subtle about it and kind of likes the fact you’re making him come untouched, too.

Elvis manages to hold on until you come down from your high enough to look at him with dreamy, satiated eyes and that finally sends him over the edge. His cock pulses heavy and hard, springing against the confines of his slacks, his eyes drifting closed and lips parting as he shivers through his orgasm as quietly as he can. Holy fucking hell.

Your shy, knowing smile is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, and he can’t help but smile right back at you in kind. Your rosy cheeks and gleaming eyes make him feel giddy. His face feels red hot and he can’t help but bring the cold cola bottle to his face to cool it off. You choke back a laugh.

“You alright there, Sergeant Presley?” another soldier questions him.

“Ohhhh, I’m fine,” he drawls, amused, “Just feels like it’s a thousand degrees in here is all, in this getup.”

For once, he’s glad of his regulation briefs, as they kept him from shooting his load straight down his pant leg, but he doesn’t have to look down to know by the sheer force and amount of his release that he’s soaking through the front of his pants. His only consolation is that he knows you must be soaked through your panties, too.

If he can get his jacket on, he’ll be okay because it’s long and will cover the mess, but how he’s going to do so without the entire hall seeing he just jizzed his pants, he’s not so sure. It might not be a problem for the average Joe, but people can’t help but watch his every move, whether he wants them to or not. He realizes in his haze of horniness that maybe he didn’t really think this through.

You seem to realize his predicament, however, pretty eyes widening after looking down in his lap. You snap your head up quickly and he can sense your wheels turning. He starts to panic a little when you don’t let him in on the plan, though, as you start telling some story that he can’t seem to pay attention to with the sticky, rapidly cooling mess in his underwear.

Before he knows what’s happening, you are sweeping your arm to the side in a dramatic retelling, knocking the half-full bottle of cola over, directly into his lap.

He yelps in surprise as the dark cola soaks into his slacks, right over the other stain that had begun to set.

“Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Sergeant Presley!” you cry apologetically, quite convincingly, and in other circumstances, he might try to get you into the movies with your level of commitment as you place your napkin into his lap.

He chuckles, “Oh, it’s fine, darlin’, it’s just a little soda. After all, I was going on about how warm I was gettin’, so you cooled me right off.” He gives you a wink at his obvious double entendre, and you purse your lips to hold back a laugh.

“Well, I’m awfully embarrassed,” you say quietly, fully leaning into the role. “Please send me your dry cleaning bill. It’s the least I can do.” Pulling a little pad out of your clutch, you scribble something down on the paper, tear it off, fold it, and hand it to him.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’s no big thing,” he says, but takes the paper anyway, sensing that you have written something other than your dry cleaner’s information on it. He motions for your pen and paper. “Can I?”

You nod and hand them over. In his chicken scratch handwriting, he scrawls a note:

If you ever find yourself in Memphis someday, honey, come to Graceland for a visit. Ask for ‘Sarge.’ I’d love to have ya.

Love, Sergeant Elvis Presley

He finishes by adding one of the numbers at Graceland and hands the pad back to her. Wishful thinking, but maybe someday, when it’s not a court-martialed offense, he’ll be able to show you the good time you deserve.

He excuses himself, then, sloshing in his soggy, ruined pants, waiting until he gets to the car to read your note.

Sergeant Presley,

One must watch out for those pesky cola bottles…Try vinegar and cold water for that stain…wouldn’t want it to set!  

Corporal Y/N  Y/L/N

He laughs heartily as the car pulls away.

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

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@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03 @artlover8992

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @elvisgf @misspresley @ohjustpeachy1 @whositmcwhatsit @be-my-ally @precious-little-scoundrel @vintageshanny @from-memphis-with-love @prompted-wordsmith @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @stylespresleyhearted @elv1s-is-pretty @crash-and-cure

[gingermintpepper]

hey I hope you’re doing ok!! For the ask game, 🌈? Also perhaps ☔️?💧, even?

Hello hello, thank you for participating ☆ Once again, I can't comment on whether or not this extract is particularly fluffy but I do think it's rather sweet and it's definitely romantic so I think it's good for filling out both 🌈 and 💧!! It's an extract from what I've tentatively dubbed my 'Women and Apollo' doc which is essentially just a big running document I have dedicated to exploring themes and dynamics between Apollo and the women he's been entangled with! This extract in particular is from my Melia section 🥰

The night is a cold sheet spread across her shoulders. She wakes in pieces; first, her flesh, bracketed between the raw heat of Phoebus' bare chest and the sharp sting of the night air's fangs, then her mind, pleasure's fleeting haze quickly swept aside by panic then worry then guilt. What would Kaanthos say if he could see her now, bare breasted and stained in a male-god's desire? What would Father? No doubt she would have to cede the seat of the temple to Kaanthos. How could a carnal woman serve the people after all? And her river - oh, her sweet river! Would his waters even deign to soothe her scales when she was so completely drenched in the scent of a sky-god?

How foolish she's been, throwing everything away just because of some sweet words and a pretty face. Maybe Kaanthos truly did deserve the temple after all. Maybe Melia didn't deserve such a treasure if she was so easily seduced.

She sniffles softly, slipping gently from Phoebus' loose grip. His heat wafts off his skin like the warmth of a well-tended hearth, it lingers in her bones as she kneels in the grass of this unfamiliar field. It makes the sear of shame dig that much deeper into her heart. Phoebus had listened well to her warnings. He'd carried her someplace far away from flowing water, somewhere distant where her brother's scrying eyes could not reach. The tears welling in her eyes finally fall as she turns this way and that, utterly and completely lost without a source of water to follow. How could she return now? Even she was not bold enough to have the man she planned to reject take her back to her father's house.

Stupid girl. Foolish. How could she have been so short sighted?

"Melia?"

His voice is laden with sleep's husk, his arm makes little grabs at the grass searching for her shape. She swallows her tears and bids her voice to not betray her, "Here I am, my lord. You may go back to sleep."

The mildest furrow of his brow. When he turns his head, his hair flows like rich golden oil over the dark grass, "Come here," his hand keeps searching for hers, patting the ground, dragging long fingers over the dirt and frowning when he does not find her. "It is not yet morning, why have you fled so far from my side?"

Melia cannot help but laugh at his visage, clumsy and squinty-eyed, less the graceful gentleman who promised her a taste of change and more a bumbling kitten desperate for its mother's teat. She wipes her tears as quickly as she can muster, "If you but open your eyes, I'm certain you would find me."

He makes a grumbling noise, some cross between a boar's grunt and the crow's deep bellow, "Is this another of your games? I'm much too tired for games Melia." Finally, his finger grazes the edge of her ankle and like a child, he lights up, eyes still stubbornly closed but smile positively radiant, "Ah, there you are!" Diligently, he traces the shape of her leg with his open palm, measuring the smoothness of her calf, the swell of her knee, the broadness of her thigh, then he lays his head upon her, cheek pressed close to her stomach, heated back like warm coals against her skin. "So cool," he murmurs and kisses her stomach, throws his arm around her waist and nuzzles further into her skin, "Tell me when you've need of the water -" a dreadfully wide yawn interrupts him. "- I'll fetch it for you."

Melia finds herself laughing again, just a tiny thing as she runs her fingers through the thick waves of his hair. What is she to do now?

As for a fic idea I'd like to talk about since I don't know if I'll ever write it: Among the many, many, many things I'd like to write but probably never will, I really wish I could just sit down and write a story about Tenes and Hemithea. There's a lot of reasons why I have no plans to ever properly tackle anything regarding the Iliad - chief of which being that there's just too much information and the amount of research would be insane - but a lot of what I would potentially focus on have to deal with people and places Apollo loves and his inability to protect those things throughout the conflict starting with Tenes. I absolutely adore exploring Apollo's paternity in my writing and considering how fiersome Tenes was and how both he and Troilus would die protecting their sisters, I've just always wanted to dig into an exploration of their lives and connection with their father and how Tenes' death specifically would've affected Apollo. Like yeah, I know Troilus is usually the point of focus for such works especially because of the manner in which he was killed, but Tenes was also beloved! Also considering he was originally punished for being falsely accused of sexually assaulting his stepmother, I can't help but want to write his wrath when he realises what it is Achilles intends to do to Hemithea. Alas though, I don't think I'l ever get to do more than think longingly about it, at least right now lmao.

[sukirichi]

request: SWIMSUIT SHOPPING WITH JJK CHARACTERS — (yuuji, megumi, and gojo satoru ver!)

notes: i’ve reached a point in hell of no return, help 😩 anon knows exactly what she’s talking about and i’d be more than honoured to add on to this concept

warnings: nsfw content such as public sex, overstimulation, degradation, manhandling, oral sex (f and m receiving), road head, and slight cumplay (nsfw under the cut!) + this is unedited/not proofread,

(all minor characters are aged up)

masterlist ! requests are open

ITADORI YUUJI

he’s a pretty innocent boy

in a way that he’s not always dirty minded instead of him totally being...well, inexperienced

so when you ask him if he can come with you pick a swimsuit, he happily agrees

he loves going shopping with you and is extremely patient even if you take half an hour in just one shop

he’d happily carry your bags for you

seriously, this man is so low maintenance, he’s not going to ask for anything else or whine that you’re taking too long or that he’s hungry

he’s REALLY really patient and supportive of you

and even though he’s not an expert in women’s fashion, he’ll honestly give his opinions if he thinks a dress or shoe looks good on you or no

he might also remind you just how convenient your outfit would be on the event you plan to use it t

but this time, it’s a different case because you’re buying a swimsuit

now, yuuji’s seen you naked before so it’s nothing new to him anymore, but the moment he walks inside the swimsuit shop with all types of frilly bras and colorful pieces, he’ll immediately duck his head down in respect

he’s pretty fidgety the whole time

if you bring up a certain red polka dot bikini in front of your clothed body, tilting your head to the side innocently to ask, “how about this?”

yuuji’s brain will fry right then and there

he can imagine just how great you’d look in it, but he doesn’t want to be rude or too obvious so he’ll just nod and go,

“yeah, babe, that’d look great on you!”

he’s pretty silent the whole time, but really, all the blood’s rushed to his cock already

the whole drive back, yuuji is already so sensitive and clenching his jaw with his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel while you sit next to him, hiding your smirk

you almost want to laugh at how flustered he is, but he’s trying his best not to show it

but you’re not that bad, and so you ask him to pull over because the tent in his pants looks so uncomfortable and you doubt he’ll be patient enough to jack off in the bathroom when you both go back home

he’s confused at first, glancing over you with worry

“why, what’s wrong? did you want to go somewhere else?”

“no,” you laugh, pushing your hair back into a makeshift ponytail

and THAT has yuuji driving recklessly and swerving real fast and furious style because he knows what’s about to happen next

despite his eagerness, he’s still concerned about you, breathing heavily as you lean over your seats and start to unzip his pants

“a-are you sure about this? you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,”

poor baby is already shaking the moment your nails rake over his thigh, your breath just ghosting over his clothed erection which is already damp with pre-cum

this makes you hum in agreement because yes of course you’re sure

you had a feeling yuuji would be turned on with this little escapade anyway, but you didn’t think he’d be this needy already

now it’s time for you to relax your throat and prepare yourself because yuuji is THICK

safe to say, all your arrogance is gone the moment you choke on his length, his big hands helping you keep the hair away from your face

meanwhile, yuuji is messily thrusting his hips up to your mouth, enjoying the way you just feel so warm around him

“f-fuck, baby, feels so good. i can imagine you already in that flimsy material, you’d be so pe-perfect, fuuckk.”

your chest swells with pride, always having been weak when it comes to his praising

once he reaches his high and paints your face white, yuuji lazily pulls you closer to him to kiss you, moaning when he tastes himself on your lips

you only giggle at how romantic he is even when your hands are still stroking his softening cock, and yuuji shudders a bit at the gesture

because he’s been such a great and supportive boyfriend today, you swipe at the cum near your lips, which makes yuuji’s eyes darken when you collect it with the tip of your tongue

then, as innocently as you could bat your eyelashes at him, you grin,

“would you like to see me wear it tonight? just for you?”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

PLEASE HELP THIS BOY

“gumi, can you come shopping with me tonight? there’s a pool party this weekend with my friends and i need a new swimsuit.”

he wants to say yes because duh

but he also wants to say no because he’d rather not walk around in public with a raging erection

and we all know megumi is big, like come on, he’s toji’s son

like yuuji, i don’t think megumi is that perverted either, but he’s still a teenage boy with raging hormones

he may have more control over himself than yuuji, but he knows his limits

a swimsuit is honestly so innocent — it’s not even half as tempting as when you surprised him with a white lingerie set (which resulted you two in not getting out of bed the whole weekend lmao) so he wonders why the hell he’s so nervous

eventually he convinces himself that going with your girlfriend while she shops for a swimsuit isn’t anything new and it’s just a “normal couple thing” so bedgrudingly, he sighs and agrees

which he immediately regrets the moment you head straight for the skirtinis

there’s so much to choose from, and his eyes widen at the absurdity of how there’s so many designs and patterns

i feel leki megumi is a cheapskate, so he’ll be more focused first on criticizing the price tags before looking at you

“25 dollars for this...thing?”

he’ll shake his head in disapproval, but then straighten up when he sees you frown

“i think it looks cute. don’t you like it?”

you push up a frilly pink skirtini, the shade a soft pastel one that just looks so innocent and cute on you

it doesn’t help that you’re gazing up at him under your lashes either, a small pout on those kissable lips

he admits it does look cute, even cuter because you’re the one wearing it, but he still doesn’t like the price lmao

or at least...not until he’s seen you wearing it

once you’ve both gotten home, megumi heads straight to the kitchen because he’s been so parched (he won’t tell you that he’s been subconsciously swallowing his saliva the whole time, showing him material by material until it all gets suspiciously thinner and more revealing)

he doesn’t like limiting you or telling you what to wear, either, so he just follows you like a lost puppy, careful to note stare too much at anything to not make anyone uncomfortable

but then he goes back to your shared room, just about ready to call it a day since you sure did take your sweet time, and he sees you strutting in your underwear in front of the mirror

megumi freezes at the door like a lagging npc LMAO

“...y/n?”

you smile, turning to him as if he hadn’t just caught you checking yourself out, which he doesn’t blame you for because you look absolutely stunning in it

the skirt just hides the supple flesh of your thighs, but really, he’s more stunned at how your ass looks so perky in that skintight material

megumi looks away, flushed, running a hand through his hair because he’s too much of a gentleman to outright say he finds you so sexy in fear it would sound weird

but you take his sudden aversion something else, and you wrap your arms around yourself a little consciously, voice turning small

“does it look bad on me?”

he immediately picks up on how small you’ve made yourself, his eyes snapping to yours

“no, you look amazing! why would you think that?”

you pout, “you suddenly looked away. it felt like you don’t really like it.”

at this point, megumi is such a blushing, stuttering mess, approaching you carefully with his words stll stumbling over one another

“that’s not true,” he sighs, rubbing his hands on your bare arms, finally letting himself loose and shamelessly staring at how your breasts are just right under him, waiting to be touched

the tension in the room begins to thicken, and you shiver when his hands trail down your hip before squeezing the flesh almost possessively

“beautiful,” he’d murmur almost absentmindedly, and by the time you’re practically melting in the heat of his gaze, megumi just goes ‘fuck it’ and straight out kisses you

he’s gentle though

he knows you felt insecure and so he wants to take his time with you, touching you in places he knows you liked, curling his fingers in just the right spot that has you seeing stars

he doesn’t do anything that would make your body shake, but it still feels good — a lot more like lovemaking

and it is

he wants you to know he loves you and that you’re the most beautiful being ever in his eyes

megumi will kiss you starting from your calves and up to your belly, where he hovers for a minute before changing his mind and diving back down to where you want him the most

small, kitten licks in your core that has you dripping in his tongue, your hands fisting his hair

megumi doesn’t stop telling you how pretty you look just like that, loosing yourself in the pleasure he’s giving you

he doesn’t neglect your breasts; one of his hands reaching up to softly pinch the beaded nipples which has you riding and humping his face even more

megumi buries his face in your heat in that moment, his nose bumping your clit every now and then, and you feel so beautiful with how he can’t seem to get enough of you

he knows this just by the way you clamp down on his tongue, sweet juices coating his lips and he drinks it all like a starved man

“cum for me, sweet girl,” he coaxes, his thumb pushing your lips open as he watches you come undone for him

“that’s right — fuck — you’re so gorgeous, so perfect, just mine.”

and just when you think he’s had enough, megumi only flips you until your core is right on top of his face, his large hands merciless as he pushes your hips forward and backward on his tongue

similar to before, you and megumi stay in bed all day long with him going round per round, never getting tired of making you feel good until you’re just laying spent on your bed, juices flowing out of your abused core

you push megumi away when his fingers slide in your inner thigh

but no he’s not quite done with you yet

“no,” he growls softly, pushing your hands away and pinning you under his weight. “i’m not stopping until you finally see yourself the way i see you. so divine, so ethereal.”

your body is something he’ll never get tired of worshipping

you’re hella tired

but hey who are you to complain

you only wish megumi hadn’t ruined your swimsuit with your cum, but after a promise that he’ll jsut get you another one, you lose yourself to another mind blowing orgasm

GOJO SATORU

let’s be real here

you know EXACTLY what you’re asking for the moment you dragged him into a swimsuit shop

you don’t even bother asking him if he wants to go anymore because gojo being gojo, he’ll be whiny about it, saying you could just surprise him the moment you get home

to which you roll your eyes and say, “this isn’t for you, gojo.”

hah, but anything that is yours is his, and your body is definitely his

gojo is nothing but bored

he wants to go home already and just fuck you already, and he’s getting on your nerves so you threaten that you’re not letting him touch you for a whole week if he doesn’t shut up and accompany you for once

it’s not that gojo is mean and unsupportive of you, he’s just so horny in that moment he can’t think straight

but he also really, really likes touching you so the big man just pouts and crosses his arms

sighing loudly and rather dramatically

it only takes a few seconds before gojo straightens up, peeking under his blindfold when you pick up a plain black bikini with the top knotted behind your neck

it’s not really your style though, so you’re about to move to another design when gojo whines

“wait, why not that one? it would look great on you.”

ofc you know i’ll look great on you, but it’s not your favorite, and it’s fun to tease gojo so you shrug nonchalantly, picking up a dark blue legsuit instead

gojo absolutely LOSES it

man takes off his blindfold just to glare at the material as if it offended him

“babe, what the fuck is that?”

“it’s a legsuit, perfect for scuba diving. plus, it protects my skin from the sun. i wouldn’t want a sunburn.”

the way gojo laughs is so cocky you consider choking him with the suit

“that’s what you have me for?” he points to himself incredulously, “i’ll put the sunblock all over your body babe, you don’t even have to worry about that.”

“please. i’d already be stripped down to my birthday suit before you even get to open the bottle,” you scoff, muttering under your breath, “damn fucking horny guy can’t keep his thing inside his pants.”

however, this doesn’t faze gojo

“and what’s so wrong with finding my girlfriend so sexy and hot i want to fuck her all the time?”

honestly what the hell were you thinking, assuming that you’d one-up gojo when this man would always be superior when it comes to being dirty LMAO he is just so shameless

but whatever, you ignore him, heading to the checkout with a self-assured smile

gojo trails behind you, his anger radiating off of him so strongly you can feel it

“y/n.”

“y/n, you can’t even swim. don’t fuck with me and say you’re buying that to ‘scuba dive.’”

“what, so i can’t learn now?”

“just buy the black bikini. it looks great on you.”

“i told you already, i’m not buying that and wearing it for you. i only dragged you here because i need someone to carry my bags.”

you know what happens to brats?

they get punished.

and that’s exactly what happens

gojo grabs your wrist rather roughly back to where you’ve left the black bikini, and not only does he shove it to your chest, commanding you to wear it, but he also shoves you in the nearest dressing cubicle

next thing you know, gojo has his palm over your mouth as he pounds into you from behind, absolutely railing you to the point tears are flowing down your cheeks

“look at you — not so bratty now, are we? you’re just a slut for my cock, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

gojo lifts one of your legs up in the crook of his arm, forcing you to look at the way your pussy greedily sucks him in in front of the mirror

you’re so wet that the squelching of your pussy, along with the slapping of skin, resonates in the cramped space

you reach behind gojo and move away from his hand, gasping breathily while your breasts bounce

“gojo, ah, shit — we might get caught.”

“do i look like i give a fuck, baby?”

no, he doesn’t. and he proves this by pushing you down by the back until your cheek is squished against the mirror, your ass pressed against his pubic bone

with the way gojo’s hips are angled and his long cock is hitting places only he can reach, you no longer care about people finding you in this position

your mouth is open, eyes rolling at the back of your head and drool even begins to slide from your lips

this makes gojo laugh, two of his fingers rubbing against where you two are connected to gather your wetness before shoving it into your mouth

“shut the fuck up, you slut.”

gojo’s large hands then comes up to grab and squeeze your hips roughly; you think he’ll leave bruises there or marks in the shape of fingers

he’s basically using you as his fucktoy now, paying no mind to how you’re crying from how he’s hitting in so deep and fast

your body just transcends into a different dimension

you’re fucked out, crying and begging for him to go slower

“gojo — baby — p-please, a little more gentle, ah, fuck.”

“what was that?” he teases, bending forwards to nip at your ear. the sudden shift in angles has the tip of his cock kissing your cervix, and you immediately clench around his cock.

gojo taps your lips when your eyes shut close from the exhaustion, barely able to comprehend anything else other than the familiar coil deep in your belly

“i couldn’t hear you, princess. speak louder.”

“slower, please,” you beg, placing your sweaty palms flat on the mirror in an attempt to hold onto something. “too much, satoru, t’much.”

poor you, his baby looks so tired and fucked out

with a sarcastic sigh, he kisses the pads of your shoulders, then bites the knot of your black bikini until the material falls to the ground

your breasts are now free from its confines, and his rough hands reach to fondle them

you expect him to grip it possessively like how he always does, but instead, he massages them with tender care, whispering sweet nothings in your ear

one of his hands reach over to where your hands are, looping it through your fingers while his thrust slows down

he forms a tantalizing pace of hitting deep before pulling out in a such slow, torturous fashion then slamming back in until he bottoms out in one thrust

it’s dirty, lewd, and still very much wrong — but it feels so right and it’s rare that gojo ever listens to you so you find it romantic

gojo isn’t the least bit apologetic when you’re both kicked out from the shop

because in the end, he won, and he holds your shopping bag with the cum-stained black bikini proudly all the way back to his car

[probably-not-a-rocketscientist]

calculated love and complicated confessions

summary: your time on cloverfield station has lead you to two conclusions: love is complicated and not everyone is who they seem

warnings: mutual pining, slight angst with a happy ending, mention of harm to others, one (1) german phrase that i'm pretty sure i butchered

a/n: did i write this all week when i should have been studying for my finals? yes. also, i saw this movie three years ago in chinese so i might have gotten some details wrong. english is not my first language so constructive criticism is encouraged. enjoy!

——

As an engineer, you knew the importance of trial and error. However, you did not expect for it to keep you in space for nearly three year with seven other scientist. You all found a sense of family with each other, but you couldn't help the need of being on earth grow every day.

One crew member you payed particularly close attention to was Ernst Schmidt. You noticed the little things about him; like how he would comb his fingers through his hair when it fell to his face because he insisted on keeping it long, or when he would curse in his native tongue when he got frustrated with his work.

After a while, the whole station seemed to have caught on to your fondness for Schmidt, except the physicist himself. He was oblivious to the constant teasing by the other crewmates, thinking it was only because of how close you two were as friends.

However, he wasn't the only clueless person on the station. You had failed to notice all the advances that Schmidt had made — like his hands lingering on to yours for a second more when they touched, or always insisting on being paired with you when you all were sent to do assignments throughout the deck. He found your presence to be intoxicating, but didn't push too far in fear that you didn't feel the same way.

—

The day before another test, you stayed in the dining room all night reviewing your calculations. You were almost positive that they were correct, but it would kill you if you were the one responsible for the accelerator being unsuccessful.

You were so focused on your work that you didn't notice how quiet the station was. You checked your wristwatch and it was well over midnight. Sleep wasn't a priority for you right now, but you knew you needed to be well rested for the test in a couple of hours.

Right as you were about to get up, Schmidt entered the room. His hair was messy and he was in sweatpants and a t-shirt. A pair of wire-framed glasses sat on his face, something he only wore when he forgot to put in his contacts — or in this case, retrieving an item from the kitchen at this ungodly hour. You forced yourself to look away, worried that you were starring at him for too long.

"Why are you still working? It's very late," he comments as he opens the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water.

"I'm just nervous about tomorrow. We don't have a lot of firings left and I want to get this right," you responded.

"You've been working non-stop for the past month, I'm certain you will do just fine," he reassured with a smile. "And if not, I will take over your post."

"The last time I checked, I had one more PhD than you."

"I'll catch up eventually, you know."

He was fidgeting with his water bottle, unsure how to prolong this conversation. "Let me walk you back to your quarters, you need the sleep."

Without hesitation, you rose from your chair and began walking beside him. Walking through the halls of the station at night usually made you uneasy, but Schmidt's presence made it slightly more comfortable. The heavy clanking of your steel-toed work boots contrasted the light thumps of his sneakers.

After a few more paces, you arrived at your room. You punched in your passcode and the door slid open.

"Well, this is my stop. Thanks for making sure I got back safely," you joked.

"Of course," he responded.

You could tell that he was also tired so you didn't want to hold him for too long. "Goodnight Schmidt," you bid.

"Goodnight liebling," he responded. He began walking back to his own room before you could process what he said.

"What does that mean?" you questioned.

"You'll understand soon enough," he answered without looking back.

Even though you were confused by his response, you closed your door and locked it. Exhausted, you fell onto your mattress without taking your boots or jumpsuit off. Within a few seconds you felt your eyelids getting heavy and slipped into your sleep.

—

The control room was silent, worried that any movement or noise would cause the dial to turn in the unfavorable direction. The particle accelerator was fired less than a minute ago and the dial was slightly moving in between the red and green zones. This was first time the machine had been able to turn on and to have it successfully work would be nothing short of a miracle.

All of you held your breath as the dial began to turn again, this time in the green. Suddenly, it lowered significantly towards the safety levels.

It worked.

Cheers and laughter filled the room as you all celebrated the victory. After years of failures and dead-ends, the feeling of achievement was exhilarating.

—

You were thrown into chaos when you got back to earth. After the return shuttle landed in the Atlantic, a helicopter took you all back to mission control in London. Everyday consisted of either physical test to make sure the artificial gravity didn't have any negative effects on your body, or press conferences about how the eight of you solved the energy crisis. You couldn't turn on the news without some mention of the Shepard, but you were just glad to be home.

By the end of the month, you and the rest of the crew were burned out, both mentally and physically. You, Tam, Hamilton, and Mundy decided to stay in London and lead a team at mission control to monitor the Shepard's status. Kiel, Acosta, and Volkov were to return to their families and respective countries tomorrow. You hadn't heard much from Schmidt, but you assumed that he would return to his life in Germany. Since today was the last day all of you be together for a while, Hamilton decided to take you all to a pub downtown.

You watched the others play, or at least attempt to play, billiards closely from the bar. Your feet were aching so you decided to sit down but you were still actively encouraging them. After a couple rounds, Schmidt walked over towards you.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked politely.

"It's all yours," you gestured. He pulled out the stool and sat with his back facing the tabletop. You notice his outfit, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of dark trousers. It was a change from his usual jumpsuit uniform and a polo shirt with jeans.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, letting the soft conversations of the pub fill the empty space between you. It was almost a bittersweet moment; one of the last moments you would spend together.

Almost as if he read your mind, he answered your thought. "I'm not going back to Germany," he said.

A sigh of relief rang through your head, but you still couldn't help but be curious about his decision. "Why not? You probably have hundreds of women lining up to be with the 'German man that saved the world'," you joked.

He was unresponsive to your comment as he gathered his thoughts. His demeaner changed and he shifted in his seat so that now he was facing you. "Can I make a confession?" he asked.

"Of course, Schmidt," you replied. Now you were worried that something was wrong. He wasn't one for serious conversations so you knew this was important.

"As you may know, my country has been trying to start a war with Russia for nearly a decade. When the Shepard was built, the government sent me as a spy to prevent it from working. I was suppose to send logs of my progress back to them, but I never did. The day before we activated the device, I received a transmission ordering me crash the station into the ocean with all crew member on board. If I go back to Germany, they will have me arrested for treason."

You were shocked by his words and couldn't think of anything to say. You knew that Schmidt would never betray the crew, and apparently the cost of that was being exiled from his own country.

He was now looking down on the floor, worried that he would see disappointment in your eyes if he looked up. "Can you please say something?" he pleaded.

"Why didn't you do it? You knew this was the result, yet you still made the sacrifice? Why?" you asked. You brought your hand to cup his face, tilting his gaze so he was now looking down at you. Your thumb ran over his cheek as an attempt to comfort him.

"I did it for you. And I would do it all again if it meant I could see your smile, even for just one more minute. I understand if you want nothing to do with me after today, but you deserve to know the truth."

It wasn't until now that you realized how close in proximity you were to him. You could smell the cologne he was wearing; citrus with a hint of firewood. Flammable items like fragrance and hairspray weren't allowed on the station, but you could still identify the scent as his own.

"I guess it's my turn to make a confession, right? To even things out," you half-whispered. You continued to move closer to him slowly, seeing if he showed any sign of resistance. His eyes were now fixed on your lips, and yours to his. Deciding to take the final step, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down.

The kiss was slow but filled with passion, the result of bottled up feelings for the past three year. He tasted like cigarettes and tap beer, exactly how you imagined him. His hands traveled down to your waist and attempted to pull you in as close as he could from the awkward position you both were in. A small moan escapes your lips from the contact, a sound that he found to be his favorite.

You pull away moments later to catch a breath of air. His quick breathing was in sync with yours and you let out a slight laugh of relief.

The intimate moment was interrupted by cheering and whistling coming from the billiards table. It was a mix of 'finally's and 'about time's. Your crewmates had a habit of embarrassing you and apparently it applied to public spaces as well. You put your head on Schmidt's shoulder to try to shield yourself from them.

"Should we go over there and say something?" you asked. The lighting in the pub wasn't great, but you could've swore you saw Mundy hand Tam £20.

"In a minute. I want to savour this moment for as long as possible."

[murasakispace]

Loki X male! Reader (headcanons)

English is not my main language. Sorry for the mistakes.

Warning : none. But a lot of fluff, it is also my first headcanons.

Summary: What if you were attracted by Thor and what if Loki would be in love of you ?

On Asgard, you love who you want to love. 

Meaning that if a man loves a man, who has the right to say anything about it? Same for women and for any people living here. Queen Frigga herself had a lot of people looking for her attention. 

This put aside, you were actually attracted to Prince Thor. 

Who isn’t ? He’s just kind, strong (you were too) and was always drawing your attention wherever he could be. 

Even during battles, which is clearly not really safe when people’s life is at stake (and also yours)

The day you fell for him was when you had been thrown in the air and that he went to save you like a knight in shining armour. (or more likely with a shining hammer)

He was just.... You couldn’t say anything else nor describe him. Did you ever seen something as beautiful as this man who came to save you ?

You weren’t able to think anymore either. 

He just left you half lying on the ground, your legs shaking, not able to stand or hardly, a blushing mess...Oh you must have been handsome here 

Yet, another man was interested in you. Another prince. Another god. But more evilish. A living mischief. Someone more secret, more distant from people. 

A strong warrior, well... At least, he knew how to fight. Until today, that was all what you were giving to him, the sole interest you were seeing in him. 

He was a stark contrast with his brother. That didn’t surprise you much when people spread gossip about him not being the real brother of Thor and the real son of Frigga and Odin. 

He glanced at you sometimes. You didn’t understand why. You were too busy to follow Thor when the blond-haired man was holding you, his strong arm on your shoulders and alcohol in his other hand. 

Yet, one day, you are tired of following Thor around like a little puppy during one of Odin’s banquets. You just have a drink and you look at this flaming god all the time you are far away from him.

You stay by yourself, observing the crowds. Thor vaguely waved his hand at you. Your drink was resting in your hand, and you were losing yourself in the colored liquid

You were getting sadder and sadder to receive so little of Thor’s attention. 

You heard a slight noise just next to you

Someone sat down. Someone that you weren’t expecting at all. 

It was Loki. The second prince. Yeah... This one. “surprise” would be an understatement because he mentionned more than once that you weren’t exactly what he liked as a person. 

And as said previously, you didn’t like him either. 

But he was somehow different today. It was well-known that he hated this kind of party. He was spending his time with a drink and looking with��disdain to his surroundings

"What brings you here" you asked with an empty tone, not reaaaly wanting to know what it is about

"Some company. And since you seem lonely... "

His answer hadn't any importance for you. It was just to avoid a embarrassing silence between you.

You mumbled something. No one would have been able to hear it. Until Loki it seemed because a little smile made his thin lips curl upwards.

You can't help it but smiled back. How strange... He was so endearing.

You only remark it now but loneliness made you realize that Loki is actually very good looking. Like is brother. But Thor looked more like the Sun. The second prince embodied the light of the Moon and the poetic charm of the stars during a clear night. His pale skin...

If you heard yourself, you would certainly slap yourself yet a burst of laughter in the distance made you reconsider the idea of staying with Loki.

It seemed that he saw this glance. The black-haired man didn't react. Though, he couldn't prevent himself to make a snide remark so as to push you to focus on him and him only.

Loki was thinking about the blindness of his brother. You were sincerely blessed by the grace of nature. You were mesmerizing.

And Thor was occupating your thoughts while he could entertain you more than this stupid show-off and also his brother (adopted but are we going to argue?)

He would talk to you and you would answer, kindly with your voice that could push two mountains into a fight. After all, you didn't like these person around the blond Prince. They were only bugs tapping against the glass of a window and stuck in their obstinate ignorance.

Now, Loki enjoyed to see you, he has just to stretch his arm and he would be able to touch you. Yet, he wouldn't do so, he doesn't want to see you flee from him. Or using a silly excuse so as to run away.

Even with the thousands of years that you spent not so far from each other, it was finally hard to start a conversation without sounding awkward.

Stammer. A lot of stammer. You stumbled on your words. You even doubted of your ability to speak to one another.

But you decided you had nothing to lose by exchanging with the prince so you just started about the fact that the party was going to be too noisy for your taste. Most of the people were becoming drunk and the last ones who were reasonable got back to theirs quarters.

You decided that you would leave. Though, as the evening and then the night passed over Asgard, you grew sort of attached to Loki.

He was clearly not the man you thought he was.

Besides his obvious charm, he was witty, listening to whatever you would say, even the worst jokes you had, ready to exchange your point of view on different topics.

You didn't think at all that he would be so interesting. You had to admit that he wasn't so dull.

It took a certain time to get you to talk again to each other. And each time, you weren't able to let him go that easily.

When did you acknowledge how handsome he was both inside and outside?

Loki has pretty well seen how he managed to melt this icy armour you were wearing around your heart when it comes to see each other. He was touching your soul and he was pleased of it.

Loki was happy because you weren't listening all the rumors that people liked to spread about him.

For you, he wasn't embodying only Mischief, but also humanity. He was just asking to people to look at him like the person he was.

True. He had done awful things but... Look at him. Swallowed by Thor's shadow, not even existing for the Argardians. He was only "Thor's brother". Just a pale copy, a missed thing next to his flaming brother.

And... He would never forget when you came to him, while Thor's little puppies managed hurt him through all the sass and sarcasm that his reputation was made of.

He felt like his soul was shattered. The feeling of being split up by bitterness and anger against his brother's popularity.

"You know, Loki... The moon and the stars may be invisible during the day. It doesn't mean they are not here. You are not some shadow. You are Loki, god of Mischief and an incredible man"

"I am no such things." he snapped back, tears almost falling from his beautiful eyes.

"You are. You are the most shining star I've ever met. Even hidden by clouds on a rainy day, I would still look for you because without you, I feel as if I was lost"

It sounded like a confession. Loki had dreamed of such words for himself, from you or from anyone. Someone who accepted him as he was. And that was priceless for him.

Loki would feel his heart warm up, like when fire magic was running trough his veins. But he felt free from all of those negative sentiments.

He could not forget either the way your arms sneaked to his shoulders and when you attracted him against your chest.

When did anyone hold him this way for the last time ? He wasn't able to remember. He just felt air coming inside of you and getting out by the same path along your ribcage.

He was happy. Just happy. Nothing else.

Was he dreaming when you got closer to him, your breath mixing together and your warm lips against his and your hand brushing the skin of his cheek?

Loki obviously didn't refuse the most elegant and aethereal kiss he has ever got from a long time.

He was not dreaming after all. When you separate Loki felt the desire to come to you again and make you understand he was all yours.

After all this time while he was craving for your attention, he finally got it.

He got even more. You were the world for him and he was yours. Asgard, Midgard... All of this didn't matter anymore as long as you were together.

You were happy and in love. You had forgotten Thor since a long time now. You had your own little star.

[yzkhr]

A Christmas oneshot featuring Shinichi and Sonoko with a little bit of Shinran as well

May everyone enjoy the rest of the year and Happy Holidays!

-

"So," the twenty two year-old Suzuki Sonoko asked for the nth time as she peeks out of the dressing room, yawning as she languidly modeled a pink ribboned dress, "remind me again why I'm here at the mall shopping for fancy outfits instead of sleeping in my day off? And with you of all people."

The man in question, former highschool detective now a respected police officer Kudo Shinichi, shooked his head and looked at the dress with dissaprovement before answering.

"Because, it's almost Christmas and I need to give Ran something." he then picked out another pink dress from the rack, this time it's off shoulder and too lacy for Sonokos' taste. "How about this one?"

"Why do I need to be here then? It's not like I know Ran more than you do. You guys literally moved in together as soon as you turned eighteen." It was now her turn to disagree as she glared rather offensively at the outfit. Shinichi being the receiver of such look all throughout his life, got the message and brings it back to where it was five seconds ago.

"I've been giving Ran all the stuff she wanted since we were little kids. I'm running out of ideas you know." he admitted with his face slightly flushed at the mention of their immediate live in, as if remembering everyones' knowing looks back when they first announced it.

She grinned, catching on to what the detective is trying to get to (Or at least what she interprets he's trying to get through) "So, what you're saying is, that you need my amazing skills and judgement as someone who not only has the best fashion sense in Beika but also as Rans' one and only bestfriend?"

The woman compliments herself and walked across to choose from two blouses on the nearest shelf that caught her eyes as she acts unbothered while Shinichis' face turned sour.

"I knew I should've just called Haibara for help." he mumbled under his breath, eyebrows twitching at sight of his overconfident childhood friend. His complaint didn't go unheard however, as the Suzuki Heiress' head turned at the sound, eyes sharp and accusing.

"What did you say?" voice low and threatening, she asked. Shinichi could have answered honestly and annoy her enough for her to leave right then and there but he remembered, that if Sonoko were to leave through the shops' doors, so would his chances of suprising and making Ran happy with his present.

So, with the thought of satisfying his girl, he gulped down both his saliva and repressed pride as he puts on a facsimile of a smile.

"I said, 'yes, you're absolutely right Suzuki-san.'" Sonoko seemed to buy his false agreement as her face broke into a smile of triumph, treading through one of the clothing racks while laughing as if she won the loterry.

Shinichi on the other hand reaches out to his phone, contemplating whether he should just call Haibara over. But then he decided against it, coming to the conclusion that he rather handle a proud woman he had known all his life, than another proud woman who he had only been aware of for about a quarter of it.

Wary and defeated, he sighed as he followed. "Let's just get this over with."

-

After debating and choosing among hundreds of clothes and outfits for literal hours, it's hard for Sonoko to pretend and act oblivious when all the eyes and peeking they keep receiving from different women started becoming full on stares. What's even more uncomfortable would be the fact that she's not even supposed to be the one bothered but the man beside her!

Well, she can't blame them. It is rare for a man to be in store specifically made for women. She remembered how she once brought Makoto in a boutique and all she got were cute skirts and an embarrassed karate boyfriend on the way home.

The ladies were too expressive however, that even she can't help but feel restless. Most girls gaze at the detective with eyes clearly full of admiration, some with an uneasy amount of lust Sonoko just had to look away from, others even fuss and giggle around in groups, their topic so painfully obvious with the way they steal glances every now and then.

It makes her want to raise an eyebrow all day long, wondering what these females and specially her bestfriend saw in this man that she just couldn't figure out. To Suzuki Sonoko, Kudo Shinichi was, is, and always will be a mystery nerd with—she'll have to admit— good looks, intelligent mind, high morale, but unfortunately, possesses an insensitive and sarcastic personality she can't take ( even though ironically, his personality is too similar to her own).

But, then again, as she watches him put intense effort into judging and observing every attire in his view with undivided attention as if uncovering a crime scene when in fact, it's only about finding a Christmas gift all the while remaining innocent from the various gaping all around him, Sonoko almost thought Ran is also lucky to have him as a boyfriend.

Almost.

Wanting to distract herself, she attempts to converse. " What are you trying to find exactly? We've been here for hours and we still can't find something good enough for your taste."

He flinched, startled at the sudden voice. Once recovered, puts his hand on his jaw and looks up to the ceiling, similar to when he tries to piece together objects and clues that doesn't have any connections at the surface.

"Hmm, I want a present that, you know, when she opens it, she'll be really impressed. But I also want it simple since Ran's not a fan of grand plannings. She's always so extra and thoughtful when it comes to giving but hates receiving anything like them. So, I want a gift she'll absolutely love but won't complain about how expensive or time consuming it is."

The way a certain detective says his words while wearing an expression Sonoko only ever had the chance of seeing when their childhood friend is involved makes her want to tease but she keeps quiet instead, letting him keep his pride.

The brown haired woman laughed and silently agreed at his sentiment. Ran had always been so creative when it comes to preparing other peoples' present but feels guilty when they do the same. It was honestly endearing.

"Then, why a dress? Why not a book? Ran loves books, doesn't she?" she wondered. Shinichi shooks his head at the suggestion. "She's been too busy lately. I'm pretty sure she won't even have a chance of opening it."

"Then plan her a vacation!" he deadpanned and reminded her. "She doesn't like grand thing, remember?"

"A romantic date?"

"Did that on our first year together."

"Watch a movie?"

"Too simple."

" Expensive dinner?"

"Done with that on our third year."

"Aaah!" Sonoko whined in frustration. "I don't know, kiss or make out with her on Christmas or something!" she finally blurted out, having no ideas left whatsoever.

A few seconds of silence between the two passed and realization kicks in. Worried at how suddenly unresponsive Shinichi is, Sonoko glances to apologize if she angered him at her careless outburst.

"I'm sorry! It was a joke--Shinichi-kun?" her words died out, distress turning into confusion. Rather than a glare or an indifferent countenance, she was met by a very flustered Shinichi, with all the blood in his body seemingly gathering at his face while his eyes looks at anywhere but hers. With that, Sonoko slowly made a deduction.

"Y-you already did it?" ever so quietly she asks in disbelief. When his face got even redder than before, she got her unspoken confirmation.

With that, Sonoko laughed.

Her uncontrollable cackling attracted everyone's attention, including the dazed detective who stood up almost instantaneously, aware of his unconscious slip-up.

"B-Barou! W-We never did such a thing! Your sudden vulgarity just surprised me!" his cover ups were left unheard, as the Suzuki's Heiress guffaws were too loud.

Suddenly, Sonoko got an idea.

She stopped laughing, but the smile on her face foreshadowed a terrible feeling to Shinichi, who wanted nothing more but to go home, away from embarrassment. She runs off before he can even stop her from further humiliation she'll surely cause.

He inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm himself down and lose the apparent redness of his visage. His little breathing exercise proved to be useless however, with Sonoko coming back holding something that made his face as reddest it had ever been, even comparable to the blood he sees on the crime scenes.

On Sonokos' hands lay the thinnest piece of clothing he had ever seen, with it's laces and uncomfortably soft looking silk barely even covering anything but the important parts. It didn't help how seductive the color was, crimson, just like his face right now as he stared at it. Out of all the things the woman could have brought him, it had to be this. It just had to be a fucking lingerie.

"Wha--" he started but was cut off with her mouth that Shinichi begged she should've just shut.

"I found the perfect gift! And it's even red!" she held it up even more, showing a clearer picture that Shinichi didn't know if he regrets seeing.

"You--"

"It's simple but I assure you that Ran would love it!"

"So--"

"What's even better, is that not only will she love it, you'll love it too--"

He thankfully, thankfully, cuts her off, not only being heard by the everyone in the store, but probably the entire shopping mall of Beika.

"SONOKO!"

He really should've just called Haibara. Or better yet, cooked a fancy dinner for Ran as a Christmas gift instead.

[fletchphoenix]

May You Always Be Satisfied

Short Chapter but Chapter 18 of coffee tastes better aka the coffee shop au!! sorry its so short, I broke my arm literally like....a week ago? I’m kinda struggling to type a bit so aha hope this is enough <3 love you all

-------------------

Hugo hadn’t been to a wedding since he was around eight. Cyrus and Mona’s wedding was beautiful, the woman looking akin to an angel (not the biblical version) as she virtually levitated down the aisle. He’d shuffled uncomfortably in his suit as Donella’s hands rested on his shoulders to hold him in place in a bid to stop him shifting from foot to foot. Cold hands picked at all the little details: the out of place hairs that stuck out from his ponytail, the loose threads on the shoulders of his suit jacket, straightening the tie that was only just off centre. He knew she just wanted him to relax, but how was he meant to stand still when he was just so excited? The boy had watched Cyrus, nothing but love and happiness in his eyes as he smiled back at his wife. Even then he knew that they would be perfect together.

He’d watched as they swayed across the dance floor, Mona’s dress brushing across the floor as her head rested on the tall man’s shoulder and the music played in the background. There were flowers everywhere - white lilies were in little baskets that hung from the top of the pavilion they were under. Donella also pointed out to him the hydrangeas, orchids and magnolias as well as the carnations and Amaryllises. They were quite pretty in his opinion. His eyes had focused on the fairy lights that illuminated the area and provided a fantastical feel to the whole wedding, making it almost otherworldly and ethereal. If he’d been older, he would’ve been taken aback by the sheer beauty and care taken in decorating the place if he was being honest. 

He remembered going home and taking all the botany books Donella owned, researching the meanings behind the pretty flowers that he’d seen. He knew they put a lot of thought into them, with all of them representing love and acceptance, unity and beauty...it was all so interesting, yet confusing. Why did people give meaning to something as simple as a flower? In many ways, it didn’t make sense to the young boy, though at the time he’d just supposed adults were dumb and wanted to see meaning in everything that didn’t mean anything - symbolism in things that didn’t need to represent anything. “It makes things feel more meaningful.” Donella had told him, though he didn’t really understand why. Eventually, she’d grown sick of his questions and told him to go to bed, though he still stayed up all night to research them and grumpily refused to go to school the next morning. 

He hadn’t been to a wedding since then, Donella always giving him the option to stay home. He’d preferred to stay home anyway. He never really thought he would ever get married anyway, so what was the point in seeing others happy when he didn’t think he deserved it? Well, the metal on his finger reminded him of a certain raven haired man, a smile on his face as he twisted it over the skin with his other fingers. The boy he loves with all his heart and soul loves him back, and that was enough to keep him happy. He could already tell their wedding was going to be something to remember - something beautiful, fun and nothing short of spectacular. After all, it was him and Varian! If their wedding wasn’t something as wonderful as a royal wedding, then was it even their wedding? “Hugo, you ready?” His fiance called from the other room, Hugo being abruptly brought back to reality. Ah, yes. It was Cass and Irene’s wedding today. The long-awaited marriage of the two had Varian nothing short of excited for the whole week, the other man hardly able to keep a conversation without it spiralling into a rambling session of ‘I bet it's going to be amazing’ and ‘I can’t wait for them to finally get married!’. Sure it was cute, but Hugo could only take so much of Varian talking about the couple, so for the day to finally arrive was like a saving grace. His hands shifted to try and fix his tie, the emerald fabric not co-operating at all or doing what he wanted it to do. Letting out a frustrated groan, the blond kept trying. Why would he suddenly not tie a tie? What was this so damn difficult when he wasn’t even that stressed?

A pale hand settled on his shoulder as the raven haired boy forced him to turn around with a gentle smile. “Let me help you.” He muttered, Hugo absolutely hypnotised by the way his hands twisted and moved the fabric with a smile on his face, his fringe that usually covered his eyes now pinned back and the single blue streak still as prominent against the sea of black locks as it was when they first met. Wow. He was still beautiful, the suit he was wearing complimenting him nicely as he stepped back and examined his work. “See something you like?” The blond teased, pushing his glasses up his nose as he snaked his arms around the raven haired boy’s waist and brought him closer to his chest. 

“Pfft. Yeah, sure.” Varian rolled his eyes, though his arms still wrapped around the other’s neck and brought him down into a gentle kiss. Somehow it still took his breath away each time his boyfriend pressed a kiss, warming him up on the inside as he let out a happy sigh against the other’s lips. They broke after a while, Hugo taking a moment to drink in all the features of his boyfriend’s face as though he were a dying man in the desert. A familiar flush came to his boyfriend’s face as he was gently pushed backwards. “No time for staring, Hugh. We have a wedding to get to!” The raven haired boy declared as he grabbed the other’s wrist with a wide grin, before pulling him along down the hall and towards the door of their apartment.

Hugo let his head rest against the back of the seat as his boyfriend drove, the blond letting his eyes flutter shut for a while. He hoped his wedding would be more interesting: with lilies and Varian in a pretty suit, all done up and ready to commit to each other. They’d get married somewhere fancy too, like an old house or something like that, just for the sake of bragging that they were THAT cool (though it would be extremely fuckin’ expensive for the two of them). He’d want Yong to be the ring bearer: that sounded quite fun, the boy would be ecstatic to find that out, after all, Varian still went to the library to help him study on Wednesdays. And Nuru would be a bridesmaid, maybe even the maid of honour, though that would most likely be reserved for Donella (if the woman would even accept the role was a question unto itself, so Hugo decided to ignore it in favour of his fantasy). Maybe even Rapunzel? Eugene would probably be the best man. The guy had helped Varian so much, it was the least he could do. Visions of first dances under the stars, holding Varian’s hands as they exchanged rings and laughter filled his head, until he was rudely awoken by the car jolting to a stop.

“We’re here. Damn, did you really not sleep enough last night?” Varian laughed as Hugo grumbled and fixed his hair, leaving the car and dusting off his suit. Midway through his ministrations, a flurry of purple rushed forward and gripped him in a rib-crushing embrace. Ah yes, his future sister-in-law. He’d forgotten about her death grip hugs. His grip on life slipped briefly as the woman rushed hellos before shifting to hug his fiance, the blond wheezing to catch his breath as Eugene patted his back with a loud chuckle. Hugo raised his head to glare, a frown on his face. Of course the brunet wasn’t given the death hugs from his wife. What a lucky bastard. Finally, after greetings and useless conversations, they went inside and sat down. The place was beautiful, the women deciding to get married in something akin to a conservatory. The sun shone through the glass panels making up the roof, vines dangling from the ceiling and intertwining with each other as they descended. Flowers climbed up lattice, fond memories of climbing up it to see Varian flooding through Hugo’s mind and making a small, barely there smile appear on his face before they took their seats, the blond interlacing his fingers with Varian’s as he kept looking around. Pillars of marble stone sat organised along the walls, little baskets of flowers propped onto the tops, Hugo could only point out the carnations and lilies that resided in the baskets. He smiled at the sight, thinking of Mona and Cyrus. He’d have to invite them to his and Varian’s wedding - that would be nice. Maybe they could help them with decorating? 

Music began to play as he turned his head, Cass standing in a black suit, a dark blue tie showing between her jacket. Her undercut had been arranged to be gelled back, her green eyes focused expectantly at the door with a gentle smile on her face, shifting from foot to foot. Finally, Irene stepped out, a rose wedding dress covering her body with a lace top and a long skirt, as well as a veil decorated with lace flowers on her head. She looked beautiful as well, Hugo not being able to help the little smile on his face as he saw the look the couple exchanged as Irene walked down the aisle and stood opposite her girlfriend. 

The ceremony was just as beautiful as Hugo had expected, the pair absolutely infatuated with each other as they held hands and smiled, tears welling in their eyes at the mere sight of each other and the sheer amazement of the moment. As the ceremony wrapped up and the sky darkened, the DJ played music across the stereo, Hugo’s hand resting on his fiance’s waist as they watched the pair dance and sway across the floor, his boyfriend’s head resting against his shoulder. Hugo smiled to himself as he kept watching. “This’ll be us soon.” He whispered to his boyfriend and pressed a kiss to his temple, the other simply nodding and shuffling closer. And for once, Hugo was happy they’d gone to the wedding, watching the pair in front of them so happy and the mere thought that him and Varian would be that happy one day was enough for him.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 13)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 12

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Your existence in their world had reasons. A purpose that involves the contentment that Geralt never found in the world that he was in. The feelings you have for your witcher makes you feel things that you haven’t experienced yet, desires that make you feel sorts of things as it also was a cause of the Cicatrix that laid in between your chest. The question is, were you on the same page as Geralt is? or was it just a misunderstanding prior to that night?

Warnings: Soft and smiley Geralt! (*rolls on the ground*), Sexual Implications, a needy reader, an annoying bard, MODERN references, mention of Divergent, grumpy Geralt, a soft-touchy-feely reader. FLOOFY chapter! Insecure reader tho. 😭 Harry potter and Lord of the Rings references. HAHA!

Words: 8.5k (Well, Hello long ass chapter)

A/N: THERE’S STILL CHAPTER 13.1 BEFORE THE SMUT. AHE. Sorry for the delay. Happy mother’s day to all the mothers out there! Y’all are the best and real superheroes! If this chapter didn’t make you smile, then this means I am a failure for everyone! 😂💖

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

KISSING GERALT HAS BEEN SUCH A DREAM. The kiss felt like you were in seventh heaven and it also kept your mind wide awake the whole night; even with Geralt by your side with his lulling monster stories and those gentle fingers raking your hair like how he always does.

The gesture even made you a little more giddy than ever and Geralt didn't seem to mind as you've kept yourself wide awake; watching him sleep and never keeping him out of sight.

Though, he'd eventually covered those coy eyes of yours because it was bothering him; coaxing you to stop staring and just have your beauty slumber because you needed all the energy for your training.

A training that you thought would be for Cirilla because they've always had their swordplay fights before the sun rises and sometimes in the middle of a beautiful morning; as you watch Geralt in discreet as he wields his sword like how the waves move in the ocean. Very satisfying to ogle and observe.

The way he handles a sword was perfectly smooth and bland like how your coffee tastes in the morning.

Which is why your face was scrunched in peculiarity when he was done with Cirilla's training; giving the smaller silver sword to you with that reticent expression on his face; his habitual tight-lips now relaxed as he eyed you back with that tender gaze he holds whenever you were there.

An image you weren't used to; but may seem to wish it would be there forever because of how soft he appeared for you to see, not his usual brooding and serious persona.

"This is a very nice first date," you sarcastically muttered; wanting to scoff and whine from how unusual it was to receive training from the witcher like you were some sort of Tris Prior in the world of Divergents.

After the kiss last night, you've expected him to give you flowers, gifts, kisses or maybe more of his attention. Howbeit, you'd remember that you weren't in your world and that he wasn't a typical man who'd woo women like that. Geralt was probably a man whom women has been trying to court just to have his attention based on how beautiful and captivating he was.

Were you his beloved now? A girlfriend? his lover? you actually had no idea and chose to stay silent. Never asking anything more as to not ruin his good mood as he woke up in the morning.

Geralt didn't specifically told you anything about being his beloved. The only thing you understood in his words last night was that you were important to him and that he also cared.

Perhaps, he doesn't roll that way. The witcher wasn't particularly that type of man.

Therefore, you left it at that although it was dithering your heart. You were contented whether how ill-defined your position was in his heart.

"Why am I doing this again, Geralt?"

The latter silently watched you fidget with the sword on your hands, your cheeks puffed from how strange you thought his favors may be. He couldn't help but give you a beam that showed his teeth, his emotions thoroughly in a bliss after the night he confessed; parts of his aggression lifting up his chest, "The bard knows how to fight with his dagger," he adhered strictly to the fact, keeping the sword safely on his side.

Those lips of yours jutted in an opposing pout; your eyes seeming to connect with his spellbinding ones while he continued to wheedle, his cat-eyes curving into a soft shape of a crescent and you were totally enamored. Your heart skipping a beat when he was never breaking his gaze away; giving your stomach the heebie-jeebies, "---Cirilla is finally learning the techniques of using a sword,"

Your mouth was now turned into a tight-lipped one, shaking your head from the idea he wanted as you scrunched your nose further, "And I am better watching you and Cirilla have your little sword play fight," pause. "---I'm not going to fight anyone,"

You've continuously shook your head, tutting at the brilliant idea he'd tried to think of. Though, Geralt was adamant for his preposition; seeming to think the idea won't get you stabbing him accidentally or better yet, yourself.

"We can't be certain that there wouldn't be," he proclaimed, utterly determined.

You huffed out a frustrated breath, face falling right in the middle of the meadow as Geralt stood before you. His comely stature shining against the morning light and you were sure you've been blinded, "Right. Bad people are chasing you still,"

A bashful look has been unintentionally given to the witcher, lighting up an amused crooked smile and hum from the latter as he stayed completely taciturn, admiring the shy woman that stood before him.

You've suddenly felt him shift, turning your focus back at the Herculean, white haired Legolas as he'd languidly took a step back, looking calm and composed as he firmly ordered. His smile falling, turning all ruminative.

"Hit me."

More complaints were sent for what he requested, finding the whole ordeal somehow lamented because all you ever held was a pen, paper or laptops that certainly doesn't deal with people shedding blood unless you stab a pen at them. Sure, you've dreamt of fighting in combat in fantasy series or movies; but in your imagination, you were skilled. The version of yourself that you had in your dreams had talent and the one you have today only had idiotical abilities to plot your own demise because of how foolish you were in their world.

"Can't I fight with Jaskier?"

Geralt cocked his head to the side; in utter amusement as a small smile carved his pretty, luscious lips that grabbed all your attention. The witcher immediately noticed and had a smug glint in his amber eyes as he talked, "If you wish to annoy people and woo the king then he is excellent at it," pause. "---You wouldn't learn how to use a real sword from the bard. Unless, using a lute as a form of weapon in the middle of a royal banquet is your choice of fighting then Jaskier would do a great job,"

Thus, from the moment Geralt has made his utterance, Jaskier somehow had the luckiest time on planning to feed Roach as he emerged from the doorway, ceasing himself from sending a teasing ridicule as his name has been called in vain; backstabbing him by finding entertainment from how he tried shielding himself from the incident back in the years.

"I've never received any compliments from you don't you, witcher?" he hollered back, enclosing his mouth with a hand as he called from afar; a bucket full of Roach's food on the other.

Jaskier seen Geralt shake his head, a surprising beam drawing his face as the witcher playfully wisecracked out loud, "You don't need them, Jaskier."

The harmless banter made Jaskier pucker his lips in surprise, never anticipating how he'd gradually changed from being the brooding, reserved witcher to the grinning, active man he was seeing as he was teaching a woman who had no inspiration on learning the techniques of sword fighting.

Geralt simply turned his head to see you awkwardly holding onto the base of Cirilla's sword; having a gawky, hunched stance and the witcher took heed of it but chose not to correct it yet. You were dubious of even holding a sword and also a lot more hesitant as you've tried to strike a blow at his face. Without effort, he'd simply dodged the attack with one hand using minimal strength. The swords instantaneously crashing against each other with a satisfying ring of metals colliding.

Unfortunately, the weapon flew out of your hands as he'd dodged your strike, shamefully falling on the ground with a soft thud. Geralt snapped his eyes at the sword that fell from your hands before feeling his eyes turn to you, "Midget." he calmly scolded, having at least a massive amount of patience for you, "---Take it easy." you'd heard him advice. Baritone timbre soft but still rough which stirred that familiar warmth pooling just below your stomach; heart beat stumping upon your chest because of how you were worried it would obscenely pool in between your thighs. Just the thought of Geralt's presence kindled with the fire raging your insides.

You've never had felt any such strong desire for a man other than the witcher himself and it was beginning to grow frightening because of how you wanted him so bad; the kiss you had probably triggering something inside of you that didn't know it existed.

Maybe, it was probably horny hours like how you had them back in your apartment. The problem here was that you finally had a man to do it with, but you weren't sure if he also desired for you the same way as you do.

What if he only wanted you for companionship? Perhaps, he'll somehow find you boring like how your dates went back in earth when the time comes?

You didn't notice Geralt has grabbed onto the sword that flew right out of your hands, sauntering towards where you were and his presence lingering a little too close for those kindling flames aggravating that desire you had when his voice vibrated from behind.

"Also, try harder."

Despite of how enormously tall and brawny he was, the witcher leaned down to grab onto your hand, his rough fingers caressing yours that was sparking up the flames as it felt so gentle. He placed the handle of the sword onto your palm, delicately dragging the other to hold onto the base. Those calloused palms of his enclosing yours in a warm embrace as his warmth from behind seemed to turn more quenchless as time goes by, a sudden hunger flooding your system as your body turned putty with just a simple touch.

You've felt your throat run dry, stance turning standoffish when he'd loomed behind you. Heavily aware of his presence. Your voice cracking and stuttering as you mindlessly thought out loud, trying to wash the vulgar thoughts away, "I--I--I am! It's just that you've given me a real sword for practice!"

Geralt reiterated; utterly droning, "It's lighter than mine," with a simple raise of his brow as he stood behind you, his face inches close and you could feel his stare completely immense, making you look away from how flushed your face have been, "Even so! It can hurt anyone! Can't I learn witchcraft instead? I’ll be the potato version of Hermione Granger! It’s impossible that your world has no Voldemort! Expecto Patronum! Avada Kedavra!"

The preposition was hurriedly rejected with just Geralt's smile turning upside down; replaced with a scowl that coaxed you to turn your head to see him shaking his head with his face approximately close to yours; those amber eyes trying to melt your heart as he still had that vivid, affectionate dewdrop clustering in those peepers that provoked a satisfied sigh out of your ajar mouth.

His pitch suddenly turned austere; mouth tight-lipped as he quoted, "You will not use any ounce of sorcery from my world," you've seen the side of his lip turn into a smirk as he haughtily added, "---Alas, you are also too clumsy and impulsive for it,"

Geralt grudgingly moved his face an inch away; not before seeing a sight of him taking glimpses of your ajar lips as you awaited to be kissed by the witcher himself; howbeit, he chose to tease and ignored the accented feelings he had been trying to hide since the first day.

The latter surprisingly gave a chortle, his chuckle sounding heavenly amongst the birds chirping in the background, "How dare you?!"

He gave your hands consolatory pats as it was already surrounding the base of the sword. Geralt straightened his back, his thumbs casually giving the back of your hand a soft caress before taking heed of your silent squealing from his seraphic touches, "Hold the sword with your dominant hand, midget." before he took a step back away and muttering a mocking repartee, "---Maybe a Hirikka will be a better combatant than you,"

You've watched him waltzed back to where he was as he stood in front of you with a grin on his face, "I shouldn't have accepted your apology last night." you deadpanned with your eyebrows furrowed from how riled up and entirely flustered you were feeling early in the morning.

The witcher tipped his head with his smug grin, "You didn't. I just knew you would because you never get to have your nap without receiving cuddles and chill from me,"

You've feigned a gasp, unclasping your hold around the sword as you placed your palms around your hip, giving him a sassy posture of how you were appalling by the truth that he suddenly was giving; thoroughly surprised by his sudden pesky, frolic attitude he seemed to vibe. He was learning from your modern references and it shocked you even more.

"It was cold last night!"

"The night is also dark," He ridiculed and mocked what you've said to him last night while he was asking for forgiveness. His teeth slipped against the cardinal pillows of his lips, giving you a gorgeous toothy grin that made your breath hitch as if his aesthetics radiated off the sun light, "---You needed my warmth, midget."

A playful glare was sent to the witcher; intentionally keeping up with his mockeries as you gave a chuff and found his mischief rather entertaining because he rarely acts the way he is right now, "Are you a furnace? No. You aren't, Geralt of Rivia. Don't act like raking those fingers of yours through my hair doesn't help you sleep at night---"

"But, I'm your furnace amidst the benumbing night."

You couldn't help but giggle from his innocuous pick up line, utterly finding it amusing and endearing when you've understood it way differently despite of how ingenuous he wanted it to sound.

Their era and how they communicate was certainly giving you a good ol' laugh.

"Are you calling yourself hot?"

Geralt couldn't help but outstare; gawking from the dazzling laugh you've mindlessly given him. He was oblivious of his beguiling beams he has been making you see and the gaze that bewitched the morose of his spirit, puzzling how a mere person could take away the misery that has been haunting him since the moment his mother has left him alone to become a witcher in their world and a lot more great affliction he'd somehow experienced.

Presumably, your existence in their world had reasons.

Hence, the witcher knew it involved his happiness.

"Now, keep your stance firm," he snapped out of his daydream, gently tapping the tip of his sword on your thigh which erupted a squeak and a tiny whine from you, "---I can't always be with you when you are attacked by anyone who wants my family dead,"

You tilted your head to the side, cheekily wiggling your eyebrows as you grinned up at him like a Cheshire cat as he shook his head from your playfulness, "Did you just lowkey tell me that you treat me as family?"

"Would you want it to be that way then?"

Another failed attempt of giving a successful, strong blow has been swung towards the latter, easily stepping one foot back as he blocked the smite with one hand. Though, you hadn't let the sword fly out of your hands this time which Geralt considered as slight improvement for being taught in the first day.

"Hmm. Again." he'd given an entranced hum, giving a tight lipped smile as he affirmed and tried to wriggle out more strength from you because it was pretty much a reluctant strike as well.

You've straightened your back, keeping your feet loosely away from each other as you sighed an exasperated one. The sword falling on your side as you wanted a truce. Feckless of the pout you were giving to the witcher who was too persistent in giving your body an ache from the training. Geralt raised a brow, seeming to enjoy your whining and allegations from the moment he'd given you a sword.

"Stop puckering your lips like that. I'm not giving you a buss when you're acting like a chit,"

A buss. It sounded pretty much familiar as it was used in those romance books you've read back in earth. His straightforwardness tickling your spine in a delicious way that got you flustered for the tenth time this day. You know your eyebrows rose up till your hairline from how he was assuming things that were actually the truth, "Did that mean a kiss?! I--I wasn't asking for a kiss though!"

"Then, acting adorable won't let you get away from this."

You've groaned out loud; fighting yourself off from stomping your foot out in utter vexation from how he'd always seem to knew what you were thinking. Were you that obvious?

"I hate you,"

Geralt took a stroll towards you, thoroughly leaning down to your height with a cross of his prodigious arms; the sword still in his fist and watching how he'd closely stared into your eyes as he fought off a smile, "The hate is quite indistinct and difficult to tell after you've been kissed last night,"

Your heart wanted to burst from the embarrassment, feeling your face turning into flames. Just add a little bit of oil and people could probably fry anything they wanted to as they use your face as a pan.

Reprehension would have escaped your lips if a hand hasn't clutched onto the side of your neck, his hot breath assaulting your face before you've felt his lips on yours in a hot second; never giving you time to process everything as he broke the buss with a sweet, tinge sound that seemed more soundly in your ears rather than swords colliding in a battle.

His hand behind your nape left in haste, straightening his back and shoulders; acting like he hadn't done anything wrong nor he continued to act like he didn't even give you a small, plain peck to the lips that gave a startle and somehow positioned you into a blissful, heart exploding condition.

"You don't dislike me, midget." Geralt's expressions were indescribable. His features stoic for five seconds before seeing his lips turning into a gloaty smirk as he spun in his heels, leaving you dumbstruck from the surprise.

"G-GERALT! That's not fair!" you stood rooted on the ground, keeping your lips together as you smacked it out loud like you couldn't believe he'd given you another kiss to ruin your ovaries and focus.

He strolled along the meadow, his emotions flying elsewhere as he was entirely finding your reactions hilarious. Geralt walked the path back to where he stood before, turning around in face-front to see your face all red and giving him the stink-eye, "Nothing is ever fair. Now, use all your strength to hit me with your sword."

You tightly grabbed onto your sword with both hands, listening to how he'd told you it should be held and also thoroughly remembering the basics that he told you prior; keeping your stance better than the one you held a while ago, watching how his face lit up as yours turned serious and challenging, "Oh, I will! You're a cocky witcher today and it's annoying!"

Jaskier have fed Roach back in the stable, he walked back to the doorway to see Cirilla leaning her back on the stone walls, arms crossed with a smile that tells how amused she was as she watched how you were trying to strike a successful blow at the witcher who found your lack of knowledge utterly astonishing and endearing; regardless of how he has been fond of having lovers which were strongly independent and knew how to stay alive in a battle.

You were a paradox to his life. Utterly questionable as to why you have even arrived.

"He's not teaching her how to fight," Cirilla admitted towards the bard who subtly nodded beside her, also watching the quote training unquote that you had with the white wolf. Yet, both of them could see how his way of teaching seemed to be less harsh than how they've been taught. Totally aware of how he was also buoyant rather than serious and brooding.

It was like a different Geralt that loom before them as he tutted and shook his head to cease your reckless attempts of trying to hit him with the sword; grabbing onto your fingers to cease you as he explained with a relaxed face he'd given while all you could do was glare and huff back.

Jaskier gave a small smile, eyes narrowed from how the sunshine hits his face and mindlessly tapped the handle of the bucket with his index finger, "The witcher is flirting with the rat, probably want some bonking,"

The lion cub of Cintra gave him a once over, "Some what, bard?"

"Forget what I said,"

Cirilla brushed him off as she went on with her lurking, Something you said ignited a grin out of the witcher as he quietly listened to your rants and rambles about how annoying he have been, "Also, this is the first time I'd seen Geralt smiling like that again. I hope she doesn't leave. I'll do everything for her not to leave,"

The bard gave a nod of understanding. Deeply thinking as to why Cirilla would do everything in her willpower for you not to leave; hence, seeing the smile that Geralt has given you was a simple answer as to why you needed more protecting and a lot more time to stay. Would it be selfish of them when you probably had a family back in your world?

Thus, Jaskier's gaze lingered on you and saw how you giggled back at the witcher who has said something that made him scowl. The mere sight of you strumming along the rakish onslaught of his heart strings from the week that Geralt wasn't around bothered him but he chose the better of it and ignored.

"But, isn't it strange?---" he momentarily ceased, snapping his gaze away from you as Cirilla gave him a nasty lour for whatever thoughts he wanted to say out loud, "---That your step-mother would be pretty much smaller than you?"

The child loudly groaned in response, turning her back away from him as she pulled the doors to go in, "You are honestly the most irritating person in the continent,"

The day has been pretty much a blur. After being trained by the witcher no matter how many failed attempts you tried; his patience utterly high for you to even comprehend that he had a lofty tolerance for your inability to successfully strike a sword.

Your arms were somehow sore, considering the amount of attempts that Geralt has been repeatedly telling you to just hit him with all your might, yet being active in the battlefield will never be your forte. He tried giving you hope, downright telling you that it was normal and everyone improves sooner or later as long as your training had consistency.

You've been a bitchy-pants after the training. All catty and stopping yourself from sending a t-bird for the bard who received a snide remark and decided to send irritating teases that you were just being sexually frustrated.

Simply to say, Jaskier knew you were having your horny hours. That time of the day or that day of the week.

How'd he know? you had no idea. It was probably only his guesses as to why you were acting bitchy towards everyone except Kolby and Cirilla. You were being bitchy towards the men of the house especially at Geralt who has given you body soreness.

If only it was a different type of ache, you would probably not be bitchy.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you sat your back along the walls of the hallway, the only place where you've found peace because walking in the first floor even got you vexed because Jaskier seem to find your irritation amusing and had been running his mouth about how it was fine to just give in to your fantasies especially that the witcher probably had wanted it as well since the first day.

You were contemplating whether or not to turn on your cellphone; remembering how it was only at seventy-five percent. You've stared on your phone that rested on your hands, spinning it around as you were trying to fight off the kept fervor that has been insatiable and a bother when Geralt has given you one touch.

The feelings and emotions have been skyrocketing, it was already there even just from the start of your morning. However, after going home from the Djinn troubles, it started doubling and began to grow bestial like a monster wanted to come out of your chest from how you badly needed the witcher.

It just wasn't normal.

Geralt was entirely aware of your vexation. Though, he was meters apart from you and was actually outside to take care of Roach. Inside his chest, he felt an ounce of disturbance with the help of your irritations and frustrations; the sensations coming back again and the witcher still had no idea why.

He knew where you were and decided to find you. Finding a midget hunched in the middle of the hallways with her brows tightly furrowed, a worried pout on her face and blown cheeks as you fidgeted with your phone.

Geralt fought the urge of smirking and just sauntered to where you were, his heart beat beating in blissful thumps that got him wondering how it was even possible in just the sight of you.

You've felt his presence looming before your stooping form, a stink eye was given to the witcher who crouched in front of you, his burning gaze solely on you as he cocked his head to the side, observing your face and the state you were in with a smile growing on his face.

"You're annoyed." he artlessly admitted, never risking to leave your sight.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you felt the burning desire grow even further, turning away to help your poor little heart from feeling more bothered than it ever intended to, "How'd you know, Legolas?"

The nasally mention of that nickname you had for him got Geralt frowning. His forehead creased to the extent that he seemed to be thinking rather too deeply as to who this Legolas was and why were you even calling him that.

"---and now you're the one annoyed,"

Geralt kept his lips in a tight firm line. Amber peepers shining in dissatisfaction.

You brushed off his noncommittal reaction; already used to his lethargic norms as you complained about his infuriating friend, "It's Jaskier! He's annoying me since this morning!"

He just continued to give you a listless look, giving a displeased hum as he wholeheartedly let you rant to him.

Then, you added, "---Just his breathing irks me!" which only a hum was the only word you've received again, "Hmm."

You've irritatingly grunted, giving him a glout as you also kvetched, "Stop the humming! You're annoying me as well! You've been annoying me too since this morning!"

Your cavils has stirred a defeated sigh from the latter. His sudden actions obviously had reasons as to why you were abruptly being trained with a weapon. If only he hadn't brought you with them in the marketplace and haven't run into Tybalt then gallants weren't supposed to be searching for you by fair means or foul.

"What did I do this time?" he lowly grumbled, utterly dead beat. A faint, crooked smile raising those lips of his. You've held onto your phone a little more tighter, feeble arms crossed in front of your chest as he simply gave you his attention that you somehow yearn a lot, "You and Jaskier can stay in one room together while I sleep in yours! Men are so annoying! Always have been!"

Geralt's features appeared to be of someone who was suddenly bothered at the understanding of your statement, his listening comprehension twisting whatever it is that you've said as he skeptically appalled, "You have been with other men?"

Your face twisted in a tight cringe, bewildered by his presumptions that sounded like he was telling that you had a lot of men back in the days or basically his words were telling you that he couldn't believe that you actually had a man before. You've given him at least ten seconds of you just giving him a displeased flicker of your eyes before the white haired witcher proceeded with his remarks.

"Also, are you threatening me in my own home? You're kicking me out of my own chambers?"

An innocent nod was given to Geralt. The witcher simply gave an enervated blink, hearing a serious growl buzzed out of his chest; scrutinizing for whatever your eyes held out to him. The intensified gaze of his peepers searing that says he needed your sincere answers.

"This...Legolas you have been calling me," pause. "--- Do I remind you of your previous lover?"

You waited for more additional questions or perhaps a moment where he could tell you that he was just joking around. However, the intimidating, gargantuan monster-slayer who was crouched before you; never said that he was just giving out any jocularity of his previous light-hearted demeanor as he was all brooding again.

He fervently stared you down, making you shift on the floor as you looked up into his eyes; mirth surrounding the windows to your soul when he didn't budge after you've given him an guileless beam, "Yeah. Pfft. Earth also has their own witcher slash elves---What? Oh my God, this is funny."

Geralt is all wordless and silent; awaiting for whatever explanations you could give him and you couldn't help but ask in a skeptical manner; bizarrely gasping for his seriousness.

"Wait, you're actually---stop giving me a scowl! I never had...one? He's a Lord of the Rings character and I swear to God, he is fictional---Not real! Though, he looks like you because the hair and such---but---" you've jumped from one thought to another, feeling the scrutiny under his gaze and obviously nervous that he appeared to look like he would grab his sword and look for the man to behead him. Though, it will never happen due that Legolas was entirely fictitious to even start.

You ceased yourself from trying to explain the background story of Legolas for Geralt. Your nerves getting the best of you whenever you were being interrogated. An exhale of breath escaped your lips as you took a good look at the grimacing witcher before witlessly reaching onto his face with your palms on either side of his chiseled face as you gave him your best doe-eyes, sweetly trying not to coo at how his brooding demeanor actually makes him look fetching nevertheless.

"Stop being mad at me," you buttered his silence up with a tender tone of yours and the way he scrunched his nose and appeared to be looking bizarre tells you that your sweet-talking was cringe-worthy because of how you probably never knew how to simmer a man's troubled day.

Or he was just not used to gentleness.

You've retracted your hands away from Geralt's face and tried your best in avoiding those questioning and bemused eyes of his as you abruptly stood on your feet, shamefully rubbing your nape as you had yourself wincing from the second hand embarrassment of treating Geralt like he was some soft baby, reminding yourself to never do it again, "I am embarrassing myself,"

At the time you've stood up, Geralt also has been on one's feet. He didn't mean to look at you weirdly as you've cupped his face with that tender gaze inside your eyes. When the moment your delicate fingers brushed his, he felt as if he was in utopia. The man wasn't just used to intimate touches especially your caresses that felt like Gossamer.

Geralt just wasn't used to people treating him like he was actually human instead of someone who deserved to be treated differently.

Only Renfri, Yennefer and you had this effect on him. Though, with yours seemed to be much stronger.

Your panicking state urged you to flee from his presence, but the witcher wasn't going to let you go that easily as he'd caught your wrist; gently pulling you as your back hit the wall. Both hands and fingers scooping your neck like a baby chicken he'd caught and decided to take care of as his his warm touch skimmed till his thumbs brushed against your jaw, carefully urging you to peer up into those amiable gazes he successfully tries to give.

"I'm not mad." he dearly reassured, his small smile bringing your heart into euphoria because he was much more beautiful this way; smiling as if the world hasn't condemned him with an ill-fate of being a witcher.

Your beams were difficult to fight off; immediately giving him a smile as he also did as well. Chiefly, only giving you the sight of his crinkled eyes. His thumbs tenderly caressing your jaw which coaxed you to calm down from being fidgety which was totally a good medicine because your nervous jitters actually ceased with just his gentle touches.

You've grabbed onto his hand, memorizing his soft features as it was ever been a rare sight. Never believing he was acting the way he right now towards you. Your fingers brushing against his hands like a feather tickling the witcher's sanity.

Before another utter cockblocker slash disturbance came trudging up the staircase and somehow found you both in an heartfelt position; with Geralt cradling your face like no other.

"Oh! Ughm, this is a rare sight." Jaskier ceased his steps, midway through the hall, the bard's growing grin seeming to give you jitters as his ridicule began, "---and the small rat has been sexually frustrated, Geralt!"

You just wanted to strangle him sometimes.

"Cot damn it, Jaskier! SHUT UP!" you exclaimed, totally flustered as Geralt dropped his hands to the side; looking between you and Jaskier in ponder; those eyes of his full of curiosity, "You're...?"

"I AM NOT FEELING SMUTTY!"

If only you could dig and cover yourself up from the embarrassment, you would.

"---Smutty."

"You get my point, Geralt! I know you do!"

Geralt had his forehead in a tight wrinkle, thoroughly thinking what you meant; though, he understood none because the word seem to be peculiar, "Midget."

Jaskier exhaled an exasperated breath, dramatically rolling his eyes as he waved you both off and curved right pass between the both of you, entering his chambers to grab onto some clothes because he wanted to bathe.

The bard pointed a finger as he walked off, his hips swaying as he does so and never looking back, "She needs some nightly penetrating! You're welcome, witcher!"

Geralt watched Jaskier leave, an amused pucker of his lips was the answer to your questions that he certainly understood everything now and cocked his head to the side, peering you down as he awaited for an explanation. Yet, all he saw was you covering your blushing face with a guilty, forced smile as you washed your face in frustration to give him your regretful eyes.

"Don't listen to him," you quoted and begged for him to just take the bait.

Nevertheless, you've seen him raise a hand; about to start talking about being one horny woman for him when you've stopped him midway and tried to shift the topic away, "Anyways, I forgive you, Geralt. Now, can I braid your hair?"

The witcher closed his ajar mouth, humming in wonder as he dropped his hand to the side; narrowing his gaze at you, "I wasn't asking for any of your forgiveness."

You've blinked back at him, jutting your lips together as you looked away, tone teasing and slightly threatening, "You sure that's your final answer? No regrets?"

Geralt roughly puffed out a breath, muttering profanities beneath his chest, "Fuck." and another grunt because he'd remember how he still wasn't forgiven by yelling at you for last night, "---Fine. Do I have a choice?"

Your smile turned into a knavish grin, wanting him to regret why he even agreed to whatever plans you have for him as you bluntly answered.

"No."

The one you had in mind, planning for a simple diversion for Geralt to erase the horrid truth that Jaskier has told out loud for him to hear was actually another rabbit hole that had caught your feet, catching you going far down the pit like you have been scammed. Clearly, because Geralt's unwitting deep groans and hums has made you hot and bothered every time you've tried combing his hair along his snowy locks.

You were wincing every time he has his nose flaring whenever your fingers thread along his hair, the knots giving his head a rough yank from how you were trying to untangle those knots.

Geralt sat on the floor; his arms on either side of the bed. With you who sat on the bed and your legs criss-cross behind his impressive, thewy back; tempted to just give him a big hug because he seemed so comforting but chose not to based on how grouchy he became once you've combed his hair with your fingers.

You didn't even know if he was irritated or somehow liking the whole situation because he was deeply growling, groaning and eventually having to hear a slip of guttural, restrained whimpers that caught your ears. Enlivening that cravings and curiosity you had for some human touch.

"Midget..." he grumbled another complain and lowly warned, hearing the baritone growl he'd ought for you to hear which made you ignore his protests as you had your own protestations as well, "Stop complaining. Also, don't you own a comb? Your hair---It's---Oh! I'm sorry! Can you please stop growling and moaning at the same time!"

His head was minimally pulled back because of your reckless combing. Your nose scrunched even more as you'd received another menacing hum that tells he was close to hitting your face with a pillow because of how rough you were taking care of his hair. It's not that you weren't rough, but the locks in his hair was frustrating you to the highest.

"Hmm."

You subtly leaned down, sneaking your head to the side of his face to see his expressions void of emotions. The typical Geralt whom you've met as he felt your presence nearer, he'd turned his head to give you a lackadaisical look in his eyes that tells that you were stressing him out.

Your eyes twinkled apologetically as you had no problem in receiving a glare from the fussed out witcher. "Well, that sounds like a displeased hum," you stated as a matter of fact, shrugging your shoulders before straightening your spine and grabbing onto his Ivory roots again, "---and a different kind as well,"

He sighed in defeated, letting you handle his hair in spite as he simply closed his eyes. There was no more backing out as he was now sat in front of you, hair all untied as you've threatened to cut his hair with a scissor you've managed to have that was sat beside you.

"Bad kitty! You're liking this, aren't you? You like your hair being pulled!"

No answer was received and you left it at that. Thinking that maybe he wanted silence as you went on with brushing his hair with your fingers. Now, all gentle as the tangles were already free from the knots. It was certainly improvement; in Geralt's side because he stopped complaining after you scolded him so and quietly waited for you to finish; showing like he trusted you with his hair or whatever.

With a gentle tuck of his hair behind his ears, the witcher was all putty on your hands. Hearing a low rumble that resonated off him in pleasure and satisfaction because of how your touch was sending torment to the cravings he had for you.

Hence, his patience and respect he had for not throwing you over the bed and just relishing in with those insatiable desires he had for you needed and deserved an applause because of his high-capacity to resist the mania.

His appetite was surely in a famished mayhem as he breathed in slow and deep, your gentle touches that raked through his roots and his cravings growing more and more uncontrollable with each passing day and night.

Maybe, the scar you had on your chest had effects. Lewd effects for the both of you.

After minutes of comfortable---well, aching moments for Geralt; you've heard him mutter through gritted teeth in the midst of his slow breathing, "I'm not a cat."

You were already at the ends of his Ivory hair, simply braiding them in perfection as you objected, "But, you are! My grumpy kitty!"

There was no response again and you focused on braiding his marvelous hair and let the silence flow. You were actually just hearing him breath as it also calmed your nerves; a bewildering occurrence on how one's breathing could simply put you in peace.

You've grabbed onto his black ponytail which seemed to be owned by Cirilla and tightly tied onto the ends. Small hairs that seemed to not be possible in tying them down were imperfectly out of its nest; though, the ruggish effect it gave was actually making it look perfect for him.

"There! Done!" you mirthfully exclaimed, giving out a tiny tee-hee before you recklessly surrounded your arms around his musclebound shoulders. The irresistible urges just telling you to cease from being shy even just for today and be more of your unshackled self; stepping out of your timid borders every once in a while. It surprised the witcher with your touchy-feely attitude as his body went stiff when you've embraced him from behind, "See? I told you! You'll still look beautiful with your hair braided! Now, payment time, mister!"

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, clicking his tongue as he tried to find any words to say from your hasty, sweet gestures while he was not one who is used to receiving such care. Geralt had no words to say, his mind going in a haywire as he suddenly saw your palms in front of his face, begging like a peasant with your face nuzzled to his side as he weirdly stared at your palm.

"You want coins?" he skeptically questioned, your warmth and scent crashing his ability to think straight. You've dropped your arm around his shoulders, your actions seeming to surprise you as well but you paid no heed and just wanted him closer; his warmth insatiable as you hugged Geralt tighter. Your warm touches giving his body to adjust and be used to it as you felt him slowly relaxing against your hold.

You peeked from the side of his face, giving him a twinkle of those vindicated eyes as he languidly turned his head to see you giving such a naive look that he couldn't help but be fond of everyday. If it would take his hair to be braided for you to sweetly look at him like how you do right now; he would take the risk on letting his hair get yanked, "I don't know. Whatever payment you have in mind---I would love it,"

Faces were inches apart. You've seen the way his eyes glow in sudden mischief. His risquè suggestion making your heart warm in a way that got your ravenousness fueled as your face felt the blush and sudden excitement, "The one I have in mind is quite unseemly for your chastity,"

You gave a giggle, always loving how he'd intensely stare into your eyes like you've given light to his darkness; that type of glow inside his eyes that got your insides churning whenever he does, "Aren't you playful and naughty today, Geralt?!"

Geralt gave a tight-lipped smile; knowing you wouldn't accept his ravenous suggestion because of particular things he knew about. The witcher knew he wasn't wrong, he can never be wrong by what he was sensing.

However, a rare smirk was promptly shown, the ingenuous flicker inside your eyes changing in just a snap of one's fingers as it turned suggestive and playful, "What if I actually want that?"

It was what your heart wants and what those voices inside your head has been whispering. The mere idea of Geralt defiling your chastity that you have been treasuring because no other men deserved was utterly thrilling and worth it.

Not because of the thought that he was striking, but he was the only man you've wholeheartedly trusted and probably have given your heart like he was a king no matter how unsure of what you were in his life.

Closer and closer, you went in for the kill. Just his golden peepers alone was enough to pull you into a hypnotizing trance as you closed the space between you both, landing your lips to his in a soft, birdsweet peck that got you insides melting and the desire rapidly coming back in scorching flames, "I thought you wanted to indulge my curiosity all night long?"

Your words were temptingly drawled slower as your warm breath hit those ajar lips of his, an impenetrable haze in his eyes that suddenly brought uncertainty to what Geralt actually meant the last time you had the bathroom moment, your sudden confidence kind of wavering but still you've wanted to see how he was fond of you the way you also had your affections for him, "When I told you I was curious, it’s true, Geralt."

You've brushed your lips together and felt the witcher sigh before you had given one last honeyed kiss to his lips in which Geralt had puckered back, raising your hopes that he was solicitous about you.

'More,' his consciousness and emotions echoed, kissing you back with the same tenderness you held for him. He seemed like he was about to deepen the kiss; breathing through his luscious lips before you've felt the pillowy vermillion brush against yours as he abruptly ceased, hearing him lowly growl as he kept the tip of his nose, touching yours in an eskimo kiss before slowly pulling away to your disappointment.

The hesitation of wanting to deepen the kiss shot a sting to your heart; your overthinking self reading his actions that you've misunderstood his feelings that it was downright doting because you were head over heels for him after quite sometime.

But, hearing his next words immediately brought a weight down your chest, feeling the ineptness, dismay and shame for even suggesting lechorous behaviors that made you feel shameful because you think that it was rejected; thinking he rejected you.

He bedded tons of women. So, what makes you different?

You probably just weren't worth it.

"You don't mean that," Geralt lowly grumbled, his robust shoulders moving from how deeply he was breathing; ceasing himself from doing anything more further as the witcher continued to dispassionately utter, "---I don't deserve it,"

You hardly ignored the shame trying to strangle you into feeling such tightness around your throat as you unlatched your arms around his shoulders, skeptically eyeing the witcher who avoided your eyes, "What do you mean you don't deserve it, Geralt? You do,"

Were you desperate? Was the irresistible sensations making you act this way? Maybe. Howbeit, you would never regret every little thing you do for Geralt because it was what your heart has been telling you to do and not just your impulsive decisions.

Yet, the more he'd talk; it felt like as if the only thing you would regret was asking him what he meant.

Geralt heavily swallowed, jaw tightening as he apathetically muttered, "I'm guessing it's the Djinn's work that is talking,"

His response to your question ignited such ferocity inside your heart, shooting straight to your mouth as you couldn't believe what you were hearing. Did you misunderstood everything he has said when you were important to him? Deeply thinking that him and you were actually in the same page when his gestures and words right now seem to be the opposite?

"Are you saying that what I feel about you isn't true?" you questioned in disbelief. The scoff automatically being done as you've seen the tight scowl that Geralt has managed to put up again, "---That it's all...magic? The thing happening between us?"

You've tightly bit the insides of your cheeks, watching him stay silent and cease from opening up to you as he went on in avoiding your gaze and looking like he was the one who'd been rejected when it was you.

Thus, a continuation of your vulnerability went on despite of his stillness, your honesty probably will rue once it was said and done, "---before the Djinn even happened, you've been clouding my mind since then," a breathless pause. "---Since the first day I've been here, it felt like I was bound to fall for you, Probably, because the reason why I'm here is because...you are also here,"

Your candor has gotten the best of you and when Geralt was about to open his mouth for whatever that he wanted to say, your anxiety has managed to take over as you stood up from the bed in haste, feeling your palms tickle in humility from how everything that has been planned went down the hill because you misunderstood everything.

"Midget---"

You tightly swallowed the tightness stuck in your throat, finally feeling his gaze on you but you chose to look away; eyes now downcast as your toes fidgeted inside your boots, voice cracking when the apprehension was starting to take a toll as it was harshly plucking with your heart strings, "It's fine. We're just probably not on the same page yet and I understand why. Who would want me even?"

Geralt has been ruffled by your sudden assumptions, yet he chose to stay silent and be upset by whatever lies he'd been hearing; only having the actions to grit his teeth together as you restlessly tried your best to steer clear of your own dismayed feelings.

You shuffled on your feet, briskly walking towards the door before giving him a faltering gaze of yours as you awkwardly pointed at his perfectly braided hair while you stammered and tried to get a hold of yourself from the mortifying, stinging shame, "It's probably just...the genie effects doing these effects on me---I'll go apologize to Jaskier or something---Don't take that off, okay?!"

Hence, Geralt could only watch you leave as it was obvious that he'd upset you by his complicated behavior. Thus, leaving his heart stinging as well; feeling the same way as you.

Y’ALL ARE PROLLY CURSING ME FOR MAKING AN ADDITIONAL CHAPTER 13.1 AHONHONHONHON XD (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, buddy! Please do check your settings, bb! Thank you!)

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx​ @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ @tapismyforte​​ @chook007​​ @covid-donotenter​​ @winter-moons​ @cheesecakeisapie​​ @silverkitten547​​​ @angelofthorr​ @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum​​ @stuckupstucky​​

[96harmony96]

Chapter 5

I had a vicious hangover on Saturday morning and figured it was no less than I deserved. As much as I’d resented Lauren’s insistence on negotiating sex with as much passion as she would a merger, in the end I’d negotiated in kind. Because I wanted her enough to take a calculated risk and break my own rules.

I took comfort in knowing she was breaking some of her own, too.

After a long, hot shower, I made my way into the living room and found Cary on the couch with his netbook, looking fresh and alert. Smelling coffee in the kitchen, I headed there and filled the biggest mug I could find.

“Morning, sunshine,” Cary called out.

With my much-needed dose of caffeine wrapped between both palms, I joined him on the couch.

He pointed at a box on the end table. “That came for you while you were in the shower.”

I set my mug on the coffee table and picked up the box. It was wrapped with brown paper and twine, and had my name handwritten diagonally across the top with a decorative calligraphic flourish. Inside was an amber glass bottle with Hangover Cure painted on it in a white old-fashioned font and a note tied with raffia to the bottle’s neck that said, “Drink me.” Lauren’s business card was nestled in the cushioning tissue paper.

As I studied the gift, I found it very apt. Since meeting Lauren I’d felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole into a fascinating and seductive world where few of the known rules applied. I was in uncharted territory that was both exciting and scary.

I glanced at Cary, who eyed the bottle dubiously.

“Cheers.” I pried the cork out and drank the contents without thinking twice about it. It tasted like sickly sweet cough syrup. My stomach quivered in distaste for a moment, and then heated. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and shoved the cork back into the empty bottle.

“What was that?” Cary asked.

“From the burn, it’s hair of the dog.”

His nose wrinkled. “Effective but unpleasant.”

And it was working. I already felt a little steadier.

Cary picked up the box and dug out Lauren’s card. He flipped it over; then held it out to me. On the back Lauren had written, “Call me” in bold slashing penmanship and jotted down a number.

I took the card, curling my hand around it. Her gift was proof that she was thinking about me. Her tenacity and focus was seductive. And flattering.

There was no denying I was in trouble where Lauren was concerned. I craved the way I felt when she touched me, and I loved the way she responded when I touched her back. When I tried to think of what I wouldn’t agree to do to have her hands on me again, I couldn’t come up with much.

When Cary tried to hand me the phone, I shook my head. “Not yet. I need a clear head when dealing with her and I’m still fuzzy.”

“You two seemed cozy last night. She’s definitely into you.”

“I’m definitely into her.” Curling into the corner of the couch, I pressed my cheek into the cushion and hugged my legs to my chest. “We’re going to hang out, get to know each other, have casual-but-physically-intense sex, and be otherwise completely independent. No strings, no expectations, no responsibilities.”

Cary hit a button on his netbook and the printer on the other side of the room started spitting out pages. Then he snapped the computer closed, set it on the coffee table, and gave me all his attention. “Maybe it’ll turn into something serious.”

“Maybe not,” I scoffed.

“Cynic.”

“I’m not looking for happily-ever-after, Cary, especially not with a mega-mogul like Jauregui. I’ve seen what it’s like for my mom being connected to powerful men. It’s a full-time job with a part-time companion. Money keeps Mom happy, but it wouldn’t be enough for me.”

My dad had loved my mom. He’d asked her to marry him and share his life. She’d turned him down because he didn’t have the hefty portfolio and sizeable bank account she required in a husband. Love wasn’t a requisite for marriage in Sinuhe Stanton’s opinion and since her sultry-eyed, breathy-voiced beauty was irresistible to most men, she’d never had to settle for less than whatever she wanted. Unfortunately she hadn’t wanted my dad for the long haul.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was ten thirty. “I guess I should get ready.”

“I love spa day with your mom.” Cary smiled and it chased the lingering shadows on my mood away. “I feel like a god when we’re done.”

“Me, too. Of the goddess persuasion.”

We were so eager to be off that we went downstairs to meet the car rather than wait for the front desk to call up.

The doorman smiled as we stepped outside—me in heeled sandals and a maxi dress, and Cary in hip-hugging jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Good morning, Miss Cabello. Mr. Taylor. Will you need a cab today?”

“No thanks, Paul. We’re expecting a car.” Cary grinned. “It’s spa day at Perrini’s!”

“Ah, Perrini’s Day Spa.” Paul gave a sage nod. “I bought my wife a gift certificate for our anniversary. She enjoyed it so much I plan to make it a tradition.”

“You did good, Paul,” I said. “Pampering a woman never goes out of style.”

A black town car pulled up with Clancy at the wheel. Paul opened the rear door for us and we climbed in, squealing when we found a box of Knipschildt’s Chocopologie on the seat. Waving at Paul, we settled back and dug in, taking tiny nibbles of the truffles that were worth savoring slowly.

Clancy drove us straight to Perrini’s, where the relaxation began from the moment one walked in the door. Crossing the entrance threshold was like taking a vacation on the far side of the world. Every arched doorway was framed by lushly vibrant striped silks, while jeweled pillows decorated elegant chaises and oversized armchairs.

Birds chirped from suspended gilded cages and potted plants filled every corner with lush fronds. Small decorative fountains added the sounds of running water, while stringed instrumental music was piped into the room via cleverly hidden speakers. The air was redolent with a mix of exotic spices and fragrances, making me feel like I’d stepped into Arabian Nights.

It was this-close to being too much, but it didn’t cross the line. Instead, Perrini’s was exotic and luxurious, an indulgent treat for those who could afford it. Like my mother, who’d just finished a milk-and-honey bath when we arrived.

I studied the menu of treatments available, deciding to skip my usual “warrior woman” in favor of the “passionate pampering.” I’d been waxed the week before, but the rest of the treatment—“designed to make you sexually irresistible”—sounded like exactly what I needed.

I’d finally managed to get my mind back into the safe zone of work when Cary spoke up from the pedicure chair beside mine.

“Mrs. Stanton, have you met Lauren Jauregui?”

I gaped at him. He knew damn well my mom went nuts over any news about my romantic—and not-so-romantic, as the case may be—relationships.

My mother, who sat in the chair on the other side of me, leaned forward with her usual girlish excitement over a rich, handsome man. “Of course. She’s one of the wealthiest women in the world. Number twenty-five or so on Forbes’s list, if I’m remembering correctly. A very driven young woman, obviously, and a generous benefactor to many of the children’s charities I champion. Extremely eligible, of course, but I don’t believe she's straight , Cary. She’s got a reputation as a ladies’ pleaser.”

“My loss.” Cary grinned and ignored my violent headshaking. “But it’d be a hopeless crush anyway, since she’s digging on Camila.”

“Camila! I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. How could you not tell me something like that?”

I looked at my mom, whose scrubbed face appeared young, unlined, and very much like mine. I was very clearly my mother’s daughter, right down to my surname. The one concession she’d made to my father had been to name me after his mother.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I insisted. “We’re just…friends.”

“We can do better than that,” Sinuhe said, with a look of calculation that struck fear in my heart. “I don’t know how it escaped me that you work in the same building she does. I’m certain she was smitten the moment she saw you. Although she’s known to prefer blondes…Hmm…Anyway. sHe’s also known for her excellent taste. Clearly the latter won out with you.”

“It’s not like that. Please don’t start meddling. You’ll embarrass me.”

“Nonsense. If anyone knows what to do with men, it’s me.”

I cringed, my shoulders creeping up to my ears. By the time my massage appointment came around, I was in desperate need of one. I stretched out on the table and closed my eyes, preparing to take a catnap to get through the long night ahead.

I loved dressing up and looking pretty as much as the next girl, but charity functions were a lot of work. Making small talk was exhausting, smiling nonstop was a pain, and conversations about businesses and people I didn’t know were boring. If it wasn’t for Cary benefitting from the exposure, I’d put up a bigger fight about going.

I sighed. Who was I fooling? I’d end up going anyway. My mom and Stanton supported abused children’s charities because they were significant to me. Going to the occasional stuffy event was a small price to pay for the return.

Taking a deep breath, I consciously relaxed. I made a mental note to call my dad when I got home and thought about how to send a thank-you note to Lauren for the hangover cure. I supposed I could e-mail her using the contact info on her business card, but that lacked class. Besides, I didn’t know who read her inbox.

I’d just call her when I got home. Why not? She’d asked—no, told—me to; she’d written the demand on her business card. And I’d get to hear her luscious voice again.

The door opened and the masseuse came in. “Hello, Camila. You ready?”

Not quite. But I was getting there.

___

After many lovely hours at the spa, my mom and Cary dropped me off at the apartment; then they headed out to hunt for new cuff links for Stanton. I used the time alone to call Lauren. Even with the much-needed privacy, I punched most of her phone number into the keypad a half-dozen times before I finally put the call through.

She answered on the first ring. “Camila.”

W that she’d known who was calling, my mind scrambled for a moment. How did she have my name and number in her contact list? “Uh…hi, Lauren.”

“I’m a block away. Let the front desk know I’m coming.”

“What?” I felt like I’d missed part of the conversation. “Coming where?”

“To your place. I’m rounding the corner now. Call the desk, Camila.”

she hung up and I stared at the phone, trying to absorb the fact that Lauren was moments away from being with me again. Somewhat dazed, I went to the intercom and talked to the front desk, letting them know I was expecting her and while I was talking, she walked into the lobby. A few moments after that, she was at my door.

It was then that I remembered I was dressed in only a thigh-length silk robe, and my face and hair were styled for the dinner. What kind of impression would she get from my appearance?

I tightened the belt of my robe before I let her in. It wasn’t like I’d invited her over for a seduction or anything.

Lauren stood in the hallway for a long moment, her gaze raking me from my head down to my French manicured toes. I was equally stunned by her appearance. The way she looked in worn jeans and a T-shirt made me want to undress her with my teeth.

“Worth the trip to find you like this, Camila.” sHe stepped inside and locked the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Thanks to you. Thank you.” My stomach quivered because she was here, with me, which made me feel almost…giddy. “That can’t be why you came over.”

“I’m here because it took you too long to call me.”

“I didn’t realize I had a deadline.”

“I have to ask you something time-sensitive, but more than that, I wanted to know if you were feeling all right after last night.” Her eyes were dark as they swept over me, her breathtaking face framed by that luxurious curtain of inky hair. “God. You look beautiful, Camila. I can’t remember ever wanting anything this much.”

With just those few simple words I became hot and needy. Way too vulnerable. “What’s so urgent?”

“Go with me to the advocacy center dinner tonight.”

I pulled back, surprised and excited by the request. “You’re going?”

“So are you. I checked, knowing your mother would be there. Let’s go together.”

My hand went to my throat, my mind torn between the weirdness of how much she knew about me and concern over what she was asking me to do. “That’s not what I meant when I said we should spend time together.”

“Why not?” The simple question was laced with challenge. “What’s the problem with going together to an event we’d already planned on attending separately?”

“It’s not very discreet. It’s a high-profile event.”

“So?” Lauren stepped closer and fingered a curl of my hair.

There was a dangerous purr to her voice that sent a shiver through me. I could feel the warmth of her big, hard body and smell the richly musky scent of her skin. I was falling under her spell, deeper with every minute that passed.

“People will make assumptions, my mother in particular. She’s already scenting your bachelor blood in the water.”

Lowering her head, Lauren pressed her lips into the crook of my neck. “I don’t care what people think. We know what we’re doing. And I’ll deal with your mother.”

“If you think you can,” I said breathlessly, “you don’t know her very well.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” Her tongue traced the wildly throbbing vein in my throat and I melted into her, my body going lax as she pulled me close.

Still, I managed to say, “I haven’t said yes.”

“But you won’t say no.” sHe caught my earlobe between her teeth. “I won’t let you.”

I opened my mouth to protest and she sealed her lips over mine, shutting me up with a lush wet kiss. Her tongue did that slow, savoring licking that made me long to feel her doing the same between my legs. My hands went to her hair, sliding through it, tugging. When she wrapped her arms around me, I arched, curving into her hands.

Just as she had in her office, she had me on my back on the couch before I realized she was moving me, her mouth swallowing my surprised gasp. The robe gave way to her dexterous fingers; then she was cupping my breasts, kneading them with soft, rhythmic squeezes.

“Lauren—”

“Shh.” sHe sucked on my lower lip, her fingers rolling and tugging my tender nipples. “It was driving me crazy knowing you were naked beneath your robe.”

“You came over without—Oh! Oh, God…”

Her mouth surrounded the tip of my breast, the wash of heat bringing a mist of perspiration to my skin.

My gaze darted frantically to the clock on the cable box. “Lauren, no.”

Her head lifted and she looked at me with stormy green eyes. “It’s insane, I know. I don’t—I can’t explain it, Camila, but I have to make you come. I’ve been thinking about it constantly for days now.”

One of her hands pushed between my legs. They fell open shamelessly, my body so aroused I was flushed and almost feverish. Her other hand continued to plump my breasts, making them heavy and unbearably sensitive.

“You’re wet for me,” she murmured, her gaze sliding down my body to where she was parting me with her fingers. “You’re beautiful here, too. Plush and pink. So soft. You didn’t wax today, did you?”

I shook my head.

“Thank God. I don’t think I would’ve made it ten minutes without touching you, let alone ten hours.” She slid one finger carefully into me.

My eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by a woman whose familiarity with the rules of Brazilian waxing betrayed an intimate knowledge of women. A woman who was still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor beside me.

“You’re so snug.” Lauren pulled out and thrust gently back into me. My back bowed as I clenched eagerly around her. “And so greedy. How long has it been since the last time you were fucked?”

I swallowed hard. “I’ve been busy. My thesis, job-hunting, moving…”

“A while, then.” sHe pulled out and pushed back into me with two fingers. I couldn’t hold back a moan of delight. The woman had talented hands, confident and skilled, and she took what he wanted with them.

“Are you on birth control, Camila?”

“Yes.” My hands gripped the edges of the cushions. “Of course.”

“I’ll prove I’m clean and you’ll do the same, then you’re going to let me come in you.”

“Jesus, Lauren.” I was panting for her, my hips circling shamelessly onto her thrusting fingers. I felt like I’d spontaneously combust if she didn’t get me off.

I’d never been so turned on in my life. I was near mindless with the need for an orgasm. If Cary walked in right then and found me writhing in our living room while Lauren finger-fucked me, I didn’t think I’d care.

Lauren was breathing hard, too. Her face was flushed with lust. For me. When I’d done nothing more than respond helplessly to her.

Her hand at my breast moved to my cheek and brushed over it. “You’re blushing. I’ve scandalized you.”

“Yes.”

Her smile was both wicked and delighted, and it made my chest tight. “I want to feel my cum in you when I fuck you with my fingers. I want you to feel my cum in you, so you think about how I looked and the sounds I made when I pumped it into you. And while you’re thinking about that, you’re going to look forward to me doing it again and again.”

My sex rippled around her stroking fingers, the rawness of her words pushing me to the brink of orgasm.

“I’m going to tell you all the ways I want you to please me, Camila, and you’re going to do it all…take it all, and we’re going to have explosive, primal, no-holds-barred sex. You know that, don’t you? You can feel how it’ll be between us.”

“Yes,” I breathed, clutching my breasts to ease the deep ache of my hardened nipples. “Please, Lauren.”

“Shh…I’ve got you.” The pad of her thumb rubbed my clitoris in gentle circles. “Look into my eyes when you come for me.”

Everything tightened in my core, the tension building as she massaged my clit and pushed her fingers in and out in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“Give it up to me, Camila,” she ordered. “Now.”

I climaxed with a thready cry, my grip white-knuckled on the sides of the cushions as my hips pumped onto her hand, my mind far beyond shame or shyness. My gaze was locked to her, unable to look away, riveted by the fierce masculine triumph that flared in her eyes. In that moment she owned me. I’d do anything she wanted. And she knew it.

Searing pleasure pulsed through me. Through the roaring of blood in my ears, I thought I heard her speak hoarsely, but I lost the words when she hooked one of my legs over the back of the couch and covered my cleft with her mouth.

“No—” I pushed at her head with my hands. “I can’t.”

I was too swollen, too sensitive. But when her tongue touched my clit, fluttering over it, the hunger built again. More intense than the first time. she rimmed my trembling slit, teasing me, taunting me with the promise of another orgasm when I knew I couldn’t have one again so quickly.

Then her tongue speared into me and I bit my lip to bite back a scream. I came a second time, my body quaking violently, tender muscles tightening desperately around her decadent licking. Her growl vibrated through me. I didn’t have the strength to push her away when she returned to my clit and sucked softly…tirelessly…until I climaxed again, gasping her name.

I was boneless as she straightened my leg and still breathless when she pressed kisses up my belly to my breasts. she licked each of my nipples, and then hauled me up with her arms banded around my back. I hung lax and pliable in her grip while she took my mouth with suppressed violence, bruising my lips and betraying how close to the edge she was.

she closed my robe; then stood, staring down at me.

“Lauren…?”

“Seven o’clock, Camila.” sHe reached down and touched my ankle, her fingertips caressing the diamond anklet I’d put on in preparation for the evening. “And keep this on. I want to fuck you while you’re wearing nothing else.”

[gatheringbones]

[”Ellen’s predecessors were the two lesbians on the cover of Newsweek from 1993 heralding “LESBIANS” (fig. 1). The women pictures are young, white, and conventionally attractive. Presumably they are partners, as one sits behind the other, hugging her girlfriend around the waist. Both women have dark, styled hair, dark eyes, and attractive faces. The “hugger” has soft, curly hair and a slightly smiling, slightly made-up (and thus feminine) face. We see her from the waist up only; she wears a long-sleeved denim shirt— not particularly feminine attire, but it is balanced by some standard markers of both femininity and affluence: peal earrings, pearl necklace, and a shiny ring on her finger. The other woman, leaning back in her girlfriend’s arms, also is conventionally attractive, though her short, pageboy haircut isn’t quite as feminine as her girlfriend’s hairdo. What she does have going for her, however, is her body: lean and tanned, she wears a brown, long-sleeved button-up top with a deep scoop neck. Her neck and collarbone are thus accentuated and “marked” clearly as petite, feminine, and pretty. The photo, coupled with the Ellen cover, seems to assure mainstream audiences that there is nothing “different” about lesbians, except that they might hug one another more than straight women might. Indeed, these images— images of clean-cut, well-dressed, economically secure, feminine lesbians— promise readers that Ellen and the Newsweek women are, simply put, all-American girls.”’

(...) Aside from lang, there is a certain homogeneity to the lesbian bodies we see in mainstream media. Take the much talked-about 1995 lesbian wedding on Friends, for example. The sophisticated brides “had their hair in ringlets and wore dresses out of a Merchant Ivory film”, in other words, they looked nothing like the stereotypical lesbian. On the one hand, this representation might have been effective at dispelling some preconceptions that the public holds regarding lesbians, convincing audiences that even “straight-looking” women could be gay and that even lesbians could have such impeccable taste in clothing. Such disruption is important. At the same time, doesn’t this “corrective” seem too correct? As an article in Entertainment Weekly suggests, “[television] writers may have gotten a bit too conscientious in avoiding stereotypes. Out comic Lea DeLaria, who had a cameo in the lesbian wedding on Friends, complains, “They needed at least 30 or 40 more fat dykes in tuxedos. All those thin, perfectly coiffed girls in Laura Ashley prints- what kind of lesbian wedding is that? And no one played softball afterwards?” Although DeLaria is being humorous about this instance of lesbian representation, she nonetheless raises an important point: the “thin, perfectly coiffed girls” might well be lesbians, but where were the others ones, the “dykes” to use her words?

(...) I have spent some time now pointing to the various ways that lesbian bodies are coded in mainstream culture— coded materially, spatially, discursively, and racially. What I hope to have pointed to is the excess of such coding. What, then are these representations effecting in culture at large? The answer to this question is by no means simple; certainly any image can have different and varying effects on different people. By way of response, however, I want to point out some other cultural ideas that belong to the mainstream imagination, using them to suggest why the femme is so overrepresented. Our starting point with this is with the obvious: within mainstream culture, the femme is not really considered a lesbian. A hundred years ago, Havelock Ellis declared that "the principle character of sexually inverted woman is a certain degree of masculinity"; femme or feminine lesbians he deemed "pseudohomosexuals." Diane Hamer elaborated on this preconception: "Always, it has been the butch woman who is constructed as the authentic lesbian; rarely is the femme seen as such. Traditionally, the femme as been constructed as essentially feminine and heterosexual; her lesbianism is at most a passing phase, resulting from seduction by a predatory butch or a temporary retreat from men after some damaging experience." The femme, in other words, is representable not only because she is desirable but also because she is perceived as "inauthentic." We might also note that the feminine (or feminized) lesbian bodies we see are usually shown alone (e.g. Ellen's Time cover), coupled with another conventionally feminine lesbian (e.g. Melissa and Julie, the Friends brides), or— tellingly, perhaps?— with a man (e.g. Chasing Amy). Virtually none of the mainstream representations pairs a femme or feminine lesbian with a butch or masculine lesbian. Perhaps the configurations of single and coupled femmes work to undo the "lesbian" signifier and to de-lesbianize the subject for mainstream audiences."]

Making Her (In)Visible: Cultural Representations of Lesbianism and the Lesbian Body in the 1990's, by Ann M. Ciasullo

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 23

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: E

Word Count: 1772

Chapter Summary: Reader gets jealous upon watching Vladislav seduce a woman (to eat).

A/N: Hi guys. I may not be posting every week from here on out, though that’s still the goal. With the new semester in full swing I don’t always have time to work on my fic :( Hopefully it’ll never be more than a week without updating, though. Thanks to everyone for reading! <3 As always, this is also on AO3.

“Did you fuck last night?” Deacon asked.

You didn’t look up from your laptop, still hard at work. You didn’t even know what time it was, long since having covered the small time display with a post-it, not wanting to be drawn out of fixing the work problem that you may or may not have, but definitely did, cause. The fact that Deacon was up, though, meant that more time had passed than you’d thought.

Eyes still glued to the screen, finally nearing the end of your task, you responded with a deadpan, “I’m sure you know that we did not.”

Deacon grunted. “That’s what Vlad said, too.”

“Well?” you prompted. “Why would you need to ask me, then?”

“Maybe he lied.”

“Why would he?”

“To protect your modesty.”

You snorted, finally navigating to the site for clocking in and out. “Does Vladislav seem overly invested in modesty of any sort?”

“…No.”

“So why would he lie?” you repeated, closing your laptop. “We didn’t even get-“

You froze upon turning to look at him.

“Deacon, what the hell are you wearing?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Nothing out of the ordinary, unfortunately. That was the problem. It was just a horrid combination that you hadn’t yet seen. Somehow the color orange had become involved.

“Are you going somewhere tonight?”

“Yes. We’re going out to find victims. Do you want to join us? We’re meeting Nick at Boogie Wonderland. I think Stu might be there.”

“Stu?” You’d go if Stu was going, but you didn’t want to be the only human there. At least, the only human who wasn’t on the menu.

“Pretty sure.”

“Yeah, then I’ll go.”

And that was how you ended up watching the man who had just taken you on the best date of your life try to seduce women on a crowded dance floor. Not your best idea ever.

You scowled into your drink.

You knew you were being stupid. He was just trying to eat them. There was no reason to be jealous.

Jealous. Ugh.

You’d had one date with the man and you were jealous.

If he found out, you might just have to die of embarrassment.

You jabbed the straw into the ice and glared.

“Need another?” Stu asked, appearing behind you.

You huffed. “I guess. Struck out?” You glanced back to the table where Stu had been chatting up some cute brunette.

“I guess,” he parroted back to you.

You moved your gaze to where Vladislav and Viago stood with a gorgeous woman. She placed her hand on Vladislav’s arm and you turned your face to your newly refilled drink, loudly, angrily, sucking it up through the straw.

Stu, having followed your line of sight, offered you a sympathetic smile. “You know, I really don’t think you have anything to be worried about, Y/N.”

You sighed. “I know. I’m just working myself up.”

“You never really struck me as the jealous type.”

You shrugged your shoulders. You liked to think you weren’t usually the jealous type.

“Really,” he said, somberly, “You don’t want to be her.”

You nodded. You knew that, of course. Maybe you should slow down. The alcohol may be exacerbating your ire at the situation.

“Hey Stu!” You both looked up to find Nick standing behind you, shouting over the music. “I’m going to head out. I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”

Stu nodded, and Nick turned his attention to you.

“How was your date last night?”

You blinked in surprise. Stu only knew about it because you’d told him tonight at the bar.

“Viago mentioned it,” he explained.

“Oh. Well, it was pretty nice, actually. We’re going out again the night after tomorrow.”

He gave you a thumbs up and left. If it wasn’t for his vampiric hearing, you’d have guessed he hadn’t been able to pick out your words over the background noise.

“I should probably head out, too.”

“No!” you protested, as Stu pulled out a few bills and laid them on the counter to cover his tab.

“I have to work in the morning.”

“So? I do too.” It wasn’t technically true, as you could get your hours at any point in the day, but Stu didn’t know that and you wanted him to stay.

“Then you should probably get home, too.”

You scowled, and Stu valiantly hid a laugh at your overdramatic response.

“Do you want to split a cab?”

“No,” you sighed, realizing you couldn’t convince him. “I want to finish my drink, and the busses are still running for a while.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Try not to let it bother you too much.” He gestured to the dance floor at large when he said ‘it,’ but you knew what he was referring to.

You turned back to your drink, trying not to glare at it again. After all, it hadn’t done anything wrong. When you looked back up, Stu was talking to Vladislav. He pointed to you. Oh crap. You looked back down, not wanting to make eye contact while Stu was very clearly ratting you out. You took back everything nice you’d ever said about him.

“Hi there,” Vladislav whispered into your ear. How did he get here so fast?

You winced into your drink.

“Hi.”

“A little bird told me someone needed a bit of attention.”

You rolled your eyes and loudly pulled more alcohol up through the straw.

“That little bird was Stu, and I’m going to kick his ass.”

Vladislav lowly laughed into your ear, and you tried not to smile as its warmth bubbled through you. You turned to look up at him and, of course, his smile was contagious. That bastard. No one would let you wallow in your misery in peace.

“Don’t be too hard on Stu. After all, it worked right? I’m here now,” he whispered in your ear, gently brushing your hair aside.

You knew he was just teasing you, but his voice was starting to make you melt, anyway.

You pulled yourself together and smacked him on the shoulder. “Take your ego down a notch and don’t be such a dick.”

For a second, you feared you’d overstepped a line. In this strange new limbo between friends and something more, you weren’t sure what was and wasn’t appropriate anymore. Thankfully, though, he threw his head back and laughed, and you actually let yourself smile. Sometimes he could be so stoic, so inexpressive. When he laughed, it was such a juxtaposition from his default state. It was warm and bubbly and you couldn’t help but feel it all the way down to your bones.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked. He grabbed your hand and yanked you over to the noisy, crowded dance floor before you could answer him.

You decided to have fun, jumping up and down, moving your body more or less in time with the thumping bass of the music. Vladislav’s dancing was… eclectic. But this was a club full of drunks, so his dancing didn’t really stand out any more than anyone else’s did.

Vladislav moved his hands to rest on your hips, and you instinctively moved forward, closing the gap between your bodies until you were flush against one another. You were more or less grinding on each other, now, and you felt that maybe you should be embarrassed. You weren’t.

He ducked his head down until you felt his lips brush against your neck. You relaxed into it, tilting your head to give him better access. A shiver ran down your body at the realization that his fangs were so close to your vulnerable, exposed neck. Vladislav gently nipped at the soft, thin flesh. It hadn’t hurt, but you yelped in surprise anyway.

He moved a hand from your hip to place it reassuringly on the small of your back and brought his lips up your ear. “Relax. I’m not going to do anything.”

You weren’t entirely certain what he meant by ‘anything.’ If a regular human guy told you he wasn’t going to do anything, you’d take that to mean he would keep his hands to himself. You very much doubted you could make such an assumption regarding Vladislav.

More likely, he’d meant he wasn’t going to do anything with respect to drinking your blood. Of course he wouldn’t. You knew that. You’d simply been startled when he’d playfully, flirtatiously nipped at you… because he was a vampire.

“Sorry!” you shouted over the music.

Vladislav chuckled lowly in your ear, and actively stated backing you off of the dance floor. It wasn’t much of a task, as you had gradually made your way towards the darkened back corner of the room over the course of your dancing. As Vladislav fluidly advanced, his hand still guiding you from the small of your back, you almost tripped over yourself as you were raced back. You were backed into the wall, and his hand moved from your back to the wall beside your head.

“You need to learn to relax and have some fun.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his lips crashed onto yours, effectively silencing you. You brought your hand up to his open shirt, fisting your hand in the material and holding his body to yours. His tongue delved into your mouth and you moaned around it.

Soon, though, your brain moved from solely registering sensation, and you tasted him. The acrid taste of metal suddenly flooded your mouth. Your hand that had been pulling him towards you instead pushed him away while your other rose to wipe your mouth.

He hadn’t even left the club! When had he found time to-

“Y/N?” Vladislav’s concerned voice pulled you from your thoughts. He looked almost hurt.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Are you okay?” His eyes searched your own.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I- it tasted like blood…” you trailed off and looked down. You weren’t sure entirely why, but you felt like a supreme asshole.

“Ah…” Vladislav began. “Yes. I just ate.”

“It’s fine,” you quickly covered. “I’m sure I taste like cheap booze…” You nervously laughed, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was.

“Y/N-“

“Really, it’s fine.”

And it was fine. It had just startled you. Of course he tasted like blood. He ate blood. You knew that.

You’d come to terms with that.

It was fine.

“Maybe we should-“

You silenced him with a kiss of your own. He stood all too still for an excruciatingly long moment. Eventually, though, he leaned into it, reciprocating, pushing you back into the wall as your hands rose to his chest.

And it was fine.

[pogueslandia]

hi millie!! for the love letters, i'm requesting: romantic, she/her, and i can't decide who so it's up to you but pansy, hermione, harry, or cho would be ideal. take your time love <33

PANSY —tap

HERMIONE —tap

CHO —tap

Hey puppet,

I know, I know, I’m writing you a letter, surprised me, too, but I had no other option to resort to. You have been continually running in my mind all throughout the day, all night. Honestly, don’t you ever get tired? Probably not, because you’ve been in there ever since we parted for summer break. I know that I tend to be closed off sometimes but cherish this letter because you’ll get to take a peek into my mind. Asteria, every time I think of you, I get hit by these conflicting emotions, and I don’t know how to express myself. You have no idea what you’ve done to me and now I can’t think of anything beyond you; You with that charming smile, those enticing green eyes, and your gorgeous brown locks with those stupid highlights, can’t help it. I really think it should be pink or emerald green. My day starts with you and ends with you, my pretty girl, even if you aren’t by my side.

I’m still clueless as to what I’ve possibly done to have such a sweetheart like you in my life. You’re the best, the sweetest, the most genuine, the most loving and mischievous girl I met. + hottest ;) I don’t only love you, but I also respect you and you have all of my admiration for you. I do not exactly know how to thank Merlin for letting you have the best taste in women (therefore having me), but all I know is that I’ll love you for forever and always. You’ll always have my heart. I would’ve been lost without you, I don’t know how I managed to do everything before I even met you.

You complete, puppet, thank you for never failing to make me happy and loved.

Yours,

Pansy Parkinson <3

P.S.-- Now that you’ve read this, burn it before anyone else manages to read it.

.・。.・゜・.・・゜・。..・。.・゜・.・・゜・。..・。.・゜・.・・゜・。..・。

Dear Asteria,

I was browsing through a greek mythology book in the library while Ron and Harry are, doing Merlin knows what, and I somehow managed to come across your name. I always knew your name was special but did you know that ‘Asteria’  means “star”? Asteria is also apparently the greek goddess of justice and innocence. This doesn’t really surprise me because I know that you have no problem calling out people on their mistakes and/or confronting them. Although “innocence”? Let’s not dwell on that topic. Besides the point, Asteria, you’re my star. I hope you know how much our relationship has come to mean to me. Getting to know you more over these last few months has changed my life. I’m happier than I’ve ever been, possibly even happier than when I first received my Hogwarts letter, and I owe that all to you. I never even realized that you’re the missing piece that I longed for all my life.

I thought I saw my future as bright as day before when I really just convinced myself that it is despite it being blurry and vague, but now? I’m absolutely certain that it’s clearer than ever-- Asteria, my star, you are the light in the dark that guides my step to where I want to be. As much as I don’t want to believe such things as soulmates, I’m going to speak figuratively, my entire world was once overcast by subtle shades of black and white, but then I took a sudden turn in the hallways and I bumped into you, I got to stare into those eyes of yours and I began to see all these types of colors, and in my heart, I felt this warm feeling inside me, and just then I just knew that I needed you in my life.

I adore your sweet smile and your gentle eyes. I love your quiet strength and your desire to do what’s right. You have so much love for others, for me, even though you have quite the temper. Your example makes me want to be the best version of myself. You can always make me laugh, even though I undoubtedly don’t want to. I know that you love reading just as much as going out, so I want to let you know that I appreciate you for taking the time of your day to spend some light reading with me. When I look into your eyes-- those gorgeous green eyes-- I could practically see our future together. And you by my side, no matter where that may be, is nowhere else I’d rather be.

Love, Hermione.

P.S-- Harry says hi, I reckon he took quite a liking towards you.

P.P.S -- Don’t be late for the DA meeting!

.・。.・゜・.・・゜・。..・。.・゜・.・・゜・。..・。.・゜・.・・゜・。..・。

Asteria, My Love,

As I’m writing this letter today, I have a million thoughts running through my mind. This letter is supposed to be a confirmation or authentication of the love I feel for you-- a love that is honestly hard to put into words because it’s the type of love that can only be felt. Do you know how much you mean to me? You’re the reason why I wake up every morning, the reason I go to bed and fall asleep peacefully. The person who never fails to put a smile on my face. Looking at it, I realized that your love has done so much for me in my life-- you have offered me opportunities and new-found adventures that no other person could offer me. I love you so much-- more than words will ever be expressed.

When you walked into my life, the sunshine and fire walked in with you. I cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. I can only repay you by loving you unconditionally and wholeheartedly. You are my dream come true-- you’re the love of my life.

Although now that we’re on that topic, I do not know how you can think so poorly of yourself with these overly-exaggerated insecurities of yours. You are perfect in my eyes, my love, and I would do anything for you to see that from my point of view. You have nothing to be ashamed of because I love you just the way you are.

I love you, Asteria.

-Cho Chang

P.S.-- I know how you love those muggle hot topic jewelry, I somehow managed to come across them and bought you a few, I hope you like them! Also, love your new hair, try pink or purple next time xx

@choke-me-pansy

[theplumsoldier]

THE SZÉKELY [1]

title: fox in the henhouse

summary: count dracula visits your family home in greece and takes a special interest in you (set sometime 1800-ish) also this is just the first part:)

pairing: dracula x reader

word count: 3864

warnings: none

IT WAS THE FIRST time the Count had paid Greece a visit and he was just as enlivened as a shark with the scent of fresh nourishment. The voyage was long, exasperating, really, and it was one on which he would have to meet the requirements of an actual Count, rather than conform to those few obligations keeping a castle himself went hand-in-hand with.

It was a family by the name of Galani who had offered him shelter. They had, in fact, been burdened with the task through the Master’s (that is Basil) vocation, and had figured that given this man was a Count, he came of great wealth. Who would they be to deny expanding the company network and seeing as this man appeared to have taken a lot of interest in the firm late times, he was indeed one to impress.

And it was no secret the Galani’s kept a great manor. With their maids galore and the ever-suspicious butler, Abas, their abode was the most pompous, imperious one on the block and they were the proud inhabitants.

Towering pillars made out the front of the manor, marked with great iron-wrought detail and nearly no wear or the years affected them as they regularly were cleaned to its birth-look. Marble tiles and high ceiling, golden details on the spiral staircase, staff racing to take one's coat before you even could shrug it off. At least that was the case for the Count. He adored the rustic semblance.

To the right looked to be a gallery, some closed doors that no wonder hid a kitchen or perhaps scullery, something that looked like a parlor, and to the left, he was already met with a baroque set-up of a dining area. Howbeit, it was not one to eat at, only for the single display of the vase with yellow tulips that stood upon it. Someone was in a cheerful, daring mood, thought he.

Heavy steps suddenly sounded and pausing his inspection, Dracula turned to the thumping sound until his gaze met that of a man. Stout and tall, almost hovering the Count when they came to shake on greeting, and Dracula would suppose he was around his own age, but that would be laughable. He certainly was in his late fifties and as he bellowed in a fit of laughter of elevation, his Adam’s apple jumped in his throat.

“Count Dracula! What a great pleasure it is to host, may I just say that!”

The Count snickered and wrung the man’s hand tightly. It was clammy. “You may. And what a beautiful home. It’s rare I get to enjoy such grandeur.”

Bar his own house of glory and gore, of course.

“Come! Meet my family!”

And so he did. Two girls—or rather women, were lined up side by side. One with her hair tugged strictly from her face, embracing those features proudly that frankly, Count Dracula could not seem to find much beauty in. The daughter, however, you, now—wow! thought he. He could not keep his eyes off of you and you noticed this, blushing as he came to kiss your hand.

It was sad, you thought. How you were in your late teens and had never before been kissed, not even on the hand, until now. For a moment you thought of whatever silly boy that had snuck into your all-girls private school you had formed somewhat of a crush on just last week. Disregarding those imbeciles, you realized you had just gotten your first kiss from a real man.

“It’s a pleasure finally making your acquaintance,” spoke he and your heart hitched just then. Polite, as well.

“And you as well, sir, my father speaks highly of you. One would think you two were close.”

Count Dracula tilted his head toward Basil, your father, and he nodded proudly, flushing beneath his wrinkled eyes. The Count chuckled and looked back to you, sighing as if though he stood on a stage performing a drama. If you were not there to watch him, you would have pictured him swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as well.

“Alas, I regret to say we are not. I live all the way over in Transylvania. But, I suspect your father and I will bond just fine!”

They did, actually. Albeit it seemed Basil was more into the topics than the Count, who was otherwise preoccupied, sending you flickering – almost naughty if you did not know any better – glances. Your parents appeared to be either unbothered by the sir’s amorous yet wavering examining or simply heedless to the situation. To you that seemed out of the question, considering, right at that moment, your whole world revolved around his lingering, inviting gaze.

It was one of the rare occasions in which you were allowed a glass of wine as well. You could not possibly say no to just one glass, you would not want to come off as a little girl. But when you had your glass it was disclosed that the count did not drink a drop of liquor, or any other liquid (you later found out, over supper) so instead, you watched your fantasies vaporize in a cloud as you sipped the bitter-warm red wine.

Count Dracula confessed just before the main course, that he was guilty of having renourished a while before his arrival and already was satiated. He would not be so rude to retire to his sleeping quarters just yet, so he sat through supper, making conversation.

“What do you think of Greece so far? I’m certain you have had time to catch conversation among us Scots, have you not, Count?”

And the count chuckled as a memory of something bitter-sweet passed his recollection faintly.

“I have indeed. All I can say is your people are very, what’s the word, delectable,” decided he and it went quiet for a moment.

“Delectable” here meaning five-star rated blood but that the Galani’s need not know. And they did not, at least not Basil for he soon cackled a laugh and threw his hand on the table, eyeing the Count generously.

“Delectable indeed! Certainly our women have a great reputation, too!”

The comment made his wife, Evadne, scoff, her face contorting out of shape while you merely kept quiet over your greek cuisine. While the food indeed was delectable, your father revolted you deeply.

To be candid, and he always was, Dracula missed your involvement in the topic which fell Basil in taste. He wanted to hear your voice, so he better could imagine the sound you made when he was looped around your throat—if, no! Now he could not, he would hate to be the one to make a mess of such a pretty young lady. He was supposed to the good guest from afar with great elevating stories of Transylvania, not some brooding vampire in a b-grade meant-to-be-thrilling gothic novel.

When you suddenly did invade a pregnant pause you had his undivided attention.

“How is Transylvania anyway?”

“One big forest, really,” said Count Dracula, skimming a finger along the rim of his water glass which he had not yet drunk a drop of. “But I suppose I’m the wrong person to ask, I don’t often stretch my legs beyond my own pasture.”

“Oh, but you have to tell me something!” pleaded you, putting on a sullen frown. One he could not possibly deny even from across the oak table and he was inclined to believe you be well aware. “I have never been anywhere but little Greece. They say “it takes a lifetime for someone to discover Greece, but it only takes an instant to fall in love with her”, but I swear to you, she’s really not that great.”

“Y/N!” scolded your father, cross of your lowly talk. “Be proud of your country. It is sublime and the history that comes to our ancestry is a tale to be told.”

So he did, of course. Basil would not dare meet a stranger to whom he would not spill his entire life story to as well as the stories of his ancestors. Meanwhile, as Basil got lost in a journey some-hundred years ago, Count Dracula turned to face you, a mock smile splayed clear across his features. Your upbringing and good manners averted you from rolling your eyes at the guest.

The hours rushed by like seconds and the Count retired to his chambers before anyone else. The long trip had worn him out, he said. You thought it strikingly odd how he had all that luggage with him – well really it was only a large body-sized box filled with dirt – when he only was meant to stay with you for a few days before his return to Transylvania.

You were on your second glass of wine and already beginning to feel light-headed, merry even, had it not been for your fatigued body. Your every limp felt heavy while you were ready to throw a ball, it did not quite match up but so it appeared human anatomy was not made to make sense to the average joe.

In the late evening, when supposedly everyone had gone to bed, Count Dracula made his rounds to locate each room, or should he encounter a soul throughout his inspection, “appreciate the architecture”.

He was surprised to see the door to the hosts’ sleeping chambers ajar. What kind of people would sleep with the door wide open when occupying strangers in their own house? Though, he supposed, it makes little difference to leave a door open as opposed to shutting when they already had let evil in.

A few steps later, and he was inside, making out the center of the room.

His eyes look about him. Count Dracula felt like a muzzled fox in a henhouse, for all these treats were on display, neatly lined up. Their necks were displayed, veins pumping blood and after all, blood is lives. He bristled, shivering because he could have none and he knew that, so he brisked up his hunt and shut the door fully.

Next, he was caught mid-transit, the chary butler halting in his tracks. They both ought to be in their beds by this time, so neither could deliver very convincing defends to account for their whereabouts.

As they bid their goodnights, Dracula warily trod down the corridors until he finally heard a humming sound.

The door was barely squeezed open by a centimeter, but little light shone from inside the room and it and your sing-song hailed the Count in.

Carefully, he slid the door open by a few more inches. To his surprise you were not yet in your bed, he knew that for it was the first thing which his eyes caught. His lip twitched up, for he thought it funny, the bed, that is. All that comfort he had noticed humans seemed never to get enough of. Where he lied in a coffin filled with dirt from the Carpathian Mountains. They were complete luxury animals and it was comical to Dracula for natheless of their opulence desires, they always seemed to settle for less.

Next, his eyes landed on your figure. You stood still dressed in your gown, brushing your hair and humming to a tune which felt to your taste. He did not recognize it as a piece he knew, but just then your voice sounded so soft, so angelic and it brought him to wonder if your blood tasted the same. He had no plans of ruining your life with his thirst, he still was quenched from the early morning, but he had a code to always live spontaneously. Never say never, and his smile grew bigger as you brushed your hair from your neck, displaying yourself perfectly for him.

He was both drooling and getting hard at just the sight.

You sat before your vanity table and a few bottles were displayed before you along with the glass of wine from earlier. It was now empty, nearly licked clean and Dracula smiled even bigger, musing over the many ways he could take advantage of the situation.

“Count,” gasped you suddenly, catching him off guard while he thought of the various ways he could take you. Having you against your vanity was one particular he would not mind in the slightest.

“Oh apologies, Miss,” excused he and made the effort to step forward, into the dim lighting. “I was just retreating to my room when I heard a wonderful tune. I hope I am not intruding.”

“No, no–not at all,” slurred you, standing up to make yourself presentable. What he did not know was that you had spent your late drunk hours, making a play of him entering your room with any excuse. You would not have believed it had anyone told you that you would, in fact, receive a personal visit. “I was merely fooling about for a bit, I was going to get ready for bed. Should you not do the same?”

“Yes—” he sunk his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Yes, I should, only I figured I would postpone the act for a while. I don’t sleep well away from my home.”

You smiled and put the sand-colored brush down before you waded a tad closer to him.

“They say home is where the heart is,” said you lovingly, offering him a kind smile and he thought if you too would smile in bliss when he sunk his teeth into you.

He hummed and put his head on tilt. “Do they now?”

Nodding, a small pause ensued.

“I had this whole dream life envisioned when I was little,” spoke you suddenly.

Little, he sucked in his cheek to avoid chuckling. You are little, he thought to himself.

“Tell me about it.”

“First I would get the hell out of here,” said you decisively and his eyebrows bounced at your profanity. The sign of the cross on your neck derided you from speaking in such a manner surely, that much he was certain of escorted your doctrine. He also could understand from your dialogue earlier on that your father was not necessarily a big fan of you leaving the nest. “But I could never do that. I’m destined for nothing greater than this.”

“You do that quite a lot, don’t you? Doubt yourself.”

You shrugged lightly, absorbed in thought.

Your brood was tangible to Dracula and his legs slowly carried himself a bit closer. As if he could only near you but never lay a hand on you, and that repentance showed in his dark eyes, for the sign in the center of your collarbone shunned him.

Dracula made a show of circling around you like a vulture, much like one would when descending on its dead prey. The thought, that you were his prey, struck you and you shuddered.

You took a deep breath like you were preparing yourself to hold your breath, and to your dismay, you dug your grave deeper as you fell deeper for the man. Even his cologne was to die for, its main accords aromatic, fresh, citrus and something you could not quite put your finger on, but whatever the scent, you suddenly grew hot.

“Take off your necklace.”

Bewildered as to why you stilled. Unsure but keenly interested as to what he had in mind, you did as per request and walked to your bed. You hung it from the knob of your closet and turned back to face him.

You had this wild and utterly insane fantasy of where this would go, but that was fantasy and frankly, fantasy cannot be a reality, certainly not yours. Still, with the thought of him kissing you again, this time on your lips, you did not dare look him in the eye.

The Count’s prying gaze could be felt from his several feet away and you grew anxious, trepidation clear in your feet. When your eyes flickered about, you were surprised to see him suddenly turn his back on you.

Had he grown tired of you already?

“Have you heard what they are saying about the heavens?”

Furrowing your brows, you slowly made your way to the bed, taking a seat and keeping one hand on the footboard.

“What are they saying?” asked you, inquisitive.

He stood by the window, watching the night sky as if he could arbitrate all its mysteries right then and there.

“That we are in a system of thousands and thousands of stars—planets. Gas and dust all make up for the galaxy. There could be planets out there, just like ours.”

Now you wondered if he had drunk a bottle all to himself in secrecy.

You grinned softly, feeling the weariness of the day’s adventures take over you. He gave you a funny look and you shook your head, still smiling and looking at the ground like a fool in love. In a way you were, still, it was odd to think you only had known this man for a single day. It suddenly was very hard to think of a time where he was not there. Gosh! You are a fool falling!

The Count pulled the drapes, shunning out the moonlight as the last source of lighting bar the few candles that did put a soft amber-gold light to your room. You gulped and looked down. It suddenly felt a lot smaller, your room.

“That’s absurd,” annunciated you.

His tongue clicked, and you could hear his smirk.

“No, you’re being bigoted, Y/N.”

“I’m being realistic,” corrected you, finding your small voice.

Next, you knew he stood right before you, his shoes toe-to-toe with your bare feet. The lump in your throat was back.

Surely regrettably you forced yourself to finally lookup. And you guessed it. He gazed right back at you.

He brushed your hair aside, exposing your neck to his touch.

“Heavens, you look seraphic.”

You snorted, suddenly feeling bold. As if you had not heard that before. Sometimes it was difficult telling when his bravado came to a halt, and when it was his actual self began.

“Don’t you mean “delectable”?”

He grinned, and you marveled for a moment at his burst of awe.

Earlier on, you had examined hisself and made certain he brandished no wedding band, lest making yourself uncomfortable when you, later on, would imagine him hovering over you. It was odd to think a man of his nobility was without matrimony, but he had admitted to “waiting for the right one” over dinner. Until he stepped into your room, you had thought you would fantasize about him in your dreams but that seemed unlikely as you could not even look him in the eye without blushing.

“Would you kiss me again?”

Pause.

Then he laughed, wandering a few steps back, only to circle himself, then return to meet your front.

“Would you like me to kiss you, dear?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, suddenly feeling very little before this grand man. While he indeed could appear intimidating, he had this warm aura about him which made you want nothing but to throw yourself at him.

“Is that it? On your hand again?”

You stood up, your chest heaving heavily.

“On my lips.”

The Count smiled bigger, his pearly white teeth on perfect display, catching the glimpse of the light and you suddenly became bothered by the tension. He could not put his hands on you quick enough.

“Please,” pleaded you and he tsked entertained, his hand snaking down your side.

“When you ask like that who would I be to deny the missus?”

He watched with hardly hidden delight as your blood pumped hard in your head. His focus lingered on your lips now. Delicately he pressed his lips down on your, pulling you close as possible with a large hand on the back of your neck.

Then he pulled back. While you attempted your best at maintaining normal breathing, the shock wore off. It was not that it was unexpected, simply that it, in fact, had been a wish you had not imagined he would grant you. His gaze trailed along your neck, the curve of your figure in the corset, how your breasts were pressed tight.

You were close enough to feel the warmth roll off his body, his hair so elegantly pushed back like a dark crown, now a single stray string falling unto his forehead and the air was knocked right out of you again.

Your lip wobbled, unsure of what to say as you breathed heavily, a groan escaping your lips as his idle finger dexterously trailed along with the cut of your throat.

You fell back to sit on the bed again, coy eyes lingering at his. He leaned over you and you eagerly pulled his lips back down on your own, feeling the swell of the covers you were supposed to be sleeping under around you.

The Count sucked on your bottom lip, his teeth lightly chafing your lip and you moaned into his mouth, carefully greeting him with your tongue. He could not help but grow harder, needier of your exquisitely luscious moans.

Encouraging you to lie on your back, he pulled your leg up about him and even through the many layers of your exorbitant dress you could feel his hard against you. It was a feeling you had only ever imagined, one you would never have thought you would feel and with a stranger, not to mention, a count.

You shivered and cried into his mouth, gasping at the feel and he could already smell you. Goodness, it was difficult to control himself in your presence. Not that he was doing much to hold back, but it took everything in him not to taste you right on the spot.

“You’re drunk,” whispered he suddenly.

You looked puzzled up to him, wondering why he had stopped.

He then began to scramble to get off of you and you sat right back up, breathing loudly.

“What? No, sir. If you think of my judgment, I’m more than capable of making my own decisions.”

“Oh, I know you are,” responded he. He simply could not handle it any longer. He feared he might lose control, drain you just then and he would hate to ruin something, someone as precious as yourself. “But I ought to return to my own sleeping chambers now. Your parents are just down the hall, dear.”

He was already making his exit.

“I can be quiet!”

Your voice was desperate for more, and he turned, the slyest of all smiles writing itself across his face.

In two long strides, Dracula stood before you in a split second and you gulped down, for his expression was blank. But as he sighed and took your face in his hands, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

He forced you to look him in the eyes.

“Sleep well, my love.”

And so he left, leaving you with nothing but a lesson on high hopes and wet undergarments.

[libsterslobsters]

When the Levee Breaks...

Summary: It's been three months since The Snap. The reader has a lot to cope with: newly-aquired super soldier capabilities, being a stranger in a strange place, and most of all, the loss of Bucky. But lucky for her, Steve Rogers isn't one to let his friends go through hard times alone.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader (mentioned), Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced! Reader (platonic)

Reader has the ability to see bits of the future, understand all languages, and process information quickly as well as being a super soldier

Warnings: angst, self-destruct behavior, mentions of suicidal tendencies, mentions of mental illness, mentions of eating disorder, tiny bit of fluff.

___________________________________________

“Some times I feel I’ve got to run away, I’ve got to run away…” Her footfalls are too fast to keep in step with the song’s beat, but it still gives her some comfort to listen. Some, because really, when she’s punishing her body for the mere sake of feeling it scream at her, there’s not much comfort to be found.

“Once I ran to you, now I’ll run from you, this tainted love you’ve given-” She’s so busy concentrating on pushing herself, making herself hurt, that she doesn’t realize there’s anyone in front of her until she runs smack dab into them. “Oof!”

She’s knocked flat on her ass, but it doesn’t keep her down (no, of course not, she’s a damn super soldier now). She hops up immediately, intent on apologizing, making sure the other person is okay, and then getting back to her run, when the person she’s run into grasps her arm.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am are you-” Whoever she ran into stops short (she’s trying not to look him in the face, faces are painful to see now that she knows she’ll never see Barnes’ again), and the hand on her elbow falls away, forcing her to look up. Oh no.

“Steve.” Great. Out of all the people she had to run into, it had to be Steve Rogers. She knows most women would be absolutely thrilled to have knocked Captain America off his feet (he’s now brushing off the back of his pants, which she should probably do as well, but can’t bring herself to care), but not her. She likes Steve, really she does. They haven’t spent a lot of time together, but he is -was, he’s gone now, was- Bucky’s best friend, and they got along fine. He’s a nice guy. That’s the real problem, because-

“How’re you doing? I haven’t seen you in forever.” -he’ll ask her that. You know, being nice. Which means she’s going to have to lie.

“I’m fine. Good to see you again.” Now if he’d just get out of her way so she can get back to what she was doing.

“I didn’t know you were a runner.” Damn. He wants to have a conversation. Doesn’t he know that earbuds in means, “Don’t talk to me?” Probably not, because he’d never be that rude. Captain frickin’ America.

“I’m not.” Why did she have to say that? Now he’s looking at her in surprise, eyebrows raised, mouth open in shock.

“Then why-”

“Just thought I’d try it out. See if the super serum really is all that.” She can’t very well tell him that she’s out here hoping that the place where one of Thanos’ goons speared her through the lung (and the kidney… and the intestines… and part of her brain) wasn’t repaired as well as the doctors’ claimed and it’ll open up if she just runs fast enough, allowing her to slowly bleed out. He seems like the type to see that as a cry for help.

He chuckles. “Well, considering you were going around 65 miles per hour, I think you have your answer.” Sixty-five? That can’t be right.

“How do you know that?” He shrugs.

“ ‘Cause that’s how fast I was going, and you ran into me.” Right. Of course she’s now as fast as America’s golden boy. Because her life wasn’t bizarre enough already.

“Sorry.”

“No harm done.” She’s all prepared offer him a courtesy nod and take off again, when- “Are you hungry? Let me buy you breakfast.”

Her first thought is, “He’s flirting with me.” and her anger flares, but then she remembers who this is, and calms down. He’s being nice. Again.

“No thanks. I already ate.” She didn’t, hasn’t in two days in fact, but the damn super serum is keeping her from dropping.

“Then how about coffee?” He can’t take a hint. “Just a head’s up, the serum also keeps you from getting a buzz from the caffeine, but it still tastes the same.”

“I drink tea.” Why does she keep talking to him? The last thing she wants is to be around anyone that reminds her of whom she’s lost.

Steve smirks. “Then let me buy you a cup of tea.” Again, anger wells up in her, anger and pain, but she pushes it down. He doesn’t know about the last person who bought her a cup of tea, or what it lead to. This is just being friendly to the widow (no, they never made it that far, ex girlfriend) of his old pal.

“Please.” The megawatt smile falters for a moment. “We’ve all lost so many people that we can’t afford to let even potential friends slip away that easily.”

She doesn’t want to be his friend. Doesn’t want to be anyone’s friend. She just wants to be left alone for however long she has left until her enhanced body falters and finally gives out. But, it’s against everything she believes, whatever values she has left now that a huge part of her has disappeared like dust left behind after the snap, to return kindness with a cold shoulder. And if he’s so desperate for company...

“Okay.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

He’s never been to this coffee shop before, but he’s trying to hide that fact by studying the menu written in chalk with great concentration. In fact, he doesn’t particularly want to be here now. It’s too empty, too quiet. There’s too many people crying into their beverages of choice. But he had to come up with a valid excuse to keep her from disappearing again like she had three months ago after he told her, “I’m sorry. He’s gone. We lost him.”, and he was running low on ideas.

She looks terrible. No, correction; she looks average. He’s never seen the effects of the serum on a woman before (apart from the brief encounter with Hydra’s other super soldiers), but he’s almost certain she should look… stronger, somehow. More robust. If he’s being honest, she doesn’t even look like her old self, pre-serum.

She’s cut her hair, chopped it off unevenly, and it makes her look more severe. Or maybe that’s the fact that her cheekbones are more prominent, and although it shouldn’t be possible, she has dark circles under her eyes. She’s thinner too, although it’s unavoidable that her muscle tone has improved (at least from what he can tell; she’s in workout clothes, not the trendy kind, but a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, and besides, he’s keeping his eyes trained respectfully on her face). In short, she looks miserable.

Eventually, they both do order, and he doesn’t so much as get the chance to ask where she’d like to sit before she makes a bee-line for the table in the corner, half-hidden by a large fern, away from everyone else. That cuts down on the chances of them being recognized, or really, mostly him.

He gives her a few minutes to stir and sip her tea before starting the enquiry.

“So how are you doing really?” She nearly drops her cup at that.

“I told you, I’m fine.” So he’s going to have to dig.

“No you’re not.” She opens her mouth, more than likely to contradict him, but he continues. “You can’t be. I’m not, and I don’t know anyone else who is.”

Her eyes narrow, and he’s reminded of something Bucky told him in passing conversation back in Wakanda. “I always know when she’s mad, and so does everyone else. Trust me, you can tell.” He was right. Her face is rapidly flushing, and her posture has completely changed.

“Fine.” She snaps, and begins tearing the label off of her drink. “I’m doing shitty. I don’t have anywhere to live, so I’ve been sleeping at a different emergency shelter every night. I don’t have a job, which means I don’t have a source of income. I don’t know anyone because I’ve never been to fucking New York before. Oh, and my fiance turned to dust in front of me. That what you wanted to hear?”

There’s so much to unpack, but first thing’s first.

“You’re staying at the shelters?” She nods.

“Most nights. Sometimes I sleep on the subway. It’s not like the seats are full anymore.”

That’s not going to cut it. He may not know her well, but he’s not going to let her be homeless. He’s about to offer up the couch in his apartment (or, more than likely once she’s actually agreed to go, the bed while he takes the couch), but out of nowhere, she bursts into tears.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” She swipes at her eyes roughly. “That was rude of me. You didn’t deserve that.” No, he didn’t, but he gets it. This is a weird time for everyone.

“It’s okay.” He attempts what he hopes is a friendly smile. “I think we’ve all earned the right to not be as polite as normal. Plus, you really are doing shitty-”

She chuckles. “Wow. Captain America swears. Who would’ve thought.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, her sipping her tea, and him his… whatever this is. All the while, he’s trying to figure out the best way to shoe-horn, “Let me help you.” into casual conversation. Finally, he decides to just do it. After all, what’s the worst that can happen? She runs off again, goes back to the subway. On second thought, that’s pretty bad. Tact. This is a time for tact.

“What was it you do again? For a job, that is?”

“Did.” What? “Sorry again. Force of habit.” She meets his eyes. “I taught English as a second language, mostly to adults. That makes me a little anal about grammar.”

A teacher… that’s unfortunate, because all schools (and colleges for that matter) nation wide have suspended classes “until further notice” in the wake of Thanos. It’s possible she could submit an application now and be hired whenever they regroup, but she needs a source of income immediately.

“I also worked as a translator briefly. That is, before people started asking questions about how I was able to understand every foreign language they put in front of me without so much as a briefing.” Now that, he might be able to work with. Especially since their team has gotten a lot smaller.

“If, and it’s not a guarantee, but if I could offer you a job working with me, Nat, and what’s left of the team-” She grows a shade paler but doesn’t say anything. “-as a translator only, would you consider it?” To be honest, they could use her as more, especially with the training she received in Wakanda and her new status as a super soldier, but if her reaction is anything to judge from, the wound is too fresh for her agree to that.

“Yes.” The answer is immediate. His shock must show on his face, because she shrugs and tells him, “I’m out of funds and I don’t have a place to live. If someone offered me a job cleaning toilets, I’d take it.” That’s what gives him the courage to mention the next part.

“Is that your mindset about places to sleep too, because I have a couch that pulls out into a bed.” Her eyebrows shoot up, mouth forming a perfect “oh”. “That is, until you find a place. Or I can contact Natasha and see about renting you a hotel room-”

She shakes her head. “No, you’ve been generous enough. All of you, really. I can manage-”

“I know you can.” He feels bad about interrupting her, but this is going nowhere fast. “I know you can take care of yourself and manage on your own. But you don’t have to.” He almost adds that Bucky wouldn’t want that for her, but decides against it just in time. “If we don’t band together to help each other right now, then Thanos may as well have dusted all of us.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, studying her lap, and he thinks that he’s pushed too far. Then, with a sigh, she nods.

“Fine, but just a warning. I talk in my sleep.”

“Duly noted.”

__________________________________________________________________________________

It’s not been as bad as she thought, living with Steve. He’s an orderly guy, so she’s not picking up after him. He knocks before he enters a room, even if the door is open and gives her space. He doesn’t complain if she uses too much hot water and remembers to put the toilet seat down. If anything isn’t to her liking, all she has to do is mention it, and he immediately augments his behavior. In fact, the only disagreements they’ve had in the month and a half since she moved in have been over who gets the bedroom (he insisted on being a gentlemen and taking the couch, which she absolutely refused; she finally won by telling him that if he forced her to take the bed, she’d pack up her suitcase and leave) and who does the cooking (she said she’d do it and the laundry since she’s basically living in his apartment expense free, he said he’d do it on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays while she did it Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday, then Saturday would be takeout; he won that one because he actually likes to cook).

They don’t really hang out together, apart from occassionally watching the news. Most of their conversations are banal. How was your day, I did laundry, gas prices have gone up, do you want the shower first. Roommate talk, but just from that she can tell why Bucky liked the guy so much, why they were such good friends (especially once she discovers that sweet, polite Captain America can be a sassy son of a bitch when he wants to be). It’s all very… nice.

And still, since that first day, she hasn’t sat down with him and had a conversation. Not about anything significant that is. He’s tried several times, but she’s shut it down as quickly and politely as possible. She appreciates the effort to be her friend, take care of the brokenhearted girl that remains, but she can’t let it go that far. She knows if she lets him scratch the surface, the floodgates will open, and she’s not prepared for that. She doesn’t want to talk about Bucky. She won’t.

No, they’ll just keep being nice to each other, being agreeable until she’s got a couple of paychecks under her belt and can make a deposit on an apartment and pay him back for his kindness (which is another uphill battle, but she’ll think about that later).

That’s the plan anyway, until after a run, she realizes that it’s gone.

“No.”

She distinctly remembers leaving it on the sofa table in an ashtray that’s there for decoration only. It’s where she leaves everything; her wallet, her key to the apartment, the damn knife she purchased as a scared eighteen year old on the run from her government. But it’s not there.

Maybe it was so loose thanks to her self-inflicted emaciation that it came off while she was wearing it as she slept and it’s between the cracks in the sofa cushions? She rips them away as if they’re a bandage, finding nothing (not even lint, because she had a cleaning fit on yet another sleepless night and vacuumed). Under the couch then. Behind it. Nothing and nothing.

She’s ransacked the entire living room and is intent on moving onto the bathroom when the front door opens.

“What the-” She doesn’t bother looking up, but it doesn’t matter. He’s next to her in three strides. “Are you okay?”

She means to reassure him that she’s fine, just misplaced something, but instead what comes out is,

“It’s gone, Steve.”

“What’s gone?” Even as he speaks, she’s emptying out the trash can to make sure she didn’t acidentally throw it out (her mind’s been all over the place these days).

“My ring.” It’s the last piece she has of him. There’s a few pictures saved to her phone (which she can no longer so much as charge up), and his file which has since been given over to her care, but that’s the last physical thing she has that he left her, the last thing his fingers touched that she can touch too. And it’s gone.

“I can’t believe I lost it. I was being so careful-” She’s babbling, not even making sense to herself at this point. “-and now it’s gone. It’s gone, just like him. Fuck!” She shouldn’t be crying like a child, but there’s nothing she can do about it.

“Language.” Her head snaps up to stare at an embarassed Steve. “Sorry. Force of habit. What I mean is, why don’t I help you look for it?” She nods, and forces herself to take a deep breath.

“It was silver-” vibranium actually, but the color is more easily identifiable. “-with engraving-”

“I know what it looks like.” He interrupts sheepishly. “Trust me. He asked me, “Do you think she’ll like it” about a dozen times in ten minutes before he gave it to you.”

She never knew that, and it sends fresh tears to her eyes.

“And it’s vibranium, in case you didn’t know. Said it needed to be-”

“Strong and adaptable.” She recites back. Same as you. That’s what he told her when he slipped it on her finger, explaining why there wasn’t a stone. She doesn’t feel like either of those things. Not since he went, and she stayed. “I know.”

“Alright.” He nods. “When did you last have it?”

“Before my run. I took it off so I wouldn’t lose it.” She laughs bitterly. So much for that.

“Then you check your bag and the bathroom. I’ll give this room another look and search the kitchen? Sound like a plan?” She’s out of the room without a reply.

The bathroom turns up nothing, and despite upending her backpack, purse, and the pockets of each various piece of clothing, there’s no sign of it. So that’s it then. She’s lost him, down to the final shred.

Starvation, over-exertion, lack of sleep: none of it has taken her down so far, but knowing that it’s over, she can’t even hold onto that little piece of him, is what finally makes her legs give out from underneath her as she collapses in a heap.

She hears his footsteps long before he enters the cramped bathroom, but she doesn’t lift her head. At this point, she’s not even sure if she can. If heartache really can kill a person, she won’t be here for much longer. And, if Steve wants to survey the damage, she won’t stop him. She’s too weak to hide it anymore.

“You haven’t eaten anything today.” It’s not a question, so she doesn’t bother to answer. “Or yesterday. I’m not sure about the day before because it looked like you tried the meatloaf, but you could’ve squirreled it away in your napkin while I wasn’t looking.” He’s right. That’s exactly what she did.

Her eyes are closed, but her enhanced senses let her know the moment he sits down next to her, a respectful distance away, of course.

“You could be suicidal. You could have an eating disorder or another mental illness. Or you could just not care anymore. My bet’s on the last one.” What’s there to care about? She has no family. No friends. She has a job now, sure, but they could easily find another translator.

“You don’t care, and you’re grieving. That’s a dangerous combination. Was when I came out of the ice with everyone I loved either dead or dying, and it still is.”

His hand settles on her shoulder. Just lightly. Not so much a grasp or a pat as an assurance, an “I’m here.”

“You need to talk to someone about it. Maybe not me, but someone. You don’t want to go on, but like it or not, you’re here. You’ve gotta find a way to keep going. Maybe find something like a purpose eventually.” He sighs. “I’m gonna get you a glass of water and I’ll be right back.”

“I miss him.” She’s not sure when she decided to say it, or even if she did. “So much.” Steve doesn’t say anything, so she takes it as a sign to continue. “I know I don’t have any right to say that. You knew him for so much longer than I did, and you’re not falling to pieces. But I feel like half of me has been ripped away, and I don’t know how to live without it.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m not even sure I want to.”

He sighs, and she gathers what little strength she has left to apologize. She shouldn’t talk to him about this. That’s like comparing your stubbed toe to the man who’s had his foot amputated. But before she can do any of that, she hears a muffled thump. She should care what it is, but she doesn’t. That is, until she realizes that Steve is now lying on the floor with her.

“Now that we’re both about as low as we can go-” The corners of her lips turn up despite herself. “-I miss him too. A lot. But not the same way you do.” She would assume not. After all, that would be weird. “There’s a girl I miss like that. Her name was Peggy. But, that’s a conversation for another day.

“I’m not gonna tell you it gets better, because it doesn’t. I’m not gonna tell you you’ll move on, because I haven’t. What I’ll tell you is you learn to live with it. Eventually it hurts less to talk about them, or to even think about them. It still hurts, don’t get me wrong, but it’s more good than bad. Sometimes it helps to talk about them with someone else. For me at least, it’s like I’m keeping her alive. But it’s okay if that’s not something you can do right now. When you’re ready, I’ll be more than happy to take a trip down memory lane if you want.” She nods, still not lifting her head. “Okay. I’ll keep my calendar open. Now, I really need to get you that glass of water.”

He’s nearly out the door when she manages to croak out, “Thank you. For being nice to me. It’s good of you to look after your best friend’s…” What is she now? “...old flame.”

“You’re welcome, and just so you know, I’m not doing this because you’re Bucky’s girl. I’m doing this you because I think we could both use a friend right now. A real one.”

It’s only after he leaves the room that she feels something digging into her hip and discovers the ring in her pocket.

___________________________________________________________________________________

It’s convenient, her moving just down the hall from him. Especially since they had that little talk, and now Steve actually considers her a close friend. She’s looking better now, back to eating and drinking. Sleep is still dubious, and over the past few months, he’s woken multiple times to her screams coming from the living room. At first he ran in, thinking there was an intruder. Now he knows to crouch next to the pullout mattress and shake her shoulder until she wakes up. Occassionally there’s tears. Often there’s a midnight conversation about whichever funny memory they can think of to lighten the mood. As she’s come back to herself, bit by bit, he’s starting to see why Bucky was tied up in knots over her. It’s obvious they were good together in a way that can’t be replicated.

The one thing that hasn’t gone by the wayside is her running, and that’s one he’s not going to touch, because he does the same thing. In the morning, they both take off just as the sun is rising (in opposite directions to avoid anymore collisions), and once whoever’s pushing the envelope on how much distance they can really cover is done, they meet up, have breakfast, and start work.

Natasha keeps giving him not-so-subtle hints that he should ask her out, but that’s never gonna happen. Even if you took away the greiving and both of them still being in love with other people, she’s just not his type. He can’t see her as anything but a good friend at the least and an annoying little sister at the most, and he knows the feeling is mutual.

That’s part of the reason why he doesn’t bother knocking before using his key to step into her apartment, a bag full of things she’s left behind in his hands. She’s not in the living room or the kitchen, and even though they lived together for a solid four months, he’s not about to cross his boundaries and go any further into her place without permission. So he takes a seat on the couch (his old one which is now hers because she claims she’s gotten used to the lumps and can’t sleep without them) and waits for her to appear.

A good fifteen minutes pass before he hears footsteps approaching the apartment and the sound of singing. He recognizes the voice immediately because of the times she’d sing in the shower, but the song is unfamiliar. More than likely, she’s still got her earbuds in and hasn’t realized she’s giving a free concert to anyone in earshot.

“Got the sunshine on my shoulders, got a fist full of four-leaf clovers. Yeah, my cup runneth over. My sky is blue.” Cheerful, and a catchy melody. Maybe he’ll ask her the name so he can look it up. You can find any song you like nowadays on one little app.

“Been kissed by lady luck, the stars are all lined up. Every arrow that I aim is true-” The key turns in the lock and he starts to stand. “-but I miss you.” Some pains never completely fade, but at least they’re talking about it. That has to be worth something.