#how can you block a person mid conversation

[klinefelterrible]

For my mutuals who are like a distant family to me

hello beloveds ☺️

[alphalesbian]

.

[v6quewrlds]

Can you write a fic about Mat getting into a fight on the ice because an opponent said something about you

❝ guilty conscience, m. barzal. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: experimenting with how much i like posting in 3rd person. literally wrote this in my 2 hr philosophy lecture this morning because fuck thomas hobbes. somehow i write all day for my major and minors, yet somehow i still find the will to write these fics lmao.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: a little angsty. established couple argument. language warnings i think. mat is very mat in this one. short and sweet <3

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mathew barzal x fem!oc (malia).

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 3.6k.

Malia took a sip of her overpriced soda, the fizz tickling her nose as she surveyed the bustling arena. The smell of popcorn and the distant sound of skates slicing ice filled the air. It was her second time watching Mat play a home game for the New York Islanders, and she still felt like the new kid on the block. She wore her navy blue team jersey with "Barzal" emblazoned across the back, a gift from Mat for their two-month anniversary. She'd studied the rules and lingo, eager to fit in, but the pace of the sport still left her breathless.

Grace, the wife of the Islanders' captain Anders, leaned over and tapped her arm. "What do you think, so far?" she said with a knowing smile.

Malia smiled unconvincingly, trying to hide her nerves. Grace had been kind to her, but the other wives and girlfriends were a tougher nut to crack. They all had their own history, their own jokes, and Malia felt like she was trying to catch up on a TV show she'd started mid-season.

"Mat's really got his head in the game tonight," Malia said, hoping to steer the conversation away from her novice status. She watched as he zipped across the ice, stick handling the puck with ease, a blur of motion and concentration.

"Oh, absolutely," Grace agreed, her eyes glued to the action. "When he gets like that, it's like he's in a whole different world. They're all like that, really. Once they find their groove, it's like nothing else exists."

The game grew intense as the period neared its end. Malia felt the excitement of the crowd building like pressure in a pot. Mat's broke away down the ice, and Malia found herself leaning forward in her seat, heart racing. He was so fast, so graceful. It was easy to get lost in the flow of the game when he played. That's when it happened. The opponent, a burly player from the other team, had a smirk on his face as he checked Mat hard into the boards without warning. Malia's breath caught in her throat as Mat pushed himself back up, fists clenched. The smirk grew wider, and the other player opened his mouth to say something. Malia couldn't hear the words, but she saw Mat's face contort in anger.

Her eyes widened as she watched the scene unfold, a mix of horror and disbelief. The opponent had said something to set Mat off, something that made the usually disciplined player see red. Before she could even process what was happening, Mat had thrown his gloves to the ice and was throwing punches. The roar of the crowd grew to a crescendo as the two players grappled, their movements a violent shock. Malia's mind raced as she tried to understand why this was happening, why Mat was fighting.

It was all so raw, so primal.

Grace's grip on her arm tightened, her voice a low murmur. "It's okay, this is just part of the game."

But Malia felt anything but okay. Her heart pounded in her chest, a drumbeat of fear and confusion. The other wives and girlfriends around her remained stoic, but she could see the concern flickering in their eyes. They knew the drill, had probably seen this a hundred times before, but for Malia, it was a jolting reality check.

Mat's fury was a living, breathing entity on the ice, a stark contrast to the loud, carefree persona he was around her. It was a complete shock to the system for Malia. The sight was both terrifying and mesmerizing. She couldn't look away as players from both teams swarmed around them, trying to separate the combatants.

The referees eventually stepped in, breaking up the fight with a flurry of whistles and gestures. Mat was escorted to the penalty box, his teammates patting him on the back in a strange display of support. Malia's eyes remained glued to the ice, her mind racing with questions and fears she didn't know how to voice.

"You okay?" Alexa, Noah Dobson's girlfriend, leaned over, her eyes filled with empathy.

Malia nodded, her eyes not leaving Mat's figure in the penalty box. "I just... I didn't expect that."

Alexa chuckled softly. "Welcome to the league, hon. It's all part of the show."

Malia forced a smile, not sure if she was ready for this kind of drama. As the game resumed, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just seen a side of Mat she didn't know or particularly like either. The atmosphere in the arena had shifted, the electric tension of the fight still palpable. Despite the Islanders' lead, the air was thick with unspoken concern.

When the buzzer finally rang, signaling the end of the period, Malia's nerves had her jumping out of her skin. The players skated off the ice, and she took the opportunity to excuse herself to the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe. The cold air greeted her as a departure from the sticky anxiousness of the rink. As she stared into the mirror, she wondered if she was cut out for this life, if the love she had for Mat was enough to handle the darker, more intense moments of his career.

Malia returned to her seat, the game still in progress, and found that Mat had been benched. She watched as he paced back and forth behind the glass, his eyes scanning the stands until they drifted to the Jumbotron after being nudged by a few guys Malia had not met yet.

Malia's focus on her boyfriend was broken as a few of the other girls tapped her on the shoulder, her wide eyes blasted onto the Jumbotron. She forced a smile, her eyes darting away from her face in embarrassment as she realized that the arena cameramen had noticed her #13 jersey. He offered a weak smile as she turned back to him, his eyes still watching her on the screen. She could see the apology in his eyes. He knew she was still trying her best to wrap her head around the culture and rules of the game she was learning to love for his sake.

The final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the match. The Islanders had won despite the scuffle, and Malia felt an odd mix of relief and dread as the players started to make their way off the ice. The group of them gathered their things, and she watched as Mat skated over to the bench to exchange a few words with the coach before disappearing into the locker room.

Grace gave her a reassuring pat on the back. "You'll get used to it," she said with a knowing smile. "It's part of the game. They get caught up in the moment."

Malia nodded, not entirely convinced. She knew that fights were a part of hockey, but seeing Mat so consumed by rage was unsettling, so unlike the boyfriend she knew. She sent Mat a short text, telling him she'd wait in the car for him instead of waiting with the others by the locker rooms. The coolness of the night air outside the arena brought air back into her lungs as she stepped into the parking lot. She leaned against the cold metal of the car, her heart still racing from the adrenaline rush of the fight.

When Mat emerged from the arena, his eyes searched the lot until they found her, his expression a completely devoid of any anger or self-awareness. He looked tired but victorious as he approached, his dark, fluffy hair beginning to dry from his shower. He opened the passenger door with his trademark crooked grin. "You didn't wait in the usual spot."

Malia looked at him, confusion evident on her face though she quickly pushed it aside. Maybe she was making too big a deal of it. "I just needed some air," she said, sliding into the car. "How are you feeling?"

Mat shrugged as he closed the door. "Fine. Why?" His tone was light, almost casual as he slid into the driver's seat. It was as if the fight had never happened. He threw his bag into the back and started the car, the engine rumbling to life.

"You know, the fight," Malia said, trying to keep her voice even. "You guys were really going at it."

Mat's eyes darted to her, then back to the road. "Oh, that. Just part of the game, babe. No big deal."

Malia's jaw tightened. "It looked pretty big to me." She couldn't ignore the fear that had gripped her during the fight.

Mat sighed, his eyes still on the road. "Look, it's just the heat of the moment. Sometimes things get intense out there."

Malia stared out the window, the city lights blurring together as they drove. "I guess," she muttered with a quiet sigh. She knew Mat was trying to downplay it, but she couldn't shake the image of his furious expression.

Mat's hand reached over and gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. "You okay?"

Malia took a deep breath and shifted in her seat, his calloused hand falling away from her skin. "Yeah, just tired I guess. Long day."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. The fight had left her emotionally drained. She'd seen Mat get competitive, sure, but never violent. It was a side of him she didn't know how to reconcile with the man who made her laugh and supported her studies so wholeheartedly.

The silence in the car grew thick as they approached Mat's apartment. Malia felt a knot in her stomach tighten. This wasn't the same playful tension they usually shared; it was heavier, denser, and less fun. When they pulled into the parking lot, Mat turned to her, his jaw set with tension as if he was bracing for something.

"What's up with you?" he asked, his voice a mix of annoyance and genuine concern.

Malia's eyes rolled before she turned to face him. "What's up with me? I don't know Mat, maybe I just didn't like seeing you like that." Her voice was a mix of anger and fear.

Mat looked at her with a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Like what? It's just hockey. Shit like that happens all the time."

Malia's voice grew stronger as she turned to face him fully. "But you've never fought before, at least not since we've been together. What even was that?"

Mat's expression grew defensive. "It happened hours ago, Malia. Why are we even talking about this right now?"

Malia's eyes filled with frustration. "Because it's not just 'shit that happens' to me. That was you out there fighting for... what? Some kind of ego trip?" She knew she was being unfair, but she couldn't help the words from spilling out.

Mat's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "It's not like that, and you know it," he snapped. "It was a cheap hit..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching. Malia remained silent, holding back her growing anger as Mat pulled into a parking spot in the garage. They exited the car, stubbornness palpable in the air between them as they rode the elevator to his floor.

Once inside the apartment, Mat tossed his keys onto the counter and turned to her, his eyes flashing with irritation. "You're overreacting. It's part of the game."

Malia threw her purse onto the couch, her voice rising with frustration. "Maybe for you it is, but I've never seen you like that!" She felt a tremor of fear and anger at his dismissiveness. "What if you had gotten seriously hurt?"

Mat stared at her, his eyes darting over her features as he took a step closer. "That's not going to happen. I know what I'm doing out there."

Malia stepped back, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. "It's not just about you knowing what you're doing. It's about the fact that I don't want to see you like that. It scared me, Mat."

Mat groaned, running a hand through his damp hair. "But I didn't get hurt," he said, his voice still holding on to its edge. "Can we just drop it?"

Malia's eyes narrowed, looking for a hint of understanding. "No, we can't just drop it," she said firmly. "You're not the only one affected by what happens on the ice. You're my boyfriend, and when you're out there fighting like that, it's not just about the game." She turned on her heels, huffing as she stalked off to Mat's bedroom.

Mat followed her, his frustration evident in the heavy thud of his feet on the floor. "What do you want me to say, Malia?" he called after her. "It's not like I was planning on fighting."

Malia spun around in the doorway to the bedroom, her eyes flashing. "I want you to say that you get it. That you understand that I don't want to see you hurt or risking your health over some stupid shit, Mathew." He took a deep breath, his eyes closing as his temper flared again.

Malia turned her back to him, her hands shaking slightly as she unbuttoned her coat. "And for the record," she added, her voice trembling, "The only thing that actually matters to me is that you're okay."

"And I'm completely fine," Mat said, his voice tight as he stepped closer to her. "It's not like it's the first time I've thrown a punch, Malia. I'm not some fragile porcelain doll you have to worry about."

Malia whipped around, her own anger rising to match his. "I don't give a fuck about what you're used to, or what the sport expects from you!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the hallway. "I care about you, and what you do out there affects me! You were a different person out there, and I didn't like it!"

Mat stopped in his tracks, his face a mask of shock. Malia had never raised her voice at him. In fact, the first time they met, he constantly had to ask her to repeat herself with her voice so shy. The sight of her fuming with emotion was enough to make his eyebrows furrow. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his own anger in check.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice low and tight. "I'm out there playing the game I love, trying to win for my team, and for you to sit here and act like it's all about you and what you want..."

"Do you think? Ever?" Malia's voice cracked, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. She didn't mean for it to come out so loud, so harsh, but the fear and frustration had been building up inside her like a pressure cooker. She couldn't stand there any longer, listening to Mat belittle her feelings. She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the bedroom.

Mat followed her, his own anger bubbling to the surface. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice rising to match hers.

"I'm not doing this with you. If you don't want to talk about it, fine, but don't act like I'm some kind of drama queen," Malia retorted, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. She couldn't believe that he was making it sound like her fear was unreasonable. Her hands shook as she bit back tears, her straightened hair falling out of place from the stress of the evening.

Mat's face softened a little, and he took a step closer to her. "Malia, come on. You're really gonna leave because of this?"

But Malia was already halfway to the door, her heart racing with the need to get out of the apartment. "I don't know," she said, her voice tight with emotion. "I just can't be here right now."

Mat sighed, hesitating to speak for a moment before he reached out to grab her arm. His grip was firm but not painful. "Don't go. I'm being a dick, I know, I'm sorry. Let's just talk this out."

Malia paused, her hand on the doorknob. She took a deep breath, the cold metal feeling solid and reassuring under her fingertips. She turned to face him, her eyes still shiny with unshed tears. "Mat, I'm not trying to control you. I just want you to understand that it's hard to watch someone you care about lose it like that."

Mat let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, okay," he said, his voice calmer. "I get it. It's just... he said something about you."

Malia froze. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice low and cold.

Mat sighed heavily, his grip on her arm loosening. "He made a joke, some dumbass, weird joke about you. It pissed me off, and I couldn't just ignore it 'cause he kept goin’." His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of understanding.

Malia's heart skipped a beat. She had never thought that someone would say something so disrespectful about her, especially not to Mat's face. "What did he say?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Mat's eyes grew dark with anger. "It doesn't matter. It was just a stupid comment, but it hit a nerve."

Malia felt a twist in her stomach. She didn't know what was worse: the fact that Mat had gotten into a fight for her or that someone had talked about her in such a way. "Mat, you can't fight every battle for me," she said softly, turning to face him. "I'm not on the ice, those guys will say whatever they think is gonna rile you up. They don’t know me. I’m just some girl to them. It’s not worth it.”

Mat's expression grew serious as he stepped closer to her, his hand dropping from her arm to cradle her face instead. "You're not just some girl, Malia. You're everything to me. And when someone disrespects you like that..." His voice trailed off, the intensity of his emotions clear in his eyes. "I couldn't just let it go. That's the least I can do for you."

Malia's gaze searched his, the anger in her heart slowly giving way to the love she had for him. She knew he didn't mean to downplay her strength, but the thought of him fighting over her hurt more than she cared to admit. She leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding her. "I love you," she whispered. "But I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

Mat's expression softened, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her cheek. "I love you too," he murmured. "And I'll do my best to keep my cool out there if that's what you want."

Malia took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the night's events start to lift. "Don't 'if you want' me Mathew Barzal, do it because it's the right thing to do," she said with a hint of a smile.

Mat chuckled, his own smile spreading across his face. "Okay, okay," he conceded, leaning in to kiss her forehead gently. "But you know how competitive I am."

Malia rolled her eyes but couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her at his touch. "I know," she said, her voice softer. "Just remember that I'm not just some prize to be won or lost out there. I'm your girlfriend, and I chose you."

Mat nodded, his thumb still caressing her cheek. "I know," he murmured. "And I'm sorry that I made it seem like that. It won't happen again." He spoke decisively before bending down to connect their lips.

Malia leaned into the kiss, feeling some of the tension in her shoulders melt away. "I just want you to be safe," she said, her voice muffled against his lips.

Mat pulled back, his eyes searching hers. "I know," he murmured. "And I promise, I'll keep that in mind. I don't want to scare you."

Malia's eyes met his, the fear and anger slowly receding as she saw the sincerity in his gaze. She took another deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

Mat's arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against her chest. They stood there for a moment, the tension in the room slowly dissipating.

"I know this isn't easy for you," he murmured into her hair. "But you gotta trust me out there."

Malia leaned into his embrace, the smell of his post-game musk mixing with the faint scent of his cologne. It was a familiar scent, one that brought comfort amidst the chaos of her emotions. "I will," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

They stood there for a few moments longer before they both pulled away. Mat smiled down at her, the tension in his face slowly receding. "Now that that's over, do I get a reward for the win tonight?" he asked playfully, his eyes lightening.

Malia couldn't help but roll her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Maybe," she said, her voice teasing.

"Only maybe?" Malia heard the playful challenge in Mat's voice as she walked away from him. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look that was part glare, part smile.

"You're lucky you scored that winning goal." She brushed past her boyfriend with a swish of her hips, heading towards the bedroom. The bold 'Barzal' stuck out across her back, a symbol of her commitment to supporting him. Mat caught himself staring as Malia turned to him with a flourish of her hair.

"Are you coming?" Malia called over her shoulder, her voice a mix of tease and challenge.

Mat's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he watched her retreating form, his playfulness momentarily forgotten. He hurried after her, trying to match her pace as they entered the bedroom.

"I'm about to be," he quipped, his voice filled with affection, drawing a “Gross!” and a giggle from Malia.

[eoieopda]

can i request something about getting into an argument with bf jungkook ?

Sorry for the wait, love! I couldn’t decide how I wanted to approach this (silly vs serious, etc.) so now I’m just winging it! I hope this is okay??

cw: alcohol mention, couple fighting, repeated use of the word “fuck” and its derivatives, angst w/ fluffy ending.

also- I have no idea what the word count is but it feels excessive for a drabble?? lol sorry 🫠

You weren’t quick to anger. Truly, you weren’t. In fact, you were patient and forgiving - to a fault. When something didn’t go your way, or when someone said something upsetting, you took a deep breath and let it go. You didn’t hold grudges; didn’t dwell. You didn’t keep score. But this one stuck in your teeth, and it hurt.

He knew how important this was to you. He knew exactly how many times before you’d played it cool, let the disappointment go rather than let it fester. You constantly excused him for how busy he was, and you understood that there were just some things he couldn’t show up for. You didn’t hold it over his head that he couldn’t be as present as either of you wanted him to be.

So, when he cleared his schedule and promised you he’d be at your firm’s happy hour - joining you in celebrating your promotion - you were elated. Your associates could finally meet the man you’d been prattling on about for two years. They’d see the real-life version of the person in all your framed photos. And he’d get to know all the people you had to spend most of your waking hours with. But they didn’t; he didn’t.

Seething in your seat, you ruminated on the fact that this was his idea in the first place. He drove you to your office that morning. He wanted you to let loose after hours, and when the night was over, he wanted drive your tipsy ass home. But now, your tipsy ass was crying on a city bus because he couldn’t be bothered to keep his promise.

Your bitterness swept you up like a wave and carried you - from the bus stop, across two blocks, to your apartment - even after the heel of your left pump snapped on a particularly cracked patch of sidewalk. When you hobbled over the threshold into your foyer, it was bone-deep anger that kept you from bursting into tears; and too-high adrenaline that carried you on aching feet.

You tore up the hallway and hung a right into your bedroom. There, sleeping sideways on the bed with his trouser-clad legs dangling off the edge, was Jungkook. His tie - untied, more accurately - looped around his neck, underneath the chin nestled into his shoulder. He’d gotten ready and then - somehow - he never made it out the door.

For reasons you couldn’t articulate, this fact made it all worse. So close.

“Are you kidding?” You snapped, scaring him awake. His bleary eyes tried to focus on you, but you were bent in half, hopping on one foot as you tried to undo the ankle strap of your busted shoe.

His horrified eyes dropped from your mascara-stained face to that of his watch. Immediately, he muttered, “Fuck. Shit! Baby, I’m so s-“

Having successfully released your ankle from the death trap it was held hostage by, you whipped your heel against the ground. You stood on one stocking-covered foot to address the other pump. You cut him off - mid-sentence, at the knees.

“No, I am not your baby tonight. I am the girl who just made partner - who got stood up in front of the people who made her partner - who then had to wobble home alone!”

He was shocked by your tone, and frankly, so were you. He’d never seen you angry because you didn’t get angry. The two of you had never fought before, either. Trivial arguments, sure - but nothing a calm conversation couldn’t fix. Nothing like this.

He raised his hands, silently begging you not to shoot, “I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry, okay? I am. I fucked up - and I know I fucked up - but I was up all night working so I could take the night off. I guess I was more tired than -“

“Then go back to sleep, Jungkook,” the look in your eyes was nuclear but your voice was eerily soft. You could’ve leveled Gyeonggi in its entirety when you tacked on, “On the couch.”

Without another word, he shot to his feet. Lips pursed and eyes wild, he stalked off out of the bedroom. You shucked off your blazer and threw yourself onto the bed - mattress still warm from the weight of his body. Face first in a pillow, your eyes screwed shut. You swallowed the frustrated scream you wanted so badly to let loose.

After several moments of tense silence, there was an elongated, muffled scraping sound, and then a tremendous clatter in the doorway. Your head snapped to determine the source of the noise.

With gritted teeth, there was Jungkook - pushing the chaise from your living room into your bedroom as if it weighed nothing at all. And he didn’t stop pushing until that stupid little sofa was crammed up against his side of the bed.

That bastard.

If you weren’t so mad at him, you might’ve conceded that this was impressive. Typical. Lovely, even - how insistent he was on sleeping next to you that he found a loophole in the most Jungkook way imaginable.

Ignoring your shocked expression, he slumped down onto the cushions, onto his back, and knotted his arms over his chest. Simultaneously, you rolled over; unintentionally mirroring his posture. Both glowering up at the ceiling, jaws clenched.

He sounded so angry when he said it, you almost missed what he said.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye to find him doing the same. Expressions still set in stone, body language communicating one word - impasse. You said nothing; you didn’t know where to start.

“You deserve to be celebrated, and you sure as fuck don’t deserve any of what you got instead.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“And I swear to god, I will spend the rest of my life showing up for you.”

You swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than the end of this ugly evening. Weapons down, white flags up. His face softened when yours did.

“Baby,” you started slowly, watching a spark of hope ignite in the dark of his eyes.

Just as cautiously, he replied, “Yes?”

“Put the couch back,” you sniffed. After a pregnant pause, you finally finished, “And then come to bed.”

[death---dealer]

How would Noa react to human reader on her period? I’m currently on mine and got this thought!

It's like you and i are the same person bc im on mine too ( The first time in like three years, im SUFFERING, ) Let's get self-indulgent. YOLO.

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. READ THE PROMPT ABOVE AND MAKE THE CHOICE IF YOU ARE OKAY WITH THIS CONTENT, OTHERWISE, PLEASE DO NOT READ. Ty ty.

Due to the environment and stress of living in the society you were placed in, your period was admittedly not regular though you tried your best to keep track of it. It got lost from time to time and you were left unsure when it would rear its ugly head back in. Sometimes, it was remarkably early by a few weeks, sometimes, it was at least a month late.

Your first period while with the Clan? You had nothing prepared. Nothing to ease your bleeding, nothing to ease yourself into some semblance of comfort. You quite frankly go into a small panic. You don’t know who to talk to - there’s no humans here, and Apes don’t bleed and have symptoms like Humans do. 

Oh my god avoiding Noa for the few days out of embarrassment - How do you even begin to explain to him?

Don’t think for a moment that Noa doesn’t know something is going on. The boy has an acute sense of smell. The roll of your pheromones, how they hit him and stuck around like a fog around his head,  how they adjusted ever so slightly a few days before you began ignoring him? Noted. You’re more hungry than usual - going for seconds at the evening meal. Nothing savory though - you stocked up on fruits and berries and just explained to him that the sweetness was more up your alley. He’d mention that maybe you should have some meat to balance but the absolute daggers you gave him caused him to never bring it up again. Noted. The pull to your emotions, like you were swinging from a branch, back and forth not able to teether yourself to one? You began crying one day with him next to you while watching the Baby Apes play with each other. The next moment, you were snapping at him for even looking at you. Noted. The subtle shift in your body? Becoming a bit more reserved , you often kept your hands in front of your chest, blocking him from looking at you fully? Maybe, he even notices when your arms grazed your chest that you flinched - Tender breasts. Noted. Heightened mating the last few days? Oh, absolutely noted. Not as tired as you though - Noa noticed you getting more tired during the middle of the day, asking him a few days before your period actually hit if you could go take a nap while he went with Soona and Anaya to fish. Noted.

You go to Soona and Dar in hopes that maybe you can talk to them about it and actually have them understand. You’re too embarrassed to bring this up to Noa and you doubted that he’d understand at all. Noa does show up mid-conversation though- You had been talking to Soona and Dar about something from his perspective. He doesn’t take much time to notice that, letting his green eyes rest on you for a moment longer but the tone of the voice you’re using with his Mother and Soona? Quite, hushed, like you had a secret. Noa has to admit that he’s a tiny bit intrigued and he lingers, trying to pick apart the conversation despite his brain telling him not to, that it was obviously a private matter. But… The other side of him bargained and he wondered what secret you could have that you wouldn’t want him to know about. After all, you had been avoiding him for a few days and he needed to know why if that’s what you were talking to Dar and Soona about. Admittedly, as you explained to them what was happening  ( Soona and Dar ) they were more confused than you initially wanted them to be with your vague words, having to go into more detail and explain - Which was not on your bingo-card at all. You were unsure of what words/phrases they were going to understand so you had to transverse carefully around the subject. You felt like you were going to cry from embarrassment before a look of understanding flashed from Dar.  ~*So, from listening to the conversation he was not supposed to be a part of, Noa gathered only a few things: you were going through something that affected females? Hence, why you went to Soona and Dar. You were embarrassed to talk to Noa about it, it must have been pretty contentious. And went through this consistently, albeit not regularly? It was a sign of Echo maturity, your body coming into its own. On a consistent basis? Noa was confused. How does your body do that?

Oh my god Noa asking you about it. The blood rushing to your face as he mentions that he had heard you talking to his Mother and Soona. Your first instinct is to get defensive. You cross your arms in front of your chest, pretty adamant in telling him that there was nothing going on. Noa retaliates in defense of himself and says, “I… just want to know why… you… Are ignoring me.” The spacing of his words gives away that he was being careful to choose what he told you. Irrational anger bubbled to surface and you just snapped, “I’m on my period! Okay? I already talked to Dar and Soona about it and now you’re at my throat? Period! Is that a good enough answer for you!? It’s not always about you Noa!” You storm off, leaving the Ape bewildered. You eventually do return an hour or so later, this time, incredibly apologetic with tears in your eyes as you’re muttering to him through a flood of tears, telling him all about what was happening and how you were feeling. Your cramps, the headache that wouldn’t go away, your insatiable need to eat everything insight, the pure driven desire you had to be both angry and sad at the same time. You even went as far as to tell him that you were indeed bleeding -Something Noa didn't have the heart to tell you that he was aware of. Remember that acute sense of smell? He noticed it. He noticed it the last few days, figuring you would bring it up when you were ready. Noa pulls you into him, lightly pressing his forehead against yours. He’s still not 100% on the details but… He hated to see you cry. Hated to see you angry as well. He tells you that it’s okay, to calm down and that it’ll all be okay.  Those swinging emotions he recalled from a few days before your period? Yeah, they happen during as well and you flew off the handle. “I am calm! What makes you think I’m not?” You groaned, pulling away from him, “I’m going to lay down.” He just watches wordlessly as you walk away; wondering what he said that was so offensive.

He definitely begins to track it with fever though; just another thing for him to notice about you,  and he really did his best to be accommodating despite not fully understanding the reason why you went through it. He would tell you when he knew it was coming, something that you actually came to gratefully accept because the mutiny that was your body made it hard to track yourself.

Uhm hello? Noa bringing you an herbal drink that the Elders swore by to help with mild pain in the body. Usually, it was Apes that had joint problems from age, or some from injury, but the drink did help ease your headache and cramps to a semi-bearable state.

He scours the dinner for the most sweet berries and fruits. Noa is able to tell from look and feel which ones would be more welcomed by you and he’s always so diligent to bring you two bowls. One for now, one for later.

OHHhhh my god Noa resting his hands on your stomach when you’re tangled in the nest together. He can sense the discomfort you’re in. You had tossed and turned almost the entire night, keeping the two of you awake. Now that it was dusk, you felt more at ease as he placed a hand on the lower part of your abdomen and groaned at the pleasure of feeling his heated skin.  ~*Definitely becomes more of a coping action that Noa works around. If Noa senses you’re feeling either nauseated or in pain, he’s rather quick to pull you into him and ease it the best he can. Favorite position? You’re laying on your side and he is spooning you from behind. Hands on your lower stomach, lightly at first but more intense if you’re craving more pressure and heat from him. He’s noticed you like to fall asleep like that. And he’s more than willing to oblige. 

Ah god the forehead touches when you have a headache? Someone sedate me. ~* He really gets into it and will wrap his hands around your head, his fingers almost meeting at the back of your neck. The heat from his hands feels absolutely euphoric against your temples as he pulls you towards him. You fall lax against him and ultimately let Noa pull you into his lap. Hands run from the back of your neck down to your lower back. He’ll place tender touches there too, knowing that lower back pain was also common.

[moonshine-nightlight]

NWWD: Divergent Revelations 2

Side story for NWWD, AU starting mid Chapter 23. Fanfic of my own story that asks: what if an honest conversation was had earlier? (spoiler: slow burn is much less slow)

During the fight with assassins, you and Dale are forced to confront the truth of what you each know about Dale's nature. How does the fight change to have this come about? How will the conversation about these revelations go when there's still more than a week before the wedding?

Main Story 'Nothing's Wrong with Dale': [Part One]

Status: Complete

AO3: NWWD: Divergent Revelations

[Part One] Part Two

You murmur as polite a ‘good night’ as you can to your maid before your door finally shuts, blocking out the rest of the Governor’s house, with all its people who can’t stop asking you question after question, hovering over you. Blessed silence fills your bed chamber. You lean back against that now shut door and try to breathe. Grandmother’s going to be alright, you remind yourself, no one seems to suspect Dale. He simply…hasn’t returned yet.

You tried to apologize to Grandfather for not anticipating that Dale would go after Two, but he’d waved off your ‘sorry’s with a worn, but sincere smile. His absolution was appreciated as was the way he seemed to have left all suspicion behind. Still you knew you’d not feel better until you saw Dale once again.

That’s holding true now. The waiting and hours you passed have been valiantly fought through with your highest caffeinated tea, but you were shuffled away to your private chambers after the last strike of the clock, though you can’t remember how many it was.

Nervous energy still buzzes through your veins, a heady mix of worry and adrenaline that makes you want to pace or hide or do something, anything useful. Instead, you walk over to your vanity where an array of candles is, their light reflected back and throughout the room. Aided by the full moon, your room is lit as well as it ever could be so deep into the night. 

Halfheartedly, you pick at the bowl of nuts and dried fruit your maid had persuaded you to take with you. You itch to have those books of Dale’s Bilmont had snuck to you, but they’re all back in Northridge. Neither of you had wanted to alert Dale to your perusal nor risk being found with them by keeping them for days or traveling with them, but if you did have the books then maybe you could prepare to do something in case Dale was hurt in a manner that could not be treated by a doctor.

He’d come to you, right? If he needed help? It’s all out in the open now. What you both already knew but still had pretended not to. Although, as long as he could control himself, he should go to the trained physician. But what if someone else found him? What if this had all been a trick by Two to get Dale to go somewhere else where a trap lay in wait? What if Dale had won, but was injured and vulnerable out in the night somewhere? What if Two manages to possess Dale? What if—

You sit down heavily on your vanity chair, shaking your head to try to dissipate such dire thoughts. Dale had been winning the fight, had managed to drive Two off, and had seemed to have no true injuries when he went after them. Morning would come. Dale will have returned while you slept and he will be fine. He has to be.

You look into the mirror, past and behind yourself to the bed. Speaking of sleep, you’ve no idea how you’ll manage it tonight. You suppose you could brew some sleepy tea, but would that truly work when you still feel your anxiety and nerves as significantly as you do? With the effects of your caffeinated tea still going? Do you even want to sleep? 

You know you should. It’s what you had told the others you would do. It's what you would have told yourself to do, if you were another person. It's the best course of action so you are well rested and ready to face tomorrow. Nothing good will come of worrying away the hours deeper into the night.

Yet you know yourself. You’ll not be able to manage it. Taking the tea would only leave you in a half-asleep state, constantly drifting off and waking from nightmares you’d not be able to tell from reality. 

Not wanting to bother moving the candles from in front of the large mirror at your vanity, you instead go to your desk and bring over your journal with the magnifier. Setting them up, you turn to a fresh page. The most useful thing you can think to do is to write down everything you can remember the assassins said so as to better find who hired them. Given the layers of who can know what, you decide to write down the truth in your personal shorthand, knowing between your handwriting and the few changes you made, it’ll be nigh indecipherable to anyone but you. It should be the best way to keep the actual facts straight for yourself so you can discuss with Dale, or obfuscate with Grandfather and Grandmother. Most of what Two said will only make sense if you know what Dale is and you’ll not be the one to ruin the facade.

You concentrate on getting everything down while managing your flickering light. The sound of your door closing takes a second to register. The next second has you on your feet, your hand dropping your pen in favor of your busk knife. You whirl towards the door, heart hammering in your chest.

A dark figure, more outline than person given how far they are from the miniscule light, is all you can make out. For a split second, you’re convinced Two has come back for you, until another step closer finally allows you to distinguish, “Dale!” 

You drop your hand to the table, body sagging in relief, both at the lack of threat and the confirmation he’s alive. “You frightened me half-to-death!”

“My apologies,” Dale replies, voice low and wary, but unmistakably his own.

You beckon him closer, needing a better look even if many of your fears are assuaged with his presence. “Are you alright? What happened?”

He comes more fully into your circle of light and you can see he has no obvious wounds, only a small bandage on his jaw. “I already spoke to Grandfather and the doctor.” You step closer as he speaks, hand drifting up to the bandage. “I’ve no serious injuries, only some bruisings and cuts. I caught up to Two and ensured they’ll do us no more harm.”

“Are you certain?” Your eyes search his form, noting his damaged jacket is nowhere to be seen. No blood stains or broken bones are obvious. Still, there could be damage under the surface, your eyes on his torso and then up to that single bandage. “The stonework was strong and Two was very adept at—”

“Yes, I am sure.” Dale catches your hand before you can touch him. 

Heat rises to your cheeks at the reminder of your impropriety, which only mounts as you fully realize that Dale is alone with you, in your bedchambers, at night. No one to see him here. Complete privacy. You in your nightclothes and robe, he in only a shirt and trousers. “Good,” you manage before you attempt to clear your throat. What do demons care of human impropriety? Dale’s played along well enough, but he’s not beholden to such petty sensibilities. “I’m relieved.”

“Yes,” Dale murmurs, continuing to stare at you as if you might be the one who needs a physical. “You do truly appear to be.”

“What…?” You blink up at him confused. Some of your concern fades to frustration. You give him an incredulous look. “Of course, I am. It was a foolish thing to chase after Two into the night. Who knows what they might have done to you.” Did he think himself infallible? Or you too oblivious to notice the toll the fight took on him? “I’ve been worried.”

“Curious,” Dale says, tilting his head to the side. His eyes begin to glow. A third one pops open on his forehead. The shadows cast by your candles gutter. “I’ve never had a human express such concern over me. Not when they knew what I was.” He blinks and all his eyes focus on you. “Yet, you appear sincere.”

“Oh,” your voice is small, but you’ve no notion of how to respond, how to actually have this conversation.

“I was not sure what I would be returning to,” Dale confesses, his voice lower and quieter. Instinctively, you lean closer to hear him better. You hold your breath to see what else he might say, now that it appears you are finally addressing the elephant in the room. “Would you have told Grandfather and the Captain? Would they greet me only to catch me in a binding circle?”

“What?” Your stomach drops at the mere thought. “No, of course not.” Alarm rises with your nerves, that Dale might still worry of this outcome. As if he still thought it a possibility for you to have done so. Does he think so little of your regard for him? Has he not understood where you stand despite your attempts to make that clear? You turn your wrist in his grasp and he lets you, but seems surprised when you clasp it more securely in your own. “Dale, I’d never—I don’t plan on revealing you. I thought that’d be obvious.”

Dale looks down at your hand on his and just as you start to worry it had been the wrong move, he turns his own in your grasp to hold your hand in return. “I suppose that appears to be the case.” His gaze moves from your fingers to tentatively meet your gaze. “It does not illuminate why you would do such a thing.”

“I…” you struggle for how to articulate your thoughts. Somehow all your imagined conversations with Dale had been focused on him and his secrets, motivations, thoughts—not your own. “I am aware that perhaps my actions appear…unusual.” You do your best to rally your thoughts and Dale lets you, no haste or frustration in his stance or expression. That patience helps you say, “However, you’ve never acted in a manner that made me worry for my safety or the safety of others. You have not tried to do harm to those around us, physically or with the power you could wield as heir to Northridge.” 

You stare down at your hand and his, unable to keep track of your thoughts when your eyes are locked on his. The flickering candlelight reflects strangely in his blue eyes that he looks more demonic than usual, but also more striking. You want him to think well of you, but you don’t want him to doubt your sincerity. “I’d not known the first Dale for very long. I think I’ve known you longer now. I confess, I had concerns about that Dale, prior to your arrival.” 

You chance a glance up at him and see some surprise in his expression. You’re rather pleased to have been able to surprise him since he’s managed to do the same to you at so many turns. Hopefully, like you, he doesn’t find the surprise bad. “Human concerns, but significant ones. The worries I have for you are different, but less.”

“Truly?” Dale’s voice contains even more of the surprise you’d seen in his face earlier, but no doubt or disbelief. “How could a human, who has always been who he is, worry you more than a stranger in his body?”

“Lord Dale was…arrogant, entitled, and selfish,” you admit, remembering back to your first talk with him. You remember your first meeting with Grandfather and with the other prospects that came up. “And he was the best marriage offer I received.” You frown, trying to articulate why you’d taken a chance with that Dale, aware now that you’re relieved more than anything that he’d been replaced in the end. “I believed he would consider me to be… an extension of himself in a manner that would shield me from some of his faults, so long as I did not interfere with his goals. However, that is certainly not a stable place to begin a marriage, although I had considered it worth the risk at the time.”

“And myself?” Dale asks softly.

You smile to yourself because how often had you asked yourself the same thing: about him and about why he might tolerate you. “You were an unknown,” you say slowly, “in so many ways—I admit you still are. However, you’ve not shown that callous self-interest. You appear… interested in m—the thoughts of others, dutiful to Northridge in a manner I recognize in myself.” You’d been preparing to take up the mantle of Northridge’s care yourself. You’d liked the idea of such a challenge, to an extent. You were eager to prove yourself. To be the one in control of your life. But it would have been lonely and you would have had to juggle Dale’s own plans for the fief. You hadn’t thought there was a better option other than hoping perhaps the original Dale might come around. That isn’t your worry with this Dale.

You take a deep breath and look back up at him. “You did not have to stay and playact the role Dale handed you with his identity. You could have left with his body to strike out on your own.” You hate how much the thought fills you with true fear, not just trepidation or frustration as might have before you got to know this Dale. If he has been genuine with you, you would fear for him out in the world on his own. “I don’t know if you still might do so, but that is my worry, not that you’ll mismanage what you have. I simply feel there is more common ground between us than between myself and the original Dale.” You swallow, suddenly all too aware you’ve been speaking for what feels like ages on end without Dale saying a word. You reach with your free hand to brush some of your hair behind your ear. “That could all be wishful thinking on my side. We’ve not had many chances for honest conversation, excepting now, I suppose.”

Dale finally blinks and stares down at you in a sort of confusion that you hope is fond and not frustrated. “I did not know what to expect when I arrived on the surface,” he confesses slowly, “though I was relieved not to have to contest for autonomy. My recovery from the ordeal was when I knew I would be most vulnerable and thought I might be discovered, necessitating my departure.” His fingers tighten briefly around your own before a small smile spreads across his face. “Thank you again, for your aid.

“I was relieved to be able to stay. I’ve no plans to leave unless forced.” Dale looks past you briefly, to the candles and the mirror behind you. “I have spent my life searching for a stable territory—a home.” His eyes fix on yours once more. “I’ve not had much in the way of surviving family and so find myself inclined to appreciate Grandmother and Grandfather, particularly with Dale’s memories.” His eyes unfocus as if viewing those memories now.

You allow him some time and shortly Dale pulls himself out of those thoughts with a rueful shake of his head. “The memories are both outside of myself and of myself in a rather confusing manner. I’ve not the language or nuance to explain well, truth be told. All of Northridge feels as if it was waiting for me and I’d be a fool not to seize the opportunity. Even you,” he strokes his thumb across the back of your hand, sending a thrill through you, “a lovely mate, was here, like a delightful dream. I’ve not earned any of this,” Dale continues, looking a bit sheepish, a bit chagrined, and a bit like he’s expecting your judgment. “And yet, I’ve had enough ill fortune in my life not let a stroke of good pass me by.”

Your relief at hearing him say he plans to stay is only matched by your understanding. “Even with his flaws, Dale had appeared to be good luck to me at the time. Now, you seem to suit me far better as a partner. Strange as it is to say, I was sometimes more convinced there must be a trick about when I felt we understood each other. It seemed too fortunate.” You take another deep breath as you try to think of what words might solidify Dale’s decision to stay with you, to be with you. The memory of the way he’d said your name only hours ago, the layers of meaning he’d somehow communicated, gives you the strength to say, “For what it's worth, if you’ve been sincere and wish to stay, to be Dale of Northridge, then I’m happy you are here above any other.”

“I have,” Dale is quick to say, catching your other hand in his. He brings your hands in his together and up, dusting your knuckles with a kiss, “and I do. I feel the same.” Your breath catches in your throat. Your heart hammers in your chest due to the warmth and release of tension you feel because you believe him. That Dale might want this too, with you, is hardly more than you can conceive. You haven’t even had to convince and persuade and demonstrate the value of such an arrangement over months as you’d begun to plan for first Dale. Weeks of uncertainty melt away in the face of his straightforward words. You must be smiling like a fool, but you don’t care.

Dale tilts his head to the side, bemused. “Is that common, among human pairs, to understand each other so quickly? Is that why these strange methods are employed? I admit many aspects of human society elude me, including mating rituals.”

“Not all do, but that is the hope of most,” you reply, before leaning forward, unable to help your curiosity. “Wh—” You wince when the movement jars your back and Dale frowns. You absentmindedly pull your clothes away from your bruised back. “Apologies, I am still somewhat sore after this evening's events.”

Dale glances around before leading you over to your bed. “Let us sit.”

“You were the one who fought,” you protest weakly, but the image of Dale on your bed is very enticing. Since you still have your curtains open by the bed, the moonlight has the opportunity to lend strength to the blue-ness of his eyes. You still feel some of the echo of adrenaline brimming in your veins, but it has nowhere to go with the night so late and Dale finally within reach. 

“And I am tired as well,” he agrees, giving a little tug to your hand before sitting down himself as if to be a good example. 

You’re certain that’s true and you’ve no real objection. If anything the mild impropriety makes your stomach flutter excitedly. You carefully sit down beside him, arranging your robe as you do so with only one hand, not wanting to let go of Dale quite yet. He’s only just come back to you.

He turns, bringing his knee up onto the bed in order to face you better as you tuck yourself against the footboard for stability. Dale looks boyish in such a pose. With some of the excitement and fear out of the way, your conversation begins to remind you more of sneaking between dormitory rooms at school. 

You try to bring your mind back to the conversation you were having instead of childish conversations and not so childish games. “How does courting work for your… society?”

Dale smiles, a little crooked, like he too finds your description of anything demonic as a ‘society’ amusing. “Truthfully, there are many varieties in how different demons approach such matters. Perhaps the original strange thing to me was how many humans approach it the same.”

“There is variety,” you consider, actually giving it some thought. So much of your life had built to where you were now, you’d not contemplated the process itself since you were a child. Primarily, fears about your ability to participate at all were what had dominated your thoughts then. “That variety tends to be geographic, however a culture evolved. This continent was once under the rule of a single large empire, before it fractured and so shares certain traits across country borders. The continent to the direct south is similar within itself. To the east across the Narrow Sea, there is still one empire. Only the more distant continents were never united—to my knowledge—and so I believe have a greater variety to their customs.”

“I see,” Dale nods. “The Depths is a very…scattered and varied place, physically and among demons themselves. No one group of any kind has ever controlled a large portion, not in the history I’m aware of. Still, there are trends among similar demons or those who live close to one another, customs that bleed into one another. The demons I am most familiar with either live in tight-knit clans and generally don’t mate outside of it or are solitary. Both consider time to become familiar with each other a critical component.”

You nod. “Many people who end up marrying have known each other all their lives, due to circumstances, or because they were neighbors, or because their parents decided years ago to link their families and lands.” Pivoting since you’re not sure demons have nobility, you continue, “According to those I know who aren’t nobility, that’s also far more common among the common people. Nobility enjoys overthinking, or at least that’s what my father says. A lot of marriage decision making is based on utility, alliances, and finances—not to mention tradition and honor. Tolerance of one's spouse is the expectation with companionship over time. Partnership or true affection as an ideal to hope for. Although, it is custom to play at appearing happily situated, regardless of one's internal feelings on the matter.”

“Surely you had more options than Dale,” the demon with his name protests, as if he’d been meaning to make the argument since you first mentioned such a thing and could no longer contain himself. “Sometimes his thoughts or memories—impressions of people or situations—occur to me. I admit I dislike many of them. I disagree with many of them.”

You’d known this was part of how demonic possession worked but it was still strange to hear of. “I’m certain his of me were not flattering nor were there many of them—one of the few commonalities we had was likely our rather poor opinion of each other,” you confess. “I doubt he suspected my true feelings. He agreed to marry me because he needed to in order to inherit, because I seemed amenable to his influence. Not to mention because I came with a larger than is typical dowry for a fifth child. I’m sure he thought me generally acceptable, if a bit disappointing—he told me as much. However, that was his fault for letting rumors reach the ears of potential spouses or at least their parents.”

The way Dale tightens his lips, but doesn’t disagree confirms your suspicions. He gives a small huff before saying, “Yes, I can recall. He was quite frustrated with the reputation he’d found when he made his way back home. At the very least he wished he’d been able to marry before they spread. I think he’d underestimated how many would not want to be associated with demonic research. Not to mention the more dramatic tales of carousing he and his compatriots got up to on their tour.” He rolls his eyes as he continues to list reasons why Dale’s marriage prospects had diminished. “How many of them would pair off with each other as they did, and so on. He believed he could have turned his reputation around in order to have a spouse he saw as more…” Dale winces, clearly trying to find the least offensive word, before giving up, “worthy, but was aware such an endeavor would take time he did not want to spend.”

“Yes,” you acknowledge because isn’t that what you suspected all along? In some ways it's hard to care much about what the original Dale thought, not when he was dead, but you find you hate the idea of echoes of those thoughts sounding through this Dale’s head. You care about his opinion. You want him to think well of you. You push those fears aside to focus on the conversation you are having. “In that way, we were compatible. We did confirm what we expected from this marriage along with what was required for our engagement to be initiated. It's simply that those items of import were easily discovered on paper and with minimal interaction in person.”

“You were engaged before you met,” Dale says, shaking his head in either disbelief or disapproval. “Truly mystifying.”

“What sort of traits are valued in your courtships?” you ask, wanting to meet him where you could. Everything so far has been how humans do such things. You want him to feel comfortable with you and your relationship. You want a chance to show him Dale’s lingering thoughts shouldn’t matter to him. You can’t find more time to spend together with the wedding so close. You can’t change how you only met shortly ago, but hopefully there are other elements you could honor. “I would be happy to participate in any rituals I could, as we have fulfilled the majority of the human ones already.”

Dale blinks at you with such surprise you worry for a second that you might have just made a foolish offer. Since you were in fact referring to demonic rituals that was likely a given. No, you remind yourself, you trust Dale. Dale closes his mouth within a second or two, and admits, almost ruefully, “In truth, many such questions and information have already been answered. What would take demons time and trust to reveal, humanity seems more free with, particularly over these last few weeks of intensity and socializing. My parents courted for years but saw each other far less than we have over the course of that time.”

“What sorts of things?” you can’t help but press, eager for anything to work with.

“General compatibility,” Dale begins to list with a shrug, “socialization, familial connections, and expectations. The majority of courtship negotiations for my parents was spent on territory and fitness to defend said territory, with the others learned as that progressed.”

“If the ability to defend territory is a sought after quality,” you say, wanting to fidget out of self-consciousness and holding still out of sheer self-determination, “I must be sorely lacking as a candidate.”

Dale immediately shakes his head. “No, it is a balance. I trained to fight and defend. It is a skill I can bring, not one that I expected any partner to possess. I would not have refused such a mate, but I hadn’t been seeking one out either. The terms of survival are different on the Surface.”

He leans back, bracing himself on one hand as he frowns in concentration. You resist the urge to lean after him, to maintain any closeness you’ve gained. He looks so distant in the moonlight, foreign with his demonic eyes on full display—there are two more than before—and with shadows moving as if in a gentle breeze around him. “My parent had staked out a large territory in alliance with another demon, who died soon before they met my mother. They were initially very hostile to the others settling nearby, including her. She managed to negotiate with them for her smaller spot and slowly they came to see they would enjoy being together. Since my parent had a lot of territory, my mother had to prove her worth as a defender. Even my parent had to prove their territory borders were sustainable with all the new interlopers.”

You try to even picture such an existence. It seems so solitary. You had often felt lonely as a child, and even after, but there were always people around, you simply didn’t have any connections with them. You weren’t actually alone. Perhaps you are missing something. “And it was just them?”

“Yes,” Dale replies, eyes softening as if he could hear your true question. “Shades are generally solitary and while my mother came from a clan, she preferred solitude as well. That was one reason for her departure.”

“And you’re a shade?” He certainly seems to be one, given his facility with shadows. Had he spent so much of his life in similar solitude? “The past few weeks of gatherings must have been overwhelming for you.” He’d not seemed to be. However, perhaps he was a better actor than you’ve given him credit for. He was coming from such a different place of experience.

Dale shook his head. “I’m only part-shade and even so, I’ve always enjoyed being around others. I’ve been to the Surface before and know how close you all tend to live.” It was so odd to hear him acknowledge all this out loud, to hear him say “you all” and know he meant “humans”. That he wasn’t included with them. “Even in the Depths I traveled, as many young demons do before they settle on their own territory. I have worked with others and even temporarily joined a handful of clans. Nothing ever fit or stuck. My first time on the Surface, as chaotic and overwhelming and confusing as it was, felt right. After one final attempt in the Depths to find a place to suit me failed, I knew what I wanted was up here.”

You want to ask for every detail, for every nuance and failed alliance he alludes to. At the same time, you don’t want to scare him off, by asking for more than he feels comfortable revealing. If you’ve already rushed the timing, you don’t want to push even more, not at the risk of driving him away. You want to hold this new honesty with both hands and protect it. You want to never let it go. In the end, you settle on a sincere, but generic, “I confess, the tales of the Depths make it sound fearsome,” in the hopes that he’ll tell more if he wished, but would not feel pressured if he did not.

“It is.” Dale has closed all of his eyes, clearly remembering. “It is lonely and dangerous.” He blinks open his eyes and they’re glowing once more, enhanced by the strong moonlight that falls on his face. “There are dangers here too, but so many more opportunities and ways of living. Not merely survival.”

You shake your head. “I’ve no notion of such a life. I’m pleased you are here and that we can offer you that.” Today has more than proven that Dale can defend himself and that you are certainly winning no accolades in such an arena, and yet you feel protective of him. You want to shield him from the harsh life he clearly led before this, fighting for so much of his life. You want to make a home where he can rest and enjoy life.

“Thank you,” Dale smiles, as if your simple words mean something to him. “I admit I’d been prejudiced against informing you of my true nature due to past experience.” 

He said he had been on the Surface before. You recall his trepidation, his fear as you now recognize it, both in the aftermath of the destroyed study and even when he first was in your rooms. What experience might that have been to caution him so? 

“It is freeing to be able to speak of this with you,” Dale continues with a smile you reflexively return. “To feel there is no curtain of confusion between us. My own hope had been for such a mate, a confidant.” You squeeze the hand still clasped with his because that is all you wanted as well. He squeezes back. “I’m not sure how we got here while taking such a stilted and quite frankly, human route. It is so far from what I would have expected and gone by so quickly.”

“The time has flown,” you agree, “and yet it also seems a lifetime ago I stood in your rooms after the incident and tried to meet you anew.”

Dale looks startled. “Did you know even then?” He runs his free hand through his hair, baffled. “But we’d no chance to truly even meet, for me to demonstrate any sort of trustworthiness. You knew then?”

“I suspected then,” you correct. “You were strange, but kind. It seemed very unlike the Dale I had only just started to get to know. He’d been acting oddly the night he must have summoned you. He did set the summoning in motion himself, yes?” Dale nods, still wide-eyed with interest and surprise. The effect is compounded by the five eyes he has with which to look back at you. “I knew of his studies with the demonic, I knew of his anticipation for the night, and then the sudden illness.” You shrug. “Well, I went to see him—you—on purpose. But all I could truly discern is that something demonic had happened. I didn’t know if he was still part of you and I’d frightfully little knowledge of demonology to leverage. It wasn’t until a few days later that my understanding solidified.”

Dale just shakes his head. “You knew all this time…”

“Were you not aware?” you can’t help but ask, nearly as surprised by the notion as Dale seems to be that you did know.

“I…No,” he frowns. “At times I thought you might. Later that first evening, I worried my reaction to the willowbark had been too vehement or that I’d said something strange while my memories and Dale’s were sorting themselves out. During the tournament, when you sought me out regarding Eastmount—that was when I came closest to thinking you knew what I was.”

“But you changed your mind,” you continue for him. You can see it in his face. “Why?”

“You assisted me,” he says plainly, lifting his eyebrows as if it were obvious. “You didn’t confront me or accuse me or try to leverage any sort of secret knowledge of what I was for your own gain. You didn’t turn me in or ask for my aid to advantage you or threaten me.”

“You thought so ill of me?” You can’t help the hurt that blossoms in your voice. “That I might do such a thing?” Hadn’t he known enough of you by then? You thought he’d understood, that he had seen who you were quicker than anyone else you’d known. Your hand starts to pull out of his without you meaning to. Unable to resist drawing back from him.

“That is what humans do with demons,” he says, almost pleading, pressing your hand to the bed to halt your movement, but not pulling it back towards himself. “Even if you were not one who sought selfish gain, then as a righteous human, you should have raised the alarm, formed a trap, done something to expunge the demon from your midst.” His vehemence is surprising, you feel caught out because he wasn’t wrong. Those are the two expected reactions. “I had thought I’d misjudged you since you had seemed to know, but not do any of those things. I was waiting for the demand of what you wished for in exchange for your silence. It never came.” Dale shakes his head again. “I concluded you didn’t know. It was the only explanation that fit. That, at most, you suspected Dale had enhanced himself with demonics and were willing to aid him in his one-upmanship with Eastmount.”

“I see.” On one hand you do truly understand his caution. He is a feared stranger in a foreign land, which goes doubly for Northridge given Grandmother’s attitude. You know plenty who would have done as he suggested, but… You also know some who would not have. Surely he must have Dale’s own memories of humans mixed up in demonology that wouldn’t have reacted so poorly. It's such a specific fear. “Has…has that happened before? When someone found out you were possessing a different human in the past?”

“I…” He freezes, all of his extra eyes closing up, although the two that remain are still glowing, black all but gone from them. “Yes. It has.”

A bolt of anger on Dale’s behalf straightens your spine, even though you know how humans react to demons. It's not even unwarranted most of the time. But this is Dale, your fiancé—your Dale. Did they simply not know him? From all the stories you’ve heard, most demons make their true intent, if it is destruction, known quite quickly. It’s why you’ve become more comfortable with Dale as time has passed. “I don’t know what circumstances there were, but you’ve not behaved in a way that would cause me to betr—to react in such a manner. 

“I would not have blamed you. Demons can be quick to turn on each other as well.” His voice was strangely soft and earnest as he spoke, as he tried to absolve you of these potential feelings and actions against him. “It’s not humans alone who have decided that it would be better to no longer act in concert with me before.”

It breaks your heart, to hear him say it so plainly, so gently. You can see now you are working against a lifetime of betrayal, or so it seems to you. You search for something, anything, to communicate your sincerity. A reason to push any lingering fear of such possibility in the future as far from his mind as you can. 

“You saved my life tonight, Grandmother’s life.” It’s the most tangible, most straightforward reason you could see that he might believe for your trust in him. You wait, but he doesn’t disagree. You have his rapt attention. “We are working towards the same goal, are we not? You’ve more than proven your dedication to Northridge tonight, to my satisfaction.” You don’t see it so plainly, so unemotionally, but you want to impress upon him that you are aligned together. You wait for his slow nod of acknowledgment. 

“Nothing you have done has persuaded me otherwise,” you work hard to make your voice as steady and sure as you can. “It never crossed my mind to try to entrap or exorcize you tonight.” You hope by focusing on now, he won’t try to argue this specific point. You don’t have such concrete reasons for your feelings before and so you’re not sure he’d believe you’d never really had the inclination once you actually met him. Otherwise, he’s right: some things need that time to grow and solidify. You want to make damn sure you’re starting on the right foot. You will gain the rest of his trust going forward.

Dale leans closer, an eye opening up. He tightens his grip on your hand as he does so. You wait on pins on needles for his response. “I believe you. Thank you.”

You want to shift the topic back to lighter matters, but you’re unsure of how to do so. “Demons truly have turned on you as humans have?” is what comes out instead. You wince.

Dale doesn’t seem to take offense. “Yes, as I was not born into a group that survived, I sought to join others.” You want to ask so much more about that, but you can tell by the way Dale is moving past this part of his past, that he doesn’t want to share that now. It’s late. It's been an incredibly long day, you understand. You’ll be able to ask him for details on all of this because you’re getting married. You’ll have your whole lives to learn everything about him. He’s staying, you reiterate to yourself. You can no longer picture your future without him.

“The majority of demonic clans are very insular and do not take kindly to outsiders,” he says with a frown. “They see nothing wrong with treating said outsiders with little…regard or integrity. This is why the courting ritual I described is spread out. To allow time to pass without betrayal or shifts in alliances to occur. To demonstrate the connection can weather time and outside forces.”

“And to feel confident in telling anything more personal to their prospective spouse,” you add, nodding. Sure there is gossip and alliances and even violence within the nobility on the Surface—tonight’s more than proved that—but not on the scale Dale’s describing. You’re abruptly very grateful for the world you live in. You’d likely not survived his.

“Precisely,” Dale confirms. “Information that might have been construed as weaknesses to be exploited, but not can be trusted to not be taken advantage of.”

This does fit with the rumors and heresy you’ve heard about demonic ways of life. It’s a wonder any of them manage to mate at all. Still, you’d hoped for something else, something you could do besides ‘not betray him’. For Dale. To show that you accept him. To demonstrate your sincerity to the marriage. To signify your clarity who he is. You know that marriage is with a demon and you want him, not anyoneelse. You want him to know that before the night’s through. “So there aren’t any other differences in courting that you are surprised about? Or that we have not participated in?”

Dale frowns as he thinks. You try to determine if it's the moonlight and wind painting strange shadows on his form or just him without pretense. He’s mesmerizing either way. “Couple’s often take a journey together or begin to merge their territories prior to being bound as formal mates. You’ve already come to live in our territory and we’ll be taking our tour after the wedding. I don’t believe much can be done to accelerate that at this point.”

“No,” you have to agree, although you understand now why Dale had been so eager for the tour and are doubly glad to be doing it. “Not in our circumstance.”

“We already discussed and covered so many compatibility topics that there is not much left that I’d have wished to know about a potential mate. Well, I suppose it is unusual to have done little beyond dance,” Dale admitted, all but two of his eyes looking sidelong out the window now. “Physical compatibility in such matters is also considered relatively strongly. I suppose that has more weight for demons given our variety.” He sounds on the fence about how true he feels that statement is. As if he is giving you an excuse to brush past this topic and move on.

“Oh?” You hope that sounded calm. You hope your expression isn’t giving you away if your voice did not. “I, I do not mind, if you wanted, or rather,” you can’t get the words out in a coherent manner, too intrigued despite yourself, and your inability to talk sensibly is only making you more flustered. Memories of your fumble at a festival as well as memories dancing with Dale distract you. “If there was something else you wished to discover regarding our compatibility, I would not be opposed.”

Dale blinks at you in surprise, but without judgment. That lack of judgment is always one of the primary differences between who is Dale is now and who Dale was. It is the quality you appreciate the most. “Oh, you would not?” He sounds mildly intrigued and unflustered as he runs a few fingers through his hair. It’s unkempt and dark enough to melt into the shadows around you both, but you think it looks longer than it did even a few minutes ago. As if the strands spent more time tangled around his fingers this time around. “I constantly find myself torn between what Dale has experienced informally, what I know human society seems to expect, and what I would consider a reasonable level of intimacy for those who plan to join together permanently in merely a week.”

“Of course.” You can hardly keep the typical social rules straight, let alone your own memories and another persons and another society’s set of expectations. It’d drive you a little mad, you think. “I imagine such conflicting knowledge must be confusing.”

“It is,” Dales says emphatically, looking relieved to finally be able to speak openly. Then he sighs, looking mildly embarrassed for possibly the first time you’ve seen. “And I know I do not always play my part correctly.”

You feel a little bad for having had the same thought because, well, he isn’t wrong, is he? Nothing much you can say to that. Still, you want to reassure him. “When we are in private, you don’t need to worry about playacting correctly. You’ll wear yourself to the bone if you tried to keep up a facade constantly.”

“I appreciate your saying so,” he says with a tentative smile you’ve not seen before. It’s sweet. It would have looked out of place on the original Dale’s face and yet it suits this one so well. “It can be tiring. Not always and there are times when even in public, with you, I still feel as I do now.”

You smile, pleased with yourself at having made him feel even somewhat comfortable in a land so alien to him. “It’s not as if I’ve not felt out of place before, although not to the same extent, but I want us to help each other. That’s why I wish for you to feel comfortable here and now, with me and our courtship. We are to be married and I want that to mean a partnership, mates, a true couple. No matter our differences and the strange circumstances we’ve found ourselves in.”

“As do I,” Dale murmurs, leaning closer. At first you think he’s simply relaxing his posture, until his hand reaches out to put a finger under your chin. His eyes are dark as they stare at your lips and you recall what turn the conversation had started to take before being sidelined. “So, you would not mind if I…?” 

Evidently Dale wishes to push the conversation back on track. His intent is obvious and he gives you plenty of time to pull away, but you still reply, only a little breathily, “I would not” before his lips cover your own. It’s a far more tentative and gentle kiss than the one human Dale had taken from you. Less awkward than your first kiss had been. You melt into his hold as he cups your cheek more firmly, angling the kiss just so. His lips are cool, but soft.

Dale parts from you only to press another kiss to your lips the next second. Kiss after kiss, the rest of the world melts away until there is only the two of you in the faint light, safe in this room. Your hands end up grasping the front of his shirt to keep him close, not that he seems intent on going anywhere. His hand tangles itself in your hair, cupping the base of your head while his other splays along your side to better pull you closer. 

He deepens the next kiss and you can taste him on your tongue, like coffee and cinnamon. You relax into his hold even as he seems to get hungrier, as he steals the breath from your lungs and every stray thought from your mind. Dale pulls an appreciative noise from the back of your throat. Your hands, still fisted in his shirt, slowly release their grip to press against his chest. He’s wonderfully solid beneath them, safe and whole and home. 

Dale belongs with you and you won’t let anything keep him from you.

You bury a hand in his hair, the cool, silky strands almost wrap around your fingers in return. Eventually, you have to use your hold to pull him back enough to breathe, but you don’t give him more than the space to allow you to do so. Dale pants against your lips. “Breathing is so…” Dale starts to mutter, almost absentmindedly, before he leans back in to dot kisses along your jaw.

You hum in agreement, pleased with his attention. Desire zips through your veins. Shadows move like flames in the moonlight, shifting across Dale’s body and around him. You swear you can almost feel them, like velvet against your skin. This night feels like a wonderful dream.

Dale’s large hands land on your hips, strong and sure. He makes his way back to your mouth, determined that neither of you can truly catch your breath, and starts pushing you further onto the bed, away from the end. Your feet leave the ground while he moves after you. Your own hands are occupied, holding his strong jaw, buried in his luscious, dark hair. At some point, while stealing your thoughts with his nimble tongue, he lifts you entirely from the sheets to maneuver you fully into the middle of bed. Even when he sets you back down, you're only kept even remotely upright by your hold on him.

“Sana…” Dale pants against your lips when he pulls back just enough for your lungs to remember their job. His voice is raspy and deep as he speaks through his own breaths. You meet as many of his eyes as you can, half-lidded but rapt with attention. “I have been wanting, no,” Dale corrects himself, “needing to familiarize myself with your scent.” He runs his nose down the column of your throat before burying his face in the crook of your neck. You feel his words against your skin nearly as much as you hear them. “As your touch, your appearance, your voice are already solidified in my mind. All brief glimpses of scent I managed to steal pitiable and meager until now.”

Your mind struggles to think of a coherent response. Is this part of demon courting? Having Dale wrapped around you, against you so intimately? The desire to know you by every sense. “Oh?” If so, you want more. Even if it’s merely something Dale wants, he’s welcome to it, to you.

“Your taste…” he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “Half-remembered, filtered through that imbecile’s mind.” His derision for Dale’s opinion helps chase away your insecurities that he might be swayed by them. He scrapes his teeth against your skin and your mind fogs over. “I knew it to be a poor imitation of reality, but if I had known how poor, I’m not sure I would have been able to resist for so long. Want. More,” he says around licks and kisses to your sternum where he’s pushing against the barrier of your chemise.

“You, if you,” you stutter around the words, trying to string your thoughts together. You’d had daydreams about a fiancé you trusted enough and who felt passionately enough that you’d preempt your wedding night, like in so many hushed romantic stories. “Yes, you can, if you wa-ant.” When Dale merely continues to nose at your hem, you finally manage to say as plainly as you can, “Simply remove it.”

“Gladly,” Dale replies, eager hands already set on the task of riding you of your remaining clothing. It’s so freeing to be able to say exactly what you mean, what you want, and have Dale hear you. To have him immediately act on what you say. Your robe had fallen off at some point after his first kiss so there is only your chemise. He manages to divest you of it in record time, making sure the fabric doesn’t catch on your bandages. 

He stills to take in the sight of you, but only for a few seconds. As soon as the slightest inclination towards embarrassed self-consciousness starts to make themselves heard, Dale says, “Thank you,” so emphatically, you feel heat rise to your face and gather between your legs. 

“I—” Whatever you were going to say is lost as Dale immediately starts trailing kisses down from your neck to your chest. His other hand lands on your upper thigh and starts to massage and stroke at the skin there. You moan, eyelids slamming closed to better enjoy the sensations he’s provoking throughout your body. It's so much after so long of only dances and holding hands, but you feel as greedy as Dale is acting. With the taunt of courtship over, you want to be as close to him as you possibly can. 

He envelops a nipple in his mouth and lightning races down your spine to strike your core. You can feel yourself getting wetter as he continues. You ache for some friction between your legs but you don’t want to risk Dale stopping. As he switches sides, his hand coming up to tweak and rub your damp skin, you moan shamelessly. You want to drown in the sensation of Dale moving so eagerly against you. He’s ravenous.

Dale’s attentions push you back and you place a hand on the bed to try to steady yourself. It's not quite enough, not given your injured arm. You do your best to control your descent down on your side. Dale gropes at your hip as if to try to help keep you up before he realizes what you're doing and helps guide you down instead. 

His shirt disappears as you reposition yourselves. You move quickly to explore the skin now bared to you, feeling strange stripes of velvet mixed with soft human skin. The difference in textures reminds you of who you are with even though you can’t see his inhuman nature with your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to weather the heat he’s stoking within your body.

Dale pushes you further back and you go with the motion until you feel the sheets against your bruised back. Flinching, your hands scramble against Dale’s skin as you arch away from the bed. “S-Sorry,” you pant, “Bruised. My back.” 

Dale’s already tipped you back onto your side and you see a tail with two eyes arc over your shoulder. He growls at whatever he can see in the dark. Shadow tendrils brace you between your shoulder blades and on your lower back so that you can relieve some pressure from your side and relax more in this position. His teeth seem sharper as he says, “I should have torn them to pieces for touching you. For hurting you.”

“You did,” you reply, not wanting to derail the mood even if the reminder of Dale’s defense of you certainly isn’t drawing you out of it. You don’t want Dale consumed by anger. You selfishly want his focus to be on you. “It’s treated as best it can be.” When that doesn’t seem to be enough, you cup his cheek, “Make me forget about it.”

Dale’s eyes ignite at the challenge and you feel a corresponding pulse between your legs. “Yesss, sana,” he hisses in agreement, pressing a kiss to that hand. He resumes his mission to memorize you with all his senses with renewed zeal. It’s easy to let him do so. With him pressed to your front and his shadow tails wrapped around to brace your back, you feel wonderfully enveloped by him. Safe from the world. Safe with him. 

“You seem like something I shouldn’t be allowed to have,” Dale murmurs, voice strange, distant and echoing. He presses more kisses further down your body. Even with nearly all his focus on the physical, he can’t help but think aloud with whatever part of him isn’t consumed with you. “Shouldn’t be allowed to keep.” 

The shadow tails supporting your back spread and his hands fasten securely to your hips. “Smoke in the wind,” a kiss to your stomach, “water in the hand,” a kiss above the thatch of hair you have, “a dream before waking.” He looks up the length of you, his eyes blue and dark and as hypnotizing as ever. “Fighting for this—you and Northridge—for this life tonight has made it feel so much more a reality rather than a far-off wish.” He presses another absentminded kiss to you. His thumbs stroke your skin and your hips roll in his hold involuntarily. “Something I would never truly be able to grasp.”

“You can,” you tell him, feeling nearly as desperate as he’s been acting, voice breaking on the words. Desire clogging up your throat. “If you d-desire… Dale,” you wail his name when he finally puts his mouth on you.

You lace the fingers of one hand into his hair, not able to judge what was too tight while your hips jitter in his hold. Overwhelmed by the sensation of that long adroit tongue dipping in for a better taste. Your head tips back as you try to push into him. He groans encouragingly as his hands move to your thighs and pry them apart to give him more space to work. The improved angle gives him more access, more contact, more ways to make you mewl with pleasure.

True to his words when he first began, Dale is ravenous for your taste, licking and sucking with an intensity that makes you little able to do more than take it. Unleashed, he must have truly been holding himself back before. The fight, that kiss, has broken some self-restraint he’d clearly been tightly holding onto. 

Dale devours you. He devours you until you’re a sweating, moaning, mess held firmly in his grasp. Until a final wave of pleasure pulls you under. 

You come back to yourself slowly to find Dale still between your thighs, carefully licking up every last drop of desire he’s managed to wring from you. You hope he’s satisfied with you. You hope he’s never satisfied. You hope he’s willing to make a meal of you again and again. “Dale,” you breathe out. Glittering, bright eyes look up at you, half-lidded and gratified, but still hungry.

Heat begins to rekindle in your veins as he lowers his gaze back down. As he begins to plant kisses and leave little sucking marks on your skin. As he works his way back up your body. You stroke through his hair encouragingly, languid and content to let him do as he pleases. He’s certainly proved himself worthy of the leeway. He pulls you upright as he goes and your free hand lands on his strong shoulder.

You don’t hesitate to pull him into a kiss once you're close enough. His mouth is wet with you still and you find yourself delighted with the evidence of his indulgence, his base appetite. When he pulls you into his lap, you take advantage of the additional height to lead the kiss. Dale gives way under you easily, letting you press your advantage and finally do some taking yourself.

You don’t break the kiss until Dale situates you perfectly in his lap to let his cock rock against your cunt. Your moan and instant attempt at grinding down against him leave you gasping. His large hands, spanning your hips and with fingers that dig into your ass, encourage your movements as he groans.

“You…” you try to give voice to the thought that’s been building in your mind without you realizing it, “the way you said my name…” You can still hear it echoing in your memory, but you need to hear it aloud. It’s what had helped stabilize your trust in him and you ache to hear it now. “After the fight…”

Dale shudders, something rolling through him, before he opens his mouth to breathe your name in that same resounding tone, the one that seemed to carry with it so much more than a single word ever could. Your eyelids flutter, as you feel that same comfort as before, but it has evolved. Now cinnamon spice and crimson tart berry streaked through that yellow warm honey. You feel it along your nerves, buzzing through your veins like warm, mulled wine. “Dale,” you gasp back, hoping you can convey something similar in return. 

Air flows from him like a breeze and his shadows gutter around him while he closes his eyes to the sensation. When he presses you back down against him there's a rumble you first mistake for a growl only to realize it’s a purr. “May I…?” His cock ruts against your entrance as if there was any doubt as to what he was asking for.

You're lost in this moment, in this feeling, and yet in that second, he takes to ask the real world breaks through. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, craving his own scent nearly as much as his craving for your own had sparked this fire into motion. “Yes, please, Dale—I need you.”

“Yes, sana, I do as well. I need you so very much,” Dale pants as he guides the head of his cock to where it needs to be and begins to push inside. 

Gods, he feels big. You remind yourself to relax, let yourself be pliable, and allow him in. One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke soothingly through your hair while he thoughtlessly babbles, “Yeeesss, so hot, so tight. Lights above, you feel better than… So good. Thank you, pretty, pretty mate for…for this, for this allowance, for this gift, f-fuck.” His words make you shudder and you must be dripping from them given how much more easily he makes his way inside.

Once he’s finally hilted in you, you both need the extra few seconds to take a breath. Him overwhelmed by you surrounding him judging by his scattered words and you for the stretch. The ache of being first too empty and then nearly too full. Soon you deliberately clench around him and he groans. You press a kiss to his neck to let him know he’s alright to move and then set to making it a mark on his skin.

Dale murmurs your name again, a faint echo of how he’d said it earlier. Shuddering, your teeth graze the mark you’re worrying on his skin. Instinctively, he thrusts in even though he’s only pulled halfway out which pulls a groan from deep in your throat.

The sound seems to set Dale off because soon he’s thrusting at a rhythmic pace, half with his own hips, half lifting you up in counterpoint to his movements. Your heat throbs at the demonstration of his strength. You pull your head back to take him in in the moonlight. Your demonic fiancé, demonic mate.

As you can feel another peak building, the pulsing between your legs getting stronger, Dale’s thrusts become more erratic. As soon as you notice, his thumb lands on your clit, obviously determined to push you over the edge with him. 

Dale buries his face in the crook of your neck. His voice resonates against you as he says, “I… I could…I should…” He starts to lift you off of him. “We’re not—”

His words are cut off with a loud moan when you push back against him, hands on his shoulders, muscles throbbing around him. To keep him inside you where he belongs. 

“No, no,” you say, mind overwhelmed with pleasure, but also coherent to understand he’s trying to cater to you even if it's not what you want, what you crave with a strength that would surprise you if you gave it a moment’s consideration. “Please. I trust you.” You know Dale wouldn’t leave you now. As far as you're concerned, you’re already married. He’ll never leave you again. “Please, stay inside.”

He growls your name in response and pulls you back fully onto his cock without needing further encouragement. His hands stroke up and down your sides, shadow tendrils controlling the pace of his thrusts. The additional sensation of his hands on your skin, on your chest, your nipples, combined with the kisses and marks he’s attempting to suck on your skin drive you to the final heights you need to climax, convulsing around his cock. Dale falls over the edge with you.

Bliss spreads through your body as Dale collapses backward, you sprawled on his chest. You’re sweaty and overcome and the most satisfied, most content you’ve been in… You let the thought fizzle out and merely sigh happily instead. What more could you ever need than Dale with you in your bed?

Languid sleep laps at your mind, but when Dale prompts you, you go through the motions of nighttime ritual. He murmurs an apology when you shudder from the feel of tepid water and sigh from any movement at all that’s not horizontal. Soon enough you’re clad in a fresh shift, Dale in only his own shirt, standing by the bed. He looks, with hesitation at the door.

“Do not leave, not until you must,” you say as you lean against him, hand over his heart. Not an ask, but not a demand.

“I won’t,” Dale replies, the solemnity of an oath, the fervor of a declaration of love—more powerful in the dark of your bedroom. He shuffles you over to the bed until you’re lying down against his chest once more. “There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”

That warmth of belonging wraps around you at his words and you gently kiss his neck in answer, before mustering the sleep-weary words to say, “There’s no one else I’d want.” It’s so easy to admit now, so freeing to say aloud. 

Dale presses a kiss to your head. He echoes, “Only you.”

[mochegato]

Too Close for Comfort

The day was already long and it was only lunchtime, but this time of year, the lead up to gala season, always was.  And she had just gone and added more stress to herself by accepting a new client just this morning.  The bright side was she was extremely inspired and already had an approved design.  She knew exactly what she wanted to do and could definitely get the foundation of the dress completed by that evening if she focused, possibly even more.

However, before she committed herself to an evening consumed in inspiration and fabric, she needed just a few stress-free moments in her favorite café to decompress and drink a nice café americano.  She let out a happy sigh as she crossed the threshold of the café.  Nothing bad could happen here.

“Marinette!”

She spoke too soon.  Her face scrunched in annoyance at the man who had just almost jumped at her as soon as she walked through the door.  “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, his dark hair falling over his blue eyes, “you had me blocked everywhere else, so my only option was to see you in person.  I know you like this place so I just… worked from here all day… the past few days until you came in.  And here you are.”

“Most people would take that as a hint,” she snipped and walked past him to take her place in the, thankfully, short line.

“They might,” he acknowledged as he plodded next to her, completely undeterred, and shot her a charming smile, “but I'm not most people, am I?”

“Fortunately, no,” she agreed snidely putting far more meaning into the tone than the words would normally convey.

The tone must have hit their mark because he noticeably tensed then plastered on a hopeful smile.  “Can we maybe go to your apartment to talk?”

His hopeful smile faded at the unimpressed look on her face.  “No.”  She turned to the counter and finally ordered her café americano despite her hope of a relaxing few moments drinking it was looking less and less likely.

“I really would prefer to have this conversation somewhere more private,” he implored.  He moved in front of her so she had a clear view of his pleading, puppy eyes.

“I wouldn’t,” she shrugged as she moved to the side to wait for her coffee.

“Okay, how about we sit outside, and I can talk while you wait?  No pressure?”  This time there was no masking the pleading in his voice.

She sighed heavily and nodded in agreement, motioning toward an open table on the patio with a bit of distance from the other patrons.  “Marinette…”  The word was weighed down with anguish and tears started spilling out.  “Mari, I’m so sorry.  I don’t know what came over me.  It was all a mistake.  I never should have… I…”  He kept starting and stopping as his mind attempted to get everything he was thinking out at the same time.

“I’ve spent the last… since you left regretting how things ended, the things I did that contributed to it,” he ignored the scoff she let out and pushed through.  “I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t value you.  I do.  I do so much.  You were, are, amazing.  You were everything and I never showed you the kind of attention you deserved.  I should have.  I should have showed you every day how amazing you are, how much better you make my life…”  His next words got lost in the tears and quiet sobs he was letting out.

When her name was called after just a few seconds of the blubbering, she almost exclaimed out loud in relief.  The barista had definitely earned themselves a hefty tip.  When she got back to the table, he was still crying.  It was highly doubtful he had even noticed she had left. But as he was mid-sob when she returned, it didn’t feel quite right to just walk out.  But then again, it didn’t feel quite right to sit back down so instead, she leaned against the wall and pulled out her phone to scroll through her emails and shoot off a few texts.

It took a few moments for him to pull himself together and honestly, she wasn’t sure if they were real tears or another manipulation.  But ultimately, it didn’t matter because she didn’t care.  “What’s going on?” she asked in clearly false sympathy.  “Did your new girl kick you out after just a few months?”

He shot her a surly look and dropped his eyes.  “It’s been eight months.”

“It has?” she asked, this time with no falsehood in her voice, but rather the first sign of genuine curiosity.  She quickly pulled up the calendar app on her phone to verify his statement.  “Huh.  I didn’t realize.”  She tucked her phone into her back pocket and took a drink of her coffee with a soft smile.  “Time has really been speeding by so quickly.  I have not been paying attention to the calendar.”

He moved quickly over to her, dropping to his knees in front of her. “Baby…” he started, his eyes back to pleading as a further accentuation of his physical position.

Her expression instantly soured and her eyes steeled as she pushed herself away from him like his touch was liquifying her skin.  “Mark!  I am so not your b…”

Before she could finish the sentence, or rather her monologue of scathing observations of him and their relationship, ending any hope he might have that they could ever get back together, a single shot rang out and the wall just above his head exploded, showering both of them in red dust, followed only moments later by Red Hood dropping down in front of them.  "Sorry. Thought I saw something.  My aim must be off," he offered without a tinge of regret.  His eyes never left the man as he holstered his gun.

Marinette raised an eyebrow and pointedly brushed the dust and rubble off her clothes, not particularly inclined to give him any kind of reaction.  Mark, however, did not feel the same.  “What the hell!  Do you always shoot at the good guys?”

“I do have a history of it,” Red Hood acknowledged.  He stalked closer to them until he was looming over him.  “But I don’t see any good guys around here.  Do you?”

“I do,” Marinette perked up.  Mark shot Red Hood a smug smirk.  “Now,” she added pointedly with a flirty smile to Red Hood.

The man let out an aggravated growl.  “And I wasn’t?  I found you so we could have a second chance.  I told you how much I loved you.  I protected you.”

“Protected me?”  Marinette scoffed.  “From what?  Happiness?  Self-confidence?  Love?  You didn’t quite destroy me the first time, so you want another chance to finish the job?  No, you used me and I’m not willing or interested in giving you a second run at it.  I’ve moved on.  I’m happy.  You should work on yourself so you can find happiness in the future, Mark.  Because the way you’re going, you won’t be able to be truly happy no matter what you do.”

“Oh, I was plenty happy as soon as I dropped you,” he growled, pushing into her space to remind her how small she was compared to him.  “In fact…” he froze when Red Hood pulled out his gun again.

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Mark, you haven’t been truly happy in at least a decade.  That has nothing to do with me.  I hope you figure out what it is you need and can get it, but I won’t be there to see it.  Now I’m going to leave and enjoy this drink somewhere else and I’m going to trust Red Hood to keep you from following me and not injure you as soon as I leave.”  She leveled a pointed look at Red Hood and waited until he gave a grudging nod before leaving.

><><><><><><><>< 

Marinette quirked her head as she pinned a swath of fabric, analyzing the way it laid against the mannequin and the light hit it with a frown.  It wasn’t quite laying right, but she knew it could.  It was the perfect fabric for it.  She just needed to… her concentration instantly snapped as she felt arms wrap around her from behind.  “Well, hello,” she grinned as she melted into his embrace.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he drawled softly against her hair.

“You’re in a good mood,” she purred.  “Have anything to do with your patrol?”

He hummed in agreement and moved his lips lower.  “Came close to exterminating a bit of street vermin.”

Marinette snickered and let him nuzzle into her neck, stretching her neck to give him more access.  “You didn’t hurt him after I left, did you?”

“Not physically.”  She could hear his shrug in his voice more than see it.

“You had nothing to worry about with him, you know,” she chided without heat and backing it up by winding her hand into his hair.

“Oh, I do,” he acknowledged readily, not an ounce of doubt in his voice.

“He was kind of useful, you know.  He make me realize something,” she managed to say breathily.

He stopped peppering her neck with kisses and grumbled playfully.  “Oh?” he prompted as he fell back onto the couch, elegantly falling to the small area that was clear of fabric or other supplies and pulled her with him, so she landed squarely in his lap.  “That pathetic excuse of a manchild make you realize what an amazingly brave and strong catch you’ve made?”

She scoffed as she wiggled around until she found a more comfortable position, very much enjoying the muffled, discomforted groans Jason was letting out.  “No.  It’s our six-month anniversary on Thursday.”

He planted his hands firmly on her hips to stop her moving and took several heavy breaths before he managed a smirk.  “Six-month anniversary of our first not a date because ‘I’m not ready to trust anyone yet?’” he mocked playfully.

“No,” she grumbled, a hint of a smile on her lips as she purposefully, slowly twisted to face him.  “Six-month anniversary of the first time I let you kiss me.”

“Excuse me?” he gaped.  “Who kissed who?”

“I let you kiss me,” she repeated and nodded determinedly.

He leaned back to examine her, eyes narrowed, and clicked his tongue.  “Uh huh.  Let me kiss you back when you jumped me.”

Her jaw dropped.  “I did not jump you!” she gasped and added a smack to his chest.

He trapped her arm against his chest and shot her a devilish smirk.  “Just saying how I remember it happening.”

She scoffed and tried to free her arm, but he held it fast.  “That’s how you wish it happened.”

“That’s how I know it happened,” he smirked.  “You were all ‘oh no, I don’t trust anyone, men are all evil,’” he raised his voice in a comical imitation of her voice.  “And then bam,” he pulled her against himself and secured her there with an arm around her waist.  “One date with me and you were all ‘love is real’” he squealed.

She puckered her lips hard to keep them from quirking up, quite unsuccessfully and turned her face away from him.  “I was all ‘someone needs to take the hit for all humanity and get this menace off the market.’”  She sighed dramatically as she leaned back far enough if he didn’t have a solid grip on her hips, she would have fallen.  “I’ve always been too much of a martyr for my own good.”

He snorted and pulled her against him again as he stood smoothly taking her with him.  “I’ll show you something for your own good,” he growled and walked toward their bedroom amongst her giggles.

[ysljoon]

konig is your roommate

wc: 995 warnings: none just fluff, quick mentions of crying, fem reader (not much metions of female characteristics) a/n: oh lord my first contribution to the cod fandom after consuming brainrot on here and tiktok for the past couple of months :3 i can def do a pt 2 to this with smut but i just wanted to dip my toes in first and see if anybody even likes this lmao MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked)

How you ended up with a man in his mid 30s that’s retired from the military as a roommate is beyond you

You were a broke teacher living paycheck to paycheck and you needed to find a way to conserve costs

You posted a Craigslist posting (definitely not shady at all) looking for a roommate and he messaged you within the first hour of you posting to see if he could check the place out!

It was mildly jarring seeing a 6’10 man in a black surgical mask show up ringing your doorbell. You couldn’t even see above his chest when you looked through the peephole 

He was so quiet when you first tried to spark up a conversation with him that you thought he hated your apartment and maybe even you…

Before he even finished his tour of the apartment he took out an envelope of cash from his pocket that had enough to cover the first three months of rent :0

He moved in all of his belongings the following week while texting you a few times leading up to his move in date just confirming what time he’ll be showing up and if you’re still okay with the agreement

He was equally dry over text as he was in person it was a hard obstacle to jump over to get him to open up with you

The first time he actually started a conversation with you was when he saw you diligently working in the living room on a lesson plan for the upcoming week

At first he just sat down on the couch silently from you just watching you and this didn’t bother you as you’ve come to learn that he is more of an observer than a talker

“Um…what are you working on?” 

Your head shot up and a smile spread on your face this was the first time Konig has expressed any interest in your career

“I’m cutting out flashcards I made for the kids so they can match the words to the pictures! I just procrastinated a little bit so I’m doing it all now.” You chuckled and he hummed in acknowledgement 

After that conversation the interactions over the months got a lot more comfortable 

So here we are now (it’s been about 5 months) and you and Konig are having your weekly movie and pizza night

You let Konig pick the movie this week and you were quite surprised that he chose ‘Inside Out’

Seeing such a large man engrossed in such a cute animated movie made your cheeks hurt with how it made you smile

He was quite surprised when he turned around and saw tears running down your cheeks after watching the scene of Bing Bong die

His eyes widened and without thinking he scooped you up into a hug while you let out all the sad feelings from the characters sacrifice

“Gosh Konig I’m so sorry! That was really silly. I shouldn't be crying so hard over a kid’s movie.”

You looked up at him and your eyes met with his cerulean ones. They had such a tender look to them and it made you and the room feel a lot hotter than what you remember 

With a haste Konig pulled down his mask and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek 

Needless to say you guys just stared at each other like this: :000 for about a minute before either of you said anything

You were the first one to speak up

“Konig, that was the cutest thing you’ve ever done.”

He just blushed and broke the eye contact and coughed to try and clear his throat

“I, u-um I wanted to do that for a while actually.”

Hearing him say this made you giggle and to reciprocate the feelings  you’ve also been holding on to you placed a peck onto his forehead.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while too so now we’re even! The ball’s in your court now Konig, do with that info what you will.”

You pranced off into your room and giggled while Konig was stuck on the couch just absolutely stunned as to what happened.

The next day you wake up and see a note that was slipped under your door. You open it up and it brings a warm smile to your face

‘Dinner at my place tonight! Wear something nice ;)’ You giggled knowing that Konig wasn’t the biggest fan of being in crowded places so a dinner at home was a perfect plan

You noticed Konig wasn’t home so you decided to go to the grocery store really quick and pick up two bottles of white wine for the night

Once you were back at the house you heard Konig was in the shower so you decided to go take a shower yourself and get yourself ready.

You decided to go the full nine yards and put on a red velvet mini dress and do your hair 

When you stepped out you saw Konig already at the stove getting dinner ready. You snuck up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist 

“Whatcha cookin’?” Your voice was muffled into his back and you felt the vibrations of his chuckle

“It's a surprise schatz so go sit in the living room till I’m done”

“What’s a schatz?” All he did was laugh at your response and usher you out the kitchen

You sat in the living room with a pout on your face until you heard Konig call your name to let you come back into the kitchen

Your mouth watered seeing the chicken parmesan dished out and two poured out glasses of wine

“Oh Konig, this is great!” You stood on your tippy toes to give him a kiss of gratefulness

“Careful Y/N if you keep kissing me like that we’ll never get to dinner…” The sound of his voice was deep and a bit gruff

“And is that really a problem?”

[faeprincesswarrior]

On the portrayal of Illyrian culture in ACOTAR

I’m Sara - by ethnic origin, I am Arabic and Turkish. I was othered my entire childhood and dealt with seriously atrocious racist attacks.

As I got older, those things lessened and people started assuming I was white or biracial in part due to my having dyed my hair blonde.

Since then, I’ve experienced racism of a different kind - I get told I am a “shallow white girl” who doesn’t have the right to speak about issues facing POC by people from all different ethnicities.

I’ve had enough of that. I may not look like your typical WOC but I am a woman of color. And I will not be silenced.

Why I am not offended by the portrayal of Illyrian culture in Sarah J Maas’s books:

1. I’m from a Muslim family and grew up going to mosques in the Western World, where some of the very oppressive and sexist ideals about women and their place in society were preached from the stands and actively shared by members of the community.

2. I was chronically shamed by my peers in the community for being into my education and for wearing makeup or for daring to speak to boys.

3. The above happened in the United States in the community I grew up in because oppressive, sexist ideals travel across immigration. I clawed my way out of this community and will never look back.

3. Honor killings still happen where I’m from. To this day.

4. Genital mutilation still happens in the regions where I’m from to this day.

5. Women are not allowed to drive in some countries in the region where I’m from to this day.

6. Women are publicly beaten or stoned to death in those regions to this day.

7. Women have to be fully covered up when they leave the house in the region where I’m from to this day.

8. Women are silenced and told not to speak in public - even just to talk to someone - and not to leave their houses without a male chaperone in the region where I’m from to this day.

9. Women are glorified birthing vessels and it is socially accepted for men to have multiple wives to have as many children as possible in the region where I’m from to this day.

10. Women do not have full equality or even basic, fundamental human rights in the the region where I’m from to this day.

How does this relate to Illyrian culture and ACOTAR?

Do I really need to explain the answer to that? I realize that some people may have grown up in Middle Eastern families and not had the experience I had. Some of my experience is also due to Islamic religious ideas and not simply cultural ideals. And there are some people who may love where they came from and have had a radically different experience than my own. That does NOT make my experience less valid, nor does it make my criticisms of the culture and countries I’m referring to less valid or accurate.

To me, the portrayal of the Illyrians is an accurate representation of what goes on in some pockets of the mid east, and for that very reason, I’m not offended.

In fact, wing clipping is essentially the fictional version of genital mutilation, which still happens in the cultures that people say Illyria is inspired by.

It is not racist to look at something and call it out for what it is. If I were to say, every single ME person I’ve ever met adheres to some of the more fundamentalist and sexist rhetoric I heard and continue to see, that would be racist and untrue.

The reality is there will also always be people who attack Sarah J Maas because she’s Jewish, especially at this time with conversations about Zionism running rampant. I married a Jewish man. I’ve seen anti-semitism firsthand. I also saw it growing up among the more nationalistic people I grew up with who hated the idea of an Israeli country.

What you can do:

Stand up for women around the world who don’t enjoy the same freedoms you do, and quit picking fights about a book series. Look to solve real problems instead of making some up.

Note - If you attack me in the comments, I will not respond. I will immediately block. This was not an easy post for me to make in any way, and I feel vulnerable having shared so much.

[helloiamadrawer]

@cainesrealwife asked:Pleas Yuga fanfic where make out turns into sex-ing pleas I beg of you can also be anything else just any aoyama x read I’m starved save me I’ll pay you in kisses if you write me a Yuga Aoyama x reader (Not lying frfr)

I'm so sorry this took SO long😭 I had to take off a week cause my wrist was hurting and then I had to deal with smut block and work issues (so fun😭) but I was NOT going to let a fellow Aoyama fan down✊so here you go I hope you like it!!

The Nightrobe✨

Warnings:smut, porn with little plot, Aoyama being a tease, lil bit of possessive reader

A/N: The story happens after Bakugo blew up the dorms because of U.A Heroes Battle, so it's basically two days still in winter break

It all started when he picked up his phone off the floor when he "clumsily" dropped it...you knew he was up to something at that moment. The way he looked at you with a certain look in his eyes, giving you a subtle hint that made you confused at first, but then a minute of thinking later you realized this was another one of his teasing games.

Sitting on one of the couches in the commons at the Alliance, your eyes glided to him having a conversation with Mina and Momo about something or whatever the heck they're talking about. all you needed to do was get his attention and try to pry into his mind and expose his little 'plan'.

"Hey Aoyama! Can you come over here for a sec please?" you call out sweetly to him.

"One moment mon amor!" you hear him respond back. While you're waiting for your significant other, you take out your phone and swipe some notifications away and the second you put it back in your robe pocket, there he was awaiting your question with that cute smile he has on most on time. "So what was it you want to discuss my dear?" he asks as he fiddles with the front of his purple robe and leans over to you.

"I was going to ask you about something..particular you did..hours..ago.." you slowly trailed off before your eyes were dropping to the front of the robe that exposed some of his bare chest, clearly showing that he's been walking around with nothing under it, that tease. Your face froze mid sentence until your boyfriend spoke, "Um, mon amor my eyes are up here."

He tilted your chin up to look at his bright indigo eyes and chuckled a bit. In an instant you snapped back to reality, and in mere seconds a blush breaks out on your face. Sometimes you hate being so easily flustered just by his body but he's just perfect that way to you in addition to his quirky personality. Finally you managed to stand up and excuse yourself to the bathroom which kind of confused Aoyama but he just waited until eventually he got a text from you reading

hey bby can u come to your dorm right quick?

Aoyama opens his room door only to be met by you pulling him by his robe's collar and crashing his lips with yours. HIs lips were so warm, you just wanted to kiss him so much until he runs out of breath. The two of you find yourselves moving to his bed thanks to the stray moonlight through his patio window. So you ended up in a position where you ended up in the blonde's lap and you both pulled back from the kiss to catch your breath.

"How..dare you..Aoyama..why..did you do that?" you panted.

"..do what exactly ma Cherie?" he lightly huffed back.

"Come on you knew what you were doing, dropping something and picking it up slow on purpose, that's my weakness and you know it." you playfully retorted at him whilst poking his chest a bit hardly with your index finger almost as of you were berating him. He tries to stifle a laugh at first, but then a smirk grew on his face. "So you figured it out huh? How did you know?" He asks as he puts on this faux tone of coyness.

"Well,", you explain, "when you 'dropped' your phone your um..the front of your robe showed..your chest.." you muttered in a quiet tone.

It's not a wonder how you cannot Aoyama in the eyes and say that exact sentence cause you could feel his neck getting hot. And he knew what the next thing was to do next to make you break for him.

His hands gripped the front of his nightrobe and shuffled it off showing off his toned shoulders and chest. "Like this?" He asks in a cocky demeanor. You bite your lip and lewdly murmur "oh fuck~".

Oops. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you feel Aoyama's thigh now moving against your clothed cunt in a slow rhythm. A dull ache begins to form in between your thighs, arousal shooting through your nerves like an arrow. The action making you bury your face in his shoulder as you literally turn red.

"Yu-Yuga~"

"Aw, were you going to say anything else about my perfect body, cause it appears that that's the aspect making you so horny~" Aoyama croons. Well now you broke, you quickly took it upon yourself to shove your tongue in his mouth to shut him up. Muffled moans were exchanged as the room seemed to get hotter as your boyfriend's mouth begins to dominate yours as he just stops grinding against you, getting lost in the fiery kiss. Aoyama's hands make swift work of making your clothes disappear off of you onto the floor, revealing yourself in a plain white t shirt and panties,a pleasing sight to the the blonde.

A minute of tongue fighting later turns into your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms coiled to his neck for support as you grind against his aching cock with your wet pussy. Aoyama's hands were basically feeling you up from your curvy hips to your perky breasts earning a gasp or moan form every course of action he had performed but he hasn't even got fucking your brains out. But the friction that was being applied to him was enough to make him shiver and groan a lot. It just feels so good, and the sight of your lolled out expression on your face was begging him to just fuck you on the spot. After a couple more delicious grinds from you he whispers in your ear, "Are you ready my dear?"

"If it means you fucking me until daylight then yes please." you seductively replied giving him a devious grin. Unfortunately, you had to unwrap your arms and legs for a split second as he slipped on a condom. But he got back in between your thighs before you could even blink. You were now laying down on your back, Aoyama carefully lifts your legs around his waist again just above his beautiful belt and shares an intimate gaze with you, his dark purple eyes soften with a mix of what lust, desire and love would be all together. The brazen image of his whole chiseled body alone gave you shivers of excitement that's to come. He nudges your needy hole with the tip of his cock before he sheathes himself into you. In mere seconds, the feeling of yourself being stretched out made your back arch. It felt sensational for you since you haven't experienced it in so long, especially for your boyfriend as well, hissing through his teeth of the insatiable tightness around him and it was fucking delicious.

"mm~fuck, damn yuga~" you moaned. Now it was his turn to taunt you, "What happened to that jealous facade you were wearing ,hm?" his eyes crease up in cockiness. You try to buck his to move but his hands stop you from doing that. The blonde giggles, "ah-ah my cherie you don't move until I let you, okay? You feel so good right now baby~ I just want to capture this moment before I let you have all of me." . Your blush returns again, covering it slightly with your arm before your walls feel him moving languidly inside you. A few slurs of curses and moans slip out of you as his slow, passionate thrusts transform you in to a dumb mess and how his hands are guiding your hips with his pace, is making your heart race like hell.

"Such a needy girl are you~?" Aoyama teases, his voice being unbearably sweet but filled with lust. This slow pace was going for a minute, driving you crazy all you could jerk your head to the side and silently whine, "yes, yuga." Your lower half starts to stutter and twitch , signaling that you were craving more but your mind was in a cloud of pleasure. Suddenly, Aoyama gives you one sharp, precise thrust that immediately snaps you out of your haze, causing you to gasping as a louder moan thrums from you throat.

"You're gonna have to look at moi in my gorgeous eyes and tell me, otherwise I can do you just like this all night..without going any faster." He instructs.

Oh god, he wouldn't, but he could.

Collecting some nerve you forced to stare warily into his eyes and mewl out, "yes..Yuga..mm~ I'm such a needy whore-oh fuck!". He grabs one of your legs, raises it to prop on his shoulder, and brutally increases his pace, his length plunging into your heat even more. "Ah! Yuga,oh! right there!~~" you throw your head back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets hard to keep yourself still as he pounds into your guts mercilessly hitting your sweet spot endlessly. Aoyama hearing you moan so loudly like this is music to his ears, encouraging himself to moan back , forcing you to clench around him more. " That's it baby ah~ i'm so close right now you don't even know~" he groans.

The sight your sweaty, flushed body, the provocative way your breasts bouncing from his force only pushes him closer to his high. "agh!--m' gonna cum-baby oh my god!~" you sputter. You're now just fisting the sheets with white knuckles and bated breath as Aoyama continues to rearrange your insides, his thrusts becoming wet slaps that join in the sexy ambience of the room. He rolls his hips into you with a few more powerful thrusts and finally, your orgasms crash into each other, racking both of your bodies in tandem. Eventually, you two collapse in the bed, soaking up the afterglow of what you shared with the shining boy. Aoyama sits up on his elbows and huskily whispers, "That was great, amazing even my love."

"You said it." you sighed lovingly.

The blonde then slides out of his bed and ties back on his nightrobe. "Do you need some l'eau? Cause i sure need some." he asks with a dry chuckle as he heads to open his room door. "Please do, thanks baby."

"Oh, I also forgot to tell you, I was thinking we could perform another round after we regain energy..or two." he adds, taking out one condom in a wrapper before two more flip out. Your mouth stood agape for a few seconds but then you laugh as you smiled at him and told him happily,

"You're the best boyfriend ever."

word count: >1.k cause i lost count lol

[thecurioustale]

My New Book Is Out! | Tokens of Zeal

My new book is out!

Buy it! Buy it now!

That's right: In secret, on January 2 of this year I began writing a book of essays. Some of you may know that I have an online journal, which I created in the summer of 2003 when I was just 21 years old and have kept up with ever since. For my new book I went back to the journal and read through it, entry by entry, drawing out excerpts of interest that became conversation pieces for 81 various and sundry essays reflecting on my past life and past thoughts.

The essays are short, often very short. They are less challenging than my usual writing, I would say. My purpose was not to advance my personal frontier of philosophy and intellectual thought in 2024, or to reach a niche audience of deep thinkers, but instead to reflect sincerely on some things I've seen along the way and muse upon how my thoughts have changed and stayed the same over twenty years.

I mention this to you because I am a bit worried that anyone who reads this book might think there's not much to me as an author, and might be dissuaded from reading my works of fiction when those books eventually come out, so I'll lampshade that by adding that I wrote this book in two-and-a-half months. Make of that what you will. I told myself I wouldn't self-sabotage the book by needlessly saying negative things about it, and I am proud of it, not only the fact that I finished it at all, let alone so quickly, but of the actual contents too.

This book is "Volume 1" in a hypothetical series, as it doesn't cover the entire twenty years of the journal but only the first four months, from August to November of 2003—at which point the essays had reached "book length" (lol). So really this book is a snapshot of my life in the latter half of 2003. At that time, I was fading out of college due to financial hardship and other issues, and did not realize that I would never (as yet) return.

I have been wanting for years to go back and reread my journal, and writing a book out of it was the perfect impetus to finally do it. I think a few things stand out about the Josh of 2023:

First, my principles have remained remarkably consistent, but my awareness and understanding of the world has grown drastically, and so those same principles have led me over time to some different policy views and worldviews on some things.

Second, I was a 21-year-old arrogant block of cheese, full of hormones and self-conviction, and that definitely shows up at times in ways that I simultaneously am not proud of and yet which I admire for their sheer gall. There is something very magnetic about the old me which doesn't exist anymore.

Third, following up on that point, it was pretty inspiring and encouraging to revisit the old me, with all that native optimism and drive. I don't express those qualities anymore because life has worn me down and also because I have come to recognize that humanity's problems are a lot more stubborn and irremediable than I thought. By glimpsing into the past, I couldn't help but be cheered on by the old Josh's proud, utopian sense of human inevitability. It lifted my own spirits in the here and now!

I made the mistake of announcing the book on Patreon right after I finished writing it, i.e. back in mid-March. Then I had to wring my hands every week about how post-production was taking longer than expected. Between the irritating realities of formatting a book in software not properly equipped to format a book (never write a book in Google Docs), the complexities of my detail-oriented manner and strong vision regarding the cover design (and engaging for the first time ever with modern generative AI, and having to learn those ropes), and sustaining illnesses and other life priorities and so on, it would take me another two months in all to finally reach today, where I can now publicly declare:

The book is done! It is for sale right now. It is called:

Tokens of Zeal: Words from a Vanished Age

(Caption: Book front cover of Tokens of Zeal: Words from a Vanished Age, by Joshua Calars.)

You can buy it through Amazon in either paperback or e-book format. (I recommend the paperback version for aesthetics as it is much truer to my design vision for the book's layout and appearance, but my profit margin is actually a dollar bigger with the e-book version, so really just go with whichever version you prefer.) It is available in the US as well as in basically all the other countries that Amazon has expanded its publishing service into. If you need help finding a link to a particular version, give me a ping and I will point you there (if there is a "there" to be pointed to). This is my second published book, following Prelude to After The Hero in 2015, and the first book to be published in print.

If you do read it, first of all thank you! It's an honor that you would take the time. Second of all, I would love any feedback you care to offer. That's not a platitude either; feedback is hard to come by and I really would be interested in anything you have to say, good or bad. You can e-mail me, DM, reblog this, drop an ask, or tag me in an independent post. Whatever you like! Feedback will help me greatly when I eventually get around to writing Volume 2. And feel free to leave a review on Amazon, whether good or bad (though hopefully you enjoy the book); I am told it pleases The Algorithm. But most of all, if you enjoy the book, tell someone about it! Your word-of-mouth is currently 100 percent of my advertising budget, lol.

That's all. I wrote a book; it took four-and-a-half-months; it's done now; and it's the first time I've ever gotten to hold a book that I wrote in my hands as a physical thing, and that's pretty neat.

[third-arch]

No Surprises-A Trafalgar Law x Reader Fan Fiction

Quiescence Extras-Secret

sfw, fluff

You hum to yourself as you lean against the wall and draw. Occasionally, you liked drawing in rather unusual places. On one occasion, Bepo nearly tripped over you, because you were sprawled out in the middle of the hallway. Since then, your Captain has banned you from drawing in places “that block traffic”.

So, you decided to sit on the staircase leading to your Captain’s office. Not many of your crewmates used those stairs. The forecast was calling for cold weather soon, but you decided to take advantage of the peacefulness outside while you could.

(Humming)

Je te laisserai des mots

En-dessous de ta porte

En-dessous de les murs qui chantent

Tout près de la place où tes pieds passent

“...Hm, I really need to play that song for him,” you say to yourself. "I think he would really like it."

"Who would really like it?"

You notice your Captain turning around the corner and heading your way. You look back at your sketch pad and continue to draw.

"Captain! Sorry, I was just talking to myself. Was I too loud?"

"No, you're fine, and I could tell," he responds, softly looking at you.

Your Captain glances at your sketchbook as he climbs the stairs. "Kanna-ya, what are you drawing?"

You cover your sketchbook, "I can't show you!! It's a surprise, Captain-yaaa"

You scoot closer to the wall as your Captain sits down next to you. You both look at eachother. Your chest feels full of butterflies the longer you look at him. Up close, he was certainly handsome.

“Why not? You know I admire your art, Kanna-ya.”

Crud! Captain!!

“Sorry, Captain. It’s something personal to me! I'm just finishing up this drawing of a guy from my dream last night.”

Your Captain looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Your dream? That’s so random.” he smirks.

Seeing his dimples caused you to blush. “It was just a nice dream, I suppose.”

“Well, listen. I have a couple of books that I want you to start reading for your training. Come find me in my office when you’re done and we can talk about them.”

You nod, “Also, Captain! I was thinking. Thank you for everything you’ve done. I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you.”

You frown into your lap, remembering your conversation with Corazon from last night. “I really do want to protect you. I want to stay by your side and help you all I can. And if it means reading those books, then I’ll do it.”

You tighten your grip on your sketchbook. “Sorry, I just really wanted to let you know.”

“You’re fine,” your Captain responds. He doesn’t really know what to say.

“Oi, why don’t you come into my office to draw? You’re gonna block traffic or get cold out here on the steps.”

“I like it here, though!”

Your Captain gently flicks the top of your head, causing you to jump.

“Hey! Not funny!” You turn and frown at him.

He then gently presses his index finger at the center of your forehead. “You know what else isn’t funny? The thought of you getting a cold. Just finish up that drawing and come in here.”

Your Captain pauses for a moment, “Also, just out of curiosity, have you drawn any of your crewmates? Or the Straw Hats at all?”

You shake your head, “Just you and Bepo, sir. The rest is just stuff I like. Oh wait,” you flip to a page and smile widely.

“Look! I drew Sanji!” You show your captain a drawing of Sanji, smoking and surrounded by butterflies.

“You can draw your crew, too. I’m sure they’d like that.”

“I know but I feel embarrassed. It’s a bit different for like Zoro and Sanji, but I’ll draw you if you ask, Captain!”

Your Captain looks alittle dejected by your answer,

"Jeez, fine. How about Luffy or

Captain Kid?" He says, crossing his arms.

"You mean Craptain Useless Mid?"

"Pfftt" Law laughs.

"DON'T TELL HIM I SAID THAT!!!"

You cover your face with your sketch pad to hide your embarrassment, “I’m sorry!”

"Oh, Kanna-ya...when Eustass-ya learns what you said..." he smirks.

"Captain!!” You laugh.

He bonks your head, "Silly-ya, I won't tell him. You're fine."

You smile warmly in response,

"Thanks Captain! I'll draw you something later!"

He smiles warmly at you and ruffles your hair before walking back to his office. “Just remember to come find me when you’re done.”

—

After several minutes, you feel satisfied with your work.

"Alright, they're done!!"🤍

You pack up your art supplies and head up the stairs.

“Captain! I’m ready!!”

—

From a distance, Shachi and Penguin wait to hear their Captains’s office door open and close. They look at eachother and smirk. “He definitely likes her.”

Quiescence Extras-ONE doodles done by Reader-ya!!🤍🤍🤍

Song Credits:

Je te laisserai des mots (Patrick Watson, 2010)

[klausysworld]

can you write some headcanons on klaus being dominant in the relationship

Dominant Klaus Head Cannons:

Klaus is naturally dominant, he’s controlling and confident with what he does, when he does it.

In relationships he shows his dominance through proving he keeps you safe and secure.

He appreciates you willingness when it comes to submission, sexual and not. In basically all situations he has the control and he had you where he wants you.

Klaus keeps a hand on you at all times, often the small of your back or sometimes your hand if he feels he should keep a better hold on you. He especially enjoys when he finds you clinging onto his jacket or his sleeve, he’ll wrap his arm around you tightly keeping you pressed against him.

He makes sure you’re happy and well taken care of.

Often he’ll personally make your food, he can’t risk it being cooked wrong, heaven forbid you get sick he could never watch you suffer, besides he was better than some silly human, he is to care for you, not them.

Often he will even dress you himself, picking your outfit and helping you put it on. He enjoys the way you blush as he ties your shoelaces and places a soft kiss to your knee.

He often will feel the need to help you wash aswell, sponge or loofa in hand as he gently scrubs your body, hands lathering your hair in the best shampoo and conditioner going. He engulfs you with a warm fluffy towel thats been waiting patiently on the radiator and carries you over to the dresser.

Brushing gently through your hair, spritzing it with detangling spray as he applies a rich mousse to keep your hair healthy and soft.

His dominance also shines through when he’s jealous too.

He’ll have a tight grip on you, often keeping you firmly against his chest or in his lap if you’re sat. Eyes dark as he watched any other living thing have their eyes on you for a second too long.

Of course he understood how they could lust over you, he himself does so constantly but seeing another person looking at what was his as though they stood a chance?

He had to keep you nice and close, get his scent on you one way or another. Often one of his necklaces would be around your neck “i know diamonds are worth more but this holds sentimental value, will you wear it for me my heart?”

Little love bites are awarded to your neck making sure you know and everyone else knows who you belong to.

Not that you really need reminding.

He’s often making sure you know your place, he can’t have you straying away can he?

Often he has you held beneath him, hand round your delicate throat while the entire bed rocks, demanding you keep your legs still and spread for him. He makes sure you know how to behave for him, ask before doing things and most importantly learn to beg for him.

He very much appreciates when you’re all dressed up for him spreading you thighs and whimpering your please for him to touch you, telling him how much you want to make him happy, how good he makes you feel.

Often you’re on your hands and knees or simply with your ass raised for your love to have you. His wolf craves this position, the idea of ‘mounting’ you howling through his mind. You’ve made sure you’re never too quiet, he loves your sounds and has taught you not to shy away from how you feel.

He’s even managed to get you seeking him out, tugging at his shirt while he’s mid conversation “what is it my love?” He asked softly blocking you from anyone else’s view “i need” you would whisper almost too quiet for him to hear but he always did. His eyes storming over as he nodded and pulled you closer “of course, you hang on two seconds, I’ll wrap this up” and he does, he wouldn’t dare leave you unsatisfied.

War would be put on hold to care for your needs.

[thewidowsledger]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 3: Your Forgotten Dream Isn't Real | 1.5k

© thewidowsledger 2023 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairings: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: Cursing, mentions of weapons and scars

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

2 weeks ago…

It's been 2 weeks since Natasha last saw you and in that same week when she met you. Natasha mobilized her men, scattering them across the neighborhood in an attempt to track you down. She left no stone unturned, even enlisting the help of Barnes, who diligently checked the block you said you lived in. She even searched some dance studios herself in luck of finding you.

Bucky entered her office with a news, "Welp, no signs of your girl. They don't know someone that has Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes. Unless a girl that you saw is a kid, you could've told me 'cause they pointed me to a kid that matches your person. She's like 7 or like…at least 10? I duno."

Natasha just hummed in response, there was a stack of papers spread out before her. She busied herself, shuffling through the documents, but her mind was far from the tasks at hand. She pretended to be engrossed in her work, not wanting to reveal the disappointment that washed over her as Bucky told the news she had been dreading.

"You giving up now? Doesn't suit you well, Nat." Bucky said as he studied Natasha's demeanor.

Natasha brushed off her disappointment, her voice tinged with boldness, "There are other matters that require my attention. I'll focus on what's within my control. Plus, it's just a girl I can have many if I want."

"My girl is back!" Bucky held his hands in the air as if he was praising someone that hides behind the sky. He sat across Natasha and took the Mont Blanc ballpoint pen for him to play with.

But in Natasha's mind–perhaps it was time to accept that finding you was beyond her reach. But as a woman accustomed to having control, this surrender was both humbling and disheartening for her. She reluctantly conceded defeat, it's not even in her vocabulary.

"Hey, what if she was a ghost?" Bucky suddenly broke the silence, he pointed the pen towards Natasha.

Natasha's fingers froze mid-page turn, she gave Bucky a piercing look, "Stop playing Barnes and give me tha–"

Bucky quickly snatched the pen away from her, "Hey, I'm being for real. But what if she isn't?" he intently looked at her as he leaned back in his chair with crossed arms, "You met her outside the club, past midnight…I mean, no name, appearing in the dark hours of the night? That sounds pretty spooky to me."

"Oh god, we're not having this conversation. And I asked for her name, she just…didn't give it to me." Natasha's eyes narrowed as she gripped the papers with annoyance showing in her face.

"Damn, she didn't?" Bucky's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he processed Natasha's words.

It's very unusual for Natasha to be left in the dark. And with her past relationships and a couple of 'sleep-arounds' as Natasha calls it; it's always them that would plead and beg her to stay. She knows that they will always run back to her. The world will always run back to her.

She possesses this captivating charm that was as alluring as it was dangerous. Natasha carved her path through a world riddled with danger and deceit. She knew how to get what she wanted and she can do it with a blink of an eye, leveraging her magnetic personality to sway others to her cause. But she couldn't even get a girl's name? Your name?

"Can we stop this? And can you stop playing with that pen? That pen costs more than your life." Natasha scolded him.

"Ouch, Nat!" Bucky mockingly put his hands to his chest. He chuckled after, recognizing Natasha's playful scolding for what it truly was—a diversion from their previous conversation.

But for Natasha, deep down, she wanted to protect herself from becoming too vulnerable, too consumed by the thoughts of you.

Natasha rolled her eyes playfully, a smirk playing on her lips. "Prepare the lift, there is an illicit trade of armors today. Some li'l birdy told me about a group known for transporting them. I'll make sure they won't screw it up."

"Woah, boss is back in the game." Bucky grinned at her, he gave her a finger-guns as he made his way out of her office.

Natasha just once again rolled her eyes to him, "I'm always in the game." She confidently muttered to herself.

Present day…

The thoughts of you already slipped out in Natasha's mind, as if you didn't happen, you weren't real, and you were forgotten. Her work demanding more of her time and attention.

It's just a girl, I can have many if I want.

She sat behind her grand desk, a mixture of apprehension and intrigue swirling within her. An invitation had arrived, summoning her once again to a gathering of mob bosses at the same exclusive club she went few weeks ago. Memories of the previous meeting flooded her mind—the debauchery, the lack of professionalism, disappointment, and lastly the smell of disgust.

This time, however, the invitation came with a different tone—a simple gathering to foster connections and potential alliances. Natasha saw an opportunity in this, a chance to expand her network and strengthen her influence. She pondered the invitation for a moment, weighing the risks against the potential opportunity.

Before she could decide Bucky interrupted as he entered her opulent office. "Hey, I heard the news about the gathering."

"Yeah, I'm stuck between…" Natasha cleared her throat and leaned her back to her office chair.

Bucky leaned against the edge of Natasha's desk, "You should go, have some fun." Bucky convinced, his gaze lingering on Natasha's troubled expression.

"I don't want fun Barnes, I'm here for business." She plainly said not taking a glance at him, she knows damn well that she will not win over Bucky when it comes to this kind of conversation, when it comes to having fun.

For Natasha fun seemed like a distant memory, a luxury she couldn't afford.

"Nat, you work tirelessly. You deserve a break. This shit could be an opportunity to let loose even just for a little while or…okay as much as I wanted you not to work while having fun maybe there's some opportunity for business y'know?" Bucky knew her too well, aware of the heavy burden and responsibilities she carried on her shoulders but this time he thinks that she's letting herself drown with her work.

"Nat, I know the weight you carry, but you're more than just a mob boss or the bloody heiress whatever they call you. You deserve moments for yourself, to unwind and be out in this cage, damn is that…wow this is new?" Bucky pointed to the framed-painting hanging on the wall, it's red pointe shoe.

Natasha chuckled at the sight of him, Bucky has this black cat facade but has a golden retriever personality…and has an attention span of a gold fish.

"But anyway, Nat life…it's not all about work. Remember, life is meant to be lived, not just endured." He made his way towards Natasha's office door, "I'm out, please…a li'l fun wouldn't hurt."

There was a flicker of havoc in Natasha's eyes as Bucky left, she paused, considering Bucky's words, knowing deep down that he was right, she hated it that sometimes he is right.

"Okay, we'll…I'm going for business, that's first…and hey business is fun, so I'll have fun with that." Natasha convincingly mumbled to herself with a sigh.

⧗

Natasha decided to have lunch outside, she was wearing a sleeveless black turtleneck, dirty white trousers, and an expensive luxury shoulder bag clinging on her right shoulder. As she strolled along the busy city streets, her attention was caught by a young kid who seemed to be lost. She looked around for a second before walking to the kid.

"Hey…" Natasha softly called the girl's attention, the kid was startled as she turned to Natasha with glossy eyes.

"Where's your parents?" Natasha asked, and that's when the child completely cried out loud. "Oh shit, great." She mumbled to herself."

Natasha grabbed the child and looked around, she found an ice-cream shop and they both went in. She smiled and knelt to face the kid. "What do you want? I'll buy you ice-cream."

"I want Mama!" The kid exclaimed, stomping her feet.

The people were startled by the kid's tantrum, Natasha couldn't help but notice the curious glances of the people around the shop. Whispers filled the air, and she could tense unease and suspicion that radiated from their gaze. "Now, that's even great," Natasha muttered to herself with a little annoyance. "We'll get one chocolate chip cone."

"One chocolate chip cone coming right up!" The kid suddenly stopped from wailing when the server repeated Natasha's order.

"Here y'go." The server handed the cone to Natasha, she took it and gave the cone to the little girl. The kid looked at her with doe eyes, hesitant at first, but after a few seconds the child gave up and took it. Natasha rubbed the girl's hair before paying at the counter.

She held the child's hand as they made their way out, her tiny fingers wrapped securely around hers. Natasha's instincts kicked in, scanning the surroundings for any signs of the child's mother.

Natasha gently wiped the remnants of the chocolate ice-cream off the girl's face, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The little girl's eyes sparkled with innocence and wonder, Natasha could see the trust growing out of the girl.

Feeling a pang of empathy, Natasha knelt down to the child's level and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "We'll find your Mama now. But wipe your mouth first, big girl." Natasha winked at her, she gave her some tissue and took the ice-cream.

The girl wiped her mouth sloppily, Natasha chuckled at the sight but it suddenly changed when she met a gaze with so much tension in it. "Oh god, baby!"

"Ma…" the girl called as her mother hugged her tightly.

Her mother looked at Natasha again scanning her from head to toe, she saw the scar on Natasha's shoulder and a few ink of roses covering it. She was alarmed. Without a second, she turned to her child, "Let's go baby, I'm so sorry I let you out my sight. I'm so sor–"

Natasha could feel the tension in the air, and she didn't miss how the woman became alarmed as soon as she saw her shoulders. She tugged her shoulder bag to cover it, but it only blanketed half of it. "I mean no harm, here's her ice-crea–"

"Keep that." The mother glared at her, but her glare wasn't just anger, it was mixed with fear. She grabbed her child and quickly made their way out of Natasha's sight.

A pang of pain shot through Natasha, it was a stark reminder of the fear those scars could evoke in others. She had become accustomed to those kinds of reactions, but that didn't make it any less painful. Natasha tried to shake off the hurtful encounter.

There are rumors and stories circulated like whispers in the wind. Among them was a peculiar tale that claimed one could easily identify a member of a mob or even a mob boss by spotting a distinctive scar on their body. And Natasha has one, and she's also one; the mob boss herself.

"I never thought those tales are still around." Natasha was startled by the voice that brought her back to reality.

"Yeah, except it wasn't a tale." Natasha chuckled. It was Maria, her assistant.

"And you realized that ice-cream is dripping in your hand right?" Maria pointed to the ice-cream melting out of Natasha's hand.

"Oh shit," Natasha mumbled to herself, she quickly threw the ice-cream and wiped her hands with some tissue Maria handed her.

"You forgot this Nat." She handed Natasha's suit, and she quickly grabbed it.

Natasha wore the suit. She felt a weight lift off her shoulder, it was liberating to know that, at least in appearance, she could blend in with the crowd, offering a sense of little normalcy that might put others at ease. But still it pained her that she would never have a normal life like she always wanted, she always dreamed of having.

"Do you wanna grab lunch?" Natasha asks as she adjusted her clothing.

"Lunch would be great," Maria beamed with a smile.

"Let's go then." Natasha nodded.

Secrets Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[kiefbowl]

Can I ask for advice on how to... Act more assertive? I've been so quiet and shy my entire life but I've been trying to stand up for myself more if that makes sense. It's still really hard though and I haven't... Broken out of my shell? Ever since I've been walking by myself more I've been harassed a few times and I want to learn how to not look so weak or whatever. I just want to have a more open personality in general without being scared to share my feelings and thoughts, and you seem like a good person to ask

Sure, great question. I was once a shy shy shy child, I had to build my confidence up a lot with this regard. My first piece of advice is to stop being so hard on yourself. Stop calling yourself weak etc. The only way to start become more assertive is to respect your emotional responses. Don't think for a second that strong, witty, take nothing women don't have their moments of fear and hesitation. The way your body responds to threats and danger is natural, and it has some form of trying to protect you.

To piggyback on that, don't assume that being assertive protects you from harassment necessarily, or that you will look any different if you gain the confidence to talk back. You're not responsible for how men talk to you, ever.

But any way let's get to the cool advice:

Practice in small, safe groups first. Don't go picking fights with random men when you're walking home at night. Instead, give yourself a little goal of speaking up more the next time you're with your friends, etc. Like all things, practice builds the ability. Practice builds the confidence. Practice builds the instinct. So, start small. If you want some ideas, you can try: being really insistent about where to go to eat ("I really like Blah Blah, and I'd like to go there."), asking for a specific conversation topic when there's a lull ("Hey, I've had something on my mind lately, I want everyone's opinions"), things of this nature. As you can see, they aren't mean. You can be assertive and nice. Practice the less scary stuff first.

In that vein, don't be afraid to be awkward or do it "wrong" (you can't do it wrong, but for the sake of this point). If you sit there quietly wishing you'd go "man shut the fuck up" you'll never learn how to say "man shut the FUCK up." Instead - do the first step of what you think you can do. "uhm excuse me, I didn't like that" even if you're stuttering and sweating bullets is the first building block. Plus, honestly? If you're clearly nervous, that shows some gusto and bravery, sometimes you get more respect by acting like that.

You can tell your friends/family that this is something you're trying. I know, you might think "that's awkward" well cut that out that's not the kind of attitude you're practicing! Say to your mom privately "Mom, I'm trying to be more assertive. I want to speak my mind more, can you help when dad interrupts me." Say to your best friend privately "Friend, I'm trying to speak my mind more. I want to be more assertive. Can you encourage me if I start to struggle in conversation?" I mean, why not? This is a great chance to practice asserting yourself while getting help to continue.

If this is all great but still scary and you still don't know how to start, and you want like a magic bullet task list to just start somewhere, you can start by editing your language. Stop saying "maybe" when you mean "no". Stop saying "I guess" when you mean "no". Or, when you mean "yes!" You have to stop equivocating. Try being as direct as possible when speaking up. Again, this does not have to be mean. It doesn't have to be smart. It doesn't have to be witty. It's taking the time to consciously be aware of when you say things like "I think it would be nice to go together to the party if you want to" and try to say instead "I would like to go to the party with you, what do you want?" ADDITIONALLY: You can correct yourself mid sentence. Forget if it's awkward, you don't care if it's awkward anymore, you only care about practicing what you want. "I think maybe - I mean...I want that, yes."

The next two are really really important that they're going to be their own list, because if you've gotten this far I bet you're thinking "Yes, but how??" and these are the two that tell you how:

5. You have to sit with yourself, undistracted, and think yourself into confidence. And you have to do that for the rest of your life. And that's what every confident person is doing all the time, and they have weak moments where they fail even if you don't see it. You have to be the source of your own internal logic that makes it happen. And you might think "well if it was that easy, I would just do that." No, it isn't easy. And yes, you haven't tried hard enough. You haven't found the logic that works in your mind that you can't refute. YOU have to give yourself time every day to reflect on your life, who you are, what you want...and you have to sit there and backwards engineer the argument that leads to the answer you want. You have to make yourself get that epiphany. You don't wallow on what's wrong with you, you think "I want x-specific-thing, and I know I want that because...and to make me believe that deeply I need to think...what? What do I need to think?" You have to sit with yourself until you think it, because then you can't say you don't know. Personally, I'm deeply motivated by the weight of knowledge that we have finite time to live. I'm deeply motivated by my knowledge of my own female subordination and what I lose if I hold back. I'm deeply motivated by the fact that I can't guarantee the motivation of others. Maybe these will be your same thoughts, maybe they won't. No one can answer this for you.

6. you have to look out for other people. when other people are walked over, you have to advocate for them. when someone interrupts someone else, you have to say "wait, I wanted to hear what so-and-so had to say." If your friend is wilting in the group, you have to get everyone to bring them back in. If you are constantly internalizing you will never gain confidence. You have to be connected to the world around you, and not obsessed with what's going on in your own head. The longer you project your being out, the longer you realize what's going on in your head all the time isn't all that important. And in a strange catch-22, that's when you get the confidence to defend it like it is all that important :)

Good luck!

[g-xix]

Love I would make an omelette if you do a NSFW alphabet for either one of the Cals. 🍳🍳🍳

LOVE U, LOVE OMLETTES OMDS <33 And ofc you can get an NSFW alphabet for the wonderful CalLUX cuz he's CUTE like fuck, proof:

Cutie. Anyways, here's the alphabet (+ link to KSI and W2S's versions!)

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

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex) I think after doing it he wants to make sure you're all okay. He skedaddles to get a damp towel to clean you up and to press to the back of the neck to cool you down.... Also asks a lot to make sure you're physically okay and asks whether he was good enough- almost sounds like he's worried for you, but you know it's just his way of showing love and concern

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's) Thighs. Love, love, loves your thighs. Loves how they're just so soft and comfy- he's a mix of either wanting to lie his head on your thighs and rest, or wanting his head to be between your thighs with your fingers threaded through his hair

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He's so fucking good at giving head- like, it's unbelievable. Headcannon is that after you've cum, he'd lick your thighs and core all over again just to taste your cum- even though your legs were already fucking shaking from post-orgasm overstim

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) One time whilst you were abroad on a girls holiday he felt really horny all day and didn't know what to do... Ended up looking through your insta and pleasuring himself whilst looking at pictures of you. Post-nut clarity he realised how weird he was for doing that and never told anyone (occasionally in conversation he gets a flashback to it and completely blanks out of the convo in sheer horror)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?) I think w Lux you would've gotten into a relationship quite early on, and did your first times with one another. Pretty much all experience you've had is just with one another, so whilst it was quite awkward and intermittent at first- the two of you are now experienced and know exactly what you're doing with one another

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Missionary. He is a LOVE MAKER, and being able to see your face contort with each thrust, be able to lean down and press kisses between your chest and mark up your collarbones that easily is something too good to pass up on for Cal

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) You two are so comfy in the relationship that yeah, you can joke mid-sex. Whilst he's bottomed out you could look up at him and joke What, did you put it in? and he can say whatever jokes he wants back

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) I feel like he doesn't have much hair growth as it is, so it's not really chaotic down there. Keeps it clean and shaves if he needs to, he isn't really bothered and neither are you

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Quite intimate and loving in the moment. You've done rough sex before whilst you two were really fucking horny, but generally sex with Cal is a lot more personal and intimate + you leave feeling well and truly ♡loved♡

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Knows he can't always have sex when he's horny and you're busy, so he tries to wait for you instead of jacking off... but I reckon if he couldn't wait, then he'd have you completely in his mind whilst doing it

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) PRAISE. I feel like it's a two way street asw. He's one to praise you for how "fucking gorgeous" you are and how "beautiful you look under me"... But he loves being praised too- told he's doing so well and he feels so good... All the praise goes STRAIGHT to his head

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) You know back when Harry, and Cal² lived together in an apartment block, they had a hot tub and gym area on the roof? I reckon that after a long week, you and Cal would go up there to relax, but end up just dogging over (or sometimes in) the tub, surprisingly turned on by the risk-factor of someone just walking up and being able to see the two of you going at it

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Cuddling and just being all domestically loving. I think a few little kisses behind his ear, a few hugs from behind and wrapping your legs around his own... It doesn't turn him on per say, just makes him love you and want to develop that chaste kissing into him kissing between your legs whilst you praise him and squeeze your thighs around his head

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs) Age play. First heard about it at a shoot when someone said "He's so old they must have some weird sort of age-play sex life", and Cal hadn't a clue what that meant. After asking, he was mortified at the idea of pretending to be younger or older than himself or you were.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Giver. Such a giver because of how much he loves hearing your moans and the way his name sounds rolling off your lips between your whines. And the way he holds your plush thighs with such force he knows they'll bruise- but you still push them together around his head, giving him such pleasurable headrush as he licks between your legs, savouring every fucking moment between your folds

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Slow + sensual, if you couldn't have guessed it. There's no rush to make one another cum- he's holding your hand and praising you whilst he thrusts, telling you how perfect you are 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Not really into them- never really has had the need for a quickie. If you two have plans but you can't wait to rip one anothers' clothes on, then you'll scrap the plans- send off a voicenote between pants and rugged breaths that you'll "have to reschedule", or for the others to go without you. If ever you can't make it to nights out because the two of you are too busy fucking before you've even left the flat, Cal will make you send a voicenote apologising whilst he thrusts into you at a punishing pace, leaving you to try and regulate your voice and not fucking moan as you explain to whoever's on the phone. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) That long into the relationships? Yeah, experimenting is alright but it's not all that common for you two. Vanilla's quite satisfying and whilst experimenting is all good, sometimes you just find it gets in the way. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Tbf I think Cal could go a few rounds, but he's more into making you go more rounds. He's eating you out first, then pushing two of his long fingers into your overstimulated hole and scissoring them to your second orgasm. Chest heaving and words almost whispers between heavy breaths, you're persuaded to go yet another round by his sweet praises and coos, and make it through to the third round- legs twitching and barely able to walk after Cal's antics

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) You own toys and he's happy with just using a hand for himself. Has used a toy on you before during sex though, and was surprised by how much you liked it... Sometimes if it's lying not too far away, whilst he pounds you he'll hold a vibe to your clit because he knows how much difference it makes for you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) A little bit, likes to tease you verbally with little maims like "Awh can't you take anymore?" but ends up praising you afterwards anyways because he can't taunt you without telling you how "beautifully fucked-out" you look...

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) He isn't too loud, a few quiet groans... He mainly goes for dirty-praise talking you instead of making noises. You on the other hand let out moans and tell him how good he feels- but generally neither of you are stupidly loud. You look to keep it in the bedroom where it's only you two hearing one another's noises

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Tried phone sex once... Whilst you were on a business trip one night, down on the Isle of Man whilst he was bored and horny in London, he called you to check if you were free. He got his hand, you got your massager, and the two of you got started on yourselves, your high whines and moans music to Cal's ears even if it was through his phone's speakers

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes) Probs a bit above average and grows when he gets erect to an impressive six-seven inches. Maybe a bit on the less girthy side, but it never fails to leave you feeling completely fucked full.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Not very high tbh, he doesn't have a really high sex drive. You have the higher sex drive so whenever your horny he generally just takes it as an opportunity to give you head or fuck you

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Not interested in sleeping afterwards, probably wants to care for you instead.

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

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

To see more, here's my MASTERLIST

And here's my WATTPAD, with 50+ more oneshots to read