#i have a tattoo based off of these vases

[impactedfates]

One Final Dance - Xiao x GN!Reader

Summary: You wanted to keep your job a secret from your boyfriend. You knew what could happen if he found out, but the truth always comes to light and he found out. But just before you deal with the consequences, you requested just one final dance with him

Warnings/Extra: Angst (At least I tried to make it) // Character Death (Reader) // OOC Xiao? // Not really proof read… // Time skips are seen like this -------->

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W.C - 1423

A/N- My friend read it, I read it. I have a heavy love/hate relationship with it ngl, leaning more to hate but there is things I like about it. Which I hope you do too…ANYWAYS. Although I read it and so did my friend, I didn’t actually fix or edit anything. So you’re reading the raw (?) piece technically…enjoy? (I hope) 

Working as a Fatui member, you often had missions outside your home nation. This mission was situated in Liyue. You looked around the vase land, exploring a bit before returning back to your base camp. However, unluckily, a group of treasure hoarders came by. You were quick to pull out your weapon and were ready to fight them off.

You were doing well, however you didn’t notice a treasure hoarder coming up behind you, he raised his weapon and was about to slash it down towards you, you were able to turn your head in time to see a green mist suddenly in front of you, sending the treasure hoarder back.

You eyes met the back of a masked man, he was quick to dispose of the rest of the treasure hoarders, it went faster as you were quick to help him. After all's been dealt with, he turned to you.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m…fine…who are you?”

He turned back around, his head turning towards you as his polearm disappeared into thin air. His Anemo vision shined. You couldn’t help but take in his appearance fully now that there weren't many distractions.

“Who I am is not important…be safer next time”

He said, before disappearing in the same green mist he appeared in. You paused a bit. Remembering his appearance. His mask, his short green hair, his tattooed arm. His clothing. And his voice.

You paused a bit

You wanted to see him again.

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“How many times must I tell you to be careful”

The man who you learnt was named Xiao spoke after saving you for the nth time. You smiled slyly at him and scratched the back of your head.

“Quite a lot it seems”

You replied, Xiao shook his head at you, disappointed. He had given you his name, so you could call him when you were in danger. Although you could easily defend yourself from most enemies. You couldn’t help but want to see Xiao more and more with each encounter.

“If you continue calling my name like this, I’m going to think you’re messing with me”

“Is it so wrong to want to see you?”

You admitted, raising a brow. He seemed taken aback by your statement before crossing his arms. Oh he was definitely going to lecture you about calling his name just to see him.

“I had thought it was…suspicious. You seemed completely fine every time you called for me, and you also seemed perfectly capable of fighting…so you only called my name to see me?”

“...Maybe?”

“...If…if you truly just want to see me…then just stop by Wangshu Inn instead. I think it’s…better. We can actually talk without being interrupted by hilichurls attacking”

And with that, Xiao quickly left, teleporting away.

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“What do you mean you don’t know how to dance!?”

You exclaimed, looking shocked at Xiao when he revealed his inability to dance. He looked away, a blush dusting his face before nodding.

“My life was filled with fighting, even after Morax saved me, I am still fighting. Fighting to protect Liyue, fighting my karmatic debt…I guess I didn’t have time to learn to dance”

“But you have time to hang out with me huh?”

Xiao’s cheeks grew redder, turning his whole body away and crossing his arms. Even though he did this to hide how he felt, you could tell he was flustered.

You softly laughed at your friend's reaction. You enjoyed these times. Where you could get free time from your usual Fatui duties to hang out with Xiao. Someone who you had gained feelings for. You wish you could tell him your true occupation but…his job to protect Liyue and you being a part of a group that could put Liyue in danger? It was best for you to keep it a secret, so you could continue this friendship.

You slowly walked up to Xiao, tapping his shoulder and lending a hand out towards him.

“Well…if you want. I could teach you. Right here, right now”

Xiao turned to you and looked at your extended hand. With a small sigh he took your hand, with a grin you were quick to pull him into a slow dance. Guiding him on where to place his hands. With each step you took, with each mistake he made as he apologies with a small blush. The moonlight shining on the two of you. And near the end of the dance, perhaps it was the atmosphere that made things the perfect setting. Slowly he leaned in and you two shared a kiss under the moonlight.

I guess your feelings were reciprocated.

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Today marks the anniversary for you and your boyfriend Xiao! You’ve been dating for 3 whole years and everything was perfect. You had your ups and downs sure, every couple does. But you two truly loved each other. With a bag in hand and a wave bye to your comrades. You made your way to Wangshu Inn.

You smiled at Verr Goldet, who gave you a nod as she saw you walk up. She was the first person to find out about your relationship with the adeptus himself. And she grew fond of you.

“Xiaoooo, are you here? Where are yo-”

You froze, eyes widening when you saw someone pointing a polearm at your neck. That someone, being your boyfriend. You quickly raise your hands and tried to walk back a bit.

“X-Xiao? What’s going on?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You opened your mouth to ask, what was he talking about? Until you stiffened. Did he…find out? Find out about your true occupation.

“You said you worked as a wandering merchant…you had goods with you I-I thought I could trust you…I wanted to surprise you today by picking you up but I couldn’t find you where you said you were…I got worried, I saw you with the Fatui…I thought you had gotten caught but…no…it was clear to me you were lying to me from the start”

You looked down, thinning your lips. You couldn’t deny his allegations, he saw you. He knew you were lying but…you truly did like him.

“Xiao…I…please, I love you, my job as a Fatui won’t affect this relationship”

“But it might affect the safety of Liyue! You…”

Xiao felt the words die on his tongue. He loved you dearly, but he cannot just let you go after finding out who you work for. After finding out what you could do to endanger the citizens of Liyue.

“[Name]...I’m sorry I just…I hope you can understand, but I cannot just…”

“...I understand”

Xiao lowered his polearm, he took some deep breaths as you carefully placed your gift on the ground and slowly walked over.

“But…before you…well…ensure I’m no longer a threat to Liyue…can we have one final dance?”

Xiao looked at you, his eyes softening at your request. After much thought, he put away his polearm and lent out his hand which you happily took. And just like 3 years ago, you two danced under the moonlight. The movement was careful, no mistakes made anymore. Xiao leaned in for the final time and gave you a kiss.

With a heavy heart, he summoned his polearm again and stabbed you through the chest. You coughed up blood, quickly clinging to his clothing, you looked up to him and smiled despite everything. The blood running down his polearm and dripping on the ground.

Your eyes slowly lost their light and sparkle. The light and sparkle Xiao loved to see. He held your body close to his own. He felt like crying. But he couldn’t, not now.

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After burying your body, after placing flowers on your grave. He teleported himself back to WangShu in, his eyes landed on the bag you wanted to give him for your anniversary. He walked over to it and picked the bag up, taking the gift out he felt a shortness of his breath as his eyes landed on it.

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The traveller's eyes lingered on a photo frame of Xiao and an unfamiliar person. The two of them smiling, Xiao is holding onto the person in a loving embrace. They turned to Xiao, wanting to ask about it but they stopped themselves as they saw how he looked at the photo himself. With such sadness and seemingly regret.

They thought it was best to keep quiet about it. It must’ve been someone important to Xiao that had been laid to rest. 

If only they knew that Xiao was the reason they had to be laid to rest.

[self-shipping-doll13]

Gold-Embossed Dinner Plates

November Prompts

Wc: 3930

Tw: Slight NSFW

There was a wild lashing outdoors, the droplets bouncing off the pavement. It was 4:30pm when 4:30pm was a late Autumn evening, and no longer a Summer afternoon. Not taking joy in the needles of rain I’d be braving in my venture, I was zipping up my fleece to stave off the late chill when my co-worker pulled me aside.

Ubbe and I had spoken only a couple of times before. He was good for our customer base, since a few people sidled in to smile at him dreamily when they bought their expensive pastries.

“Someone told me you had a run in with my brother,” Ubbe began, and there was a wry twitch on his lip.

“Yes, I met him a couple of days ago,” I said mildly.

That the two men were related should not have come as a surprise. They had the same last name, the same blue eyes—but Ubbe’s had not such keen ferocity.

The memory rekindled a fire in my cheeks. Ubbe seemed to choose his words thoughtfully, examining my face. “…I think I should apologise on his behalf. He didn’t say anything to bother you? Ivar can be unpredictable—he does things without thinking.”

“No, no,” I replied with dismay. How conscientious of Ubbe, but I was eager to mollify any worries he had. What garbled version of the story had he heard? “Nothing bad went on,” I reassured him. “We just had a little awkward moment. I’m fine, don’t worry at all!”

“Ah,” he accepted this correction, distancing himself. “Then forget I said anything.” And he smiled so that he showed the whites of his eyes. I hurried home.

That was before I started actually dating his brother, and I was soon made aware of Ivar’s brusque attitude (which I grew to find charming) by his… unorthodox teaching methods. Evidently others were unaccustomed to his gentler side. But I certainly did not resent the fact that I received special treatment. It made me feel, well, special. Later he told me I was.

From Ivar’s now-and-again comments on his family I gleaned a few more things: he had a half brother named Björn who was travelling the Mediterranean. The middle child, Hvitserk, was a tattoo artist and lived in the city with his girlfriend Thora—fine work. In those quiet moments late at night, I trailed my fingers softly across the sable whorls of ink on his skin. Sigurd, one year older than Ivar, had estranged himself from certain members of his family a couple of years ago and was trying to eke out a living as a musician. As a rule, he and Ivar despised each other, and Ivar was not keen on my speaking to Sigurd anytime soon. Or ever.

Floki, a family friend and apparently Ivar’s old teacher, was the person Ivar was most nervous for me to meet, because he held him partially responsible for his interest in old Norse history. Floki actually lived near my own home, on the briny grey coast. He made boats—in fact, he made a whole lot of other things. So one day, I found myself in the heart of his workshop, in a modest dwelling by a quay. Intricate carvings lined the tall shelves, and the wood shavings Floki blew from a coffee table made clear he had a pretty spontaneous work ethic. His wife, Helga, was immensely doting and kind, though sad-eyed. Dunking biscuits in hot cocoa whilst in their sitting room, I listened to the waves break up against hulls of white painted ships. It was probably the most comfortable I’d felt around Ivar’s family.

Floki was not related to Ivar by blood, but with his eccentricities, he definitely fit into the archetype of a ‘fun uncle.” Secretly I thought he acted more like Ivar's father than his actual father, whom I’d once met briefly in the hall landing just as he was shrugging on his fur-lined coat. Ragnar hummed at me blankly like I was the new and easily shatterable vase, and then left to go on and do other things.

I got the feeling that maybe he’d left that landing a lot in the past.

Ragnar had been separated from his wife Aslaug, Ivar’s mother, for over a decade. Not legally perhaps, but in every way that mattered. As I’d first seen her after seeing Ragnar, she was stiff and distracted, and seemed to look through me rather than at me. Aslaug and I smiled politely in the vague direction of the other, but without any real engagement. She was tall, auburn-haired and intimidatingly beautiful, so I knew where Ivar got his good genes from.

The idea of a more substantial meeting would not come up until something like a week or two after that. It was during one of those nights, lonesome but for the two of us and fuelled by kisses and caffeine, where it was impossible to resist getting lost in each other. And we got pretty lost—two times, three times—lost so thoroughly I could barely recall any other words than his name, and the soreness he left behind was the sweetest thing. Panting, I lay curled up against him, sweaty and sticky and satisfied. My heart was pounding and our intermingled breathing was so loud, the scent of sex permeated the air. The city outside was alive with blaring car horns and the drunken shouts of Halloween revellers, floating in through the open window and into his apartment. I could’ve died right there and been content.

“A girl could really get used to this,” I mumbled.

Ivar was rubbing my hip. “Yeah?”

Gazing up at him affectionately, I propped my chin up on my knuckles as I stretched my legs and toes out. His eyes had that tired, sultry glazed over look.

“Sweetheart… Keep staring at me like that and I’m going to be tempted to have a go at you again.”

I grinned cheekily. “Hm, I wouldn’t stop you.”

My muscles were utterly relaxed—I was steadily growing drowsy and my lids were drooping. He planted a kiss on the top of my head, shifting under me.

“You want to sleep, don’t you?”

Yawning, I nodded. “Should go to the bathroom first…”

Basking in the afterglow, I hated to drag myself away from him, and it was tough to lift up and roll out of bed. Caressing me with slow, gentle motions, he held fast.

“Wait, listen,” Ivar said, nose still buried in my dishevelled hair. “I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

Ivar tucked a loose strand back. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly. “How would you like it if I asked you to come to dinner with me and my family this weekend?”

I blinked for a moment. This statement was spoken more like a question; lacking in his usual confidence. “Of course I’d go,” I told him, without really thinking.

“That was fast,” Ivar said hazily. “My mother wants to get to know you, this girl I keep talking about. And my older brothers are going to be there. Two of them.” He puffed air out of his nose, then looked at me seriously, with pleading eyes. “Do you mean it? You want to go?”

“Yes.” Propping myself up on my elbow, I trailed a line down his jaw, finding light stubble and coaxing him into a grin. “Did you really think I could say no to you?”

“Saturday.” Ivar told me, chasing my hand to kiss it like he always did. “And I’m looking forward to it.”

Humming, I pressed my lips to his and then got up, goosebumps rising on my arms in the cool evening air. We both had a lecture the next morning, with him in his usual role. It was a good thing I wore a turtleneck to hide the purple welts blooming on my throat.

Once I had more time to ruminate on my decision, I felt I was actually a bit concerned. If Ivar was antsy for me to be like Floki, I was nervous to properly acquaint myself with his mother. Questioning if I truly measured up was a daily occurrence—if just an internal one—and it did feel like a kind of yardstick was awaiting me.

Fiddling with the straighteners, I examined myself doubtfully in the mirror that Saturday. My exact fear could not be pinpointed—it was a cluster of little fears. I was anxious for his mother and I to get along, to not be found disappointing; too unattractive, too socially inept, too working class. Beyond this, I was just anxious, and slightly clammy with my makeup and my hair done up.

Aslaug met us both at the door, dazzling with perfectly straight white teeth. “Jasmine, welcome,” she held both my elbows gently. “Ivar’s told me so much about you.”

“And you,” I told her, smiling as graciously as I could as she brought her nose to my cheek in a fake air kiss. I tensed up a bit, not sure whether to reciprocate.

“Don’t scare her off,” Ivar smirked, arching a brow.

Aslaug threw him a mild glare, and I was struck by the facial similarity. “You will have to excuse my son, Ivar has no manners in this house,” she said gravely.

My lips twitched as I was startled into amusement. About the exact same time as he said: “She loves it.” I told her: “Oh, that’s never been a problem for me.”

After some gracious laughter, she turned to head back into the dining hall, he took my hand discreetly, the other flexing around the spiked handle of his crutch. “C’mon, It’s just this way,” Ivar whispered into my ear, and I nodded and trailed after him into the dining hall. Tired, I did not feel as adept at socialising as I did on recharged days. But I was glad that it seemed Aslaug had forgotten how our original meeting went, because that meant I could hopefully make a better impression.

At this point I’d been in their house a few times before, but tonight I was struck by how nice the place was. The house itself was located in a safe, well-groomed neighbourhood, filled up with doctors and big cars. Probably cleaned up for the guests’ arrival, too. I sat down in my chair, in awe of the gleaming silverware and finely embroidered tablecloth in rich hues of crimson and gold. Careful not to let any loose drops besmirch it, I poured a stream of gravy onto my food and passed the boat to Ivar, who drained it dry.

“This looks amazing,” exclaimed Thora. She seemed more comfortable with the new faces than I was.

“It’s one of our family’s favourite dishes,” replied Aslaug. She ate her meal delicately, and had refused the offering of the gravy boat. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thank you for having us,” I piped up, trying to meet her gaze directly. “You have a beautiful dining table.”

“Not at all. Please, make yourself at home.” Aslaug wore a green velvet dress, and ornaments tinkled at her wrist as she held the stem of her wine glass. “I hope the traffic coming down wasn’t a problem? Siggy’s been very troubled with it lately.”

“No, it was fine,” I said reflexively.

“How is Siggy?” Hvitserk asked, shovelling in piles of food into his mouth. Aslaug’s face turned awkward.

“Doing her best to cope with the changes,” she said in a gentle voice. “Living in an empty house when you’re not used to it can be difficult. She likes to fill up her time, so I take her with me to Pottery class. But from what I’m hearing, Thyri is doing well in America.”

Ivar was digging in by my side, wholly unaffected by the formal atmosphere. “That seat is empty.” He sent it a combative side-glance. “I thought I’d see Ubbe here.”

There were three vacancies. Untouched chairs made of high-backed mahogany. Myself and Thora’s were clearly the reserves, metallic and modern in design.

“Ubbe couldn’t make it,” explained Aslaug. “He’s been very busy lately. He works on Saturdays now.”

Ivar flashed one of his sinister false smiles. “Hm. It’s just been a while since I’ve last seen him, that’s all.”

Hvitserk cleared his throat. “Working two jobs… That’s Ubbe for you. He told me he’s saving up for the grand hotel booking.” I did always peg Ubbe as the type to not accept financial help. Hvitserk took a loud sip of his drink. “But you know, I think I agree with him. Margrethe deserves to be a happy bride.”

Thora looked to him curiously. “Margrethe?”

“Yeah, she’s his fiancé.”

Observing the pleasantries, I cut my meat, my knife and fork scraping loudly on ceramic. The dinner plate was embossed with gold—black borders engraved with delicate fleur de lis—and I felt like a slob for using it, though it was at Aslaug’s behest. It seemed more suited to filling tall glass display cases, like Fine China that was never eaten off of, but always treasured.

After a while, Ivar began disturbing the peace. “Listen to yourselves,” he said mockingly. “The food is going to go down my throat like nails if this is all we talk about the whole time. Mother, you’ve hardly said anything about yourself. How is the class?” He waved his fork.

Personally I couldn’t see how it could be anything but excessively delicious: with the golden-brown roasted potatoes, steaming green vegetables and slices of lamb drizzled with the gravy, it felt like Christmas.

I’d eaten a brussel sprout too quickly and a hot lump was struggling down my oesophagus as I listened in.

“Well,” Aslaug pressed a well-groomed hand to her chest like she had heartburn. Evidently with her favourite child, she had infinite patience. “It’s really not that exciting, it just gives me something to do. Helga’s much better at it than I am,” she said modestly.

“I’d love to hear about it,” I said. Though struggling with the brussel sprout pain, I was now enjoying thinking of swiftly spinning potter’s wheels. “It sounds interesting.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Ivar, endearingly invested.

Aslaug turned her piercing eyes on me, curious. Thora made sounds of enthusiasm, keeping a hand over her lips as she nodded and chewed her food.

I fired on. “Is it a hard hobby to keep up?”

“Not really,” she said, and after a moment went on: “Like most crafts, I suppose it takes practice. And time. I’ve been doing it for several years now.”

“Will you show us? I get pictures, but eh…” Ivar looked genuinely eager to see his mother’s work. I understand that they were always close, if sometimes at odds.

“Yeah,” said Hvitserk. “I haven’t seen any of them.”

For a moment she looked taken aback, and hesitated, as if deciding if it would be appropriate for her to leave her guests. “Excuse me, I’ll just go and find it.”

Aslaug’s heels echoed impressively on the oaken floorboards, which were polished to a fine sheen. We were now left without our hostess to wrangle us.

“So, Jasmine, are you in university?” Thora asked.

At this, I perked up. “Yes. English Literature, and I take a few other courses. And I guess you’re in too?”

“Mhm, I do Fine Art.”

“What’s it like? I’ve always been curious, but I don’t know anyone who majors in art. Not right now anyway.”

“Basically like how you’d expect. I spend a lot of time in a studio, I guess. A while ago I was nosing about in the city trying to find inspiration to help with my personal portfolio, and, well,” Thora rested her head briefly on Hvitserk’s shoulder. “That’s how I met this guy.”

“This guy? Ow.”

She laughed and told me, “Shared interests.”

Hvitserk laughed too, poking her with his fork in a way I deemed affectionate. “We’re in the same boat.” I smiled at them clumsily, unsure of how to phrase it.

Ivar made an amused noise. “Jasmine here has the dubious honour of minoring in Norse studies.” Not hesitating, he brushed his knuckles over my cheek. I knew he loved that course—didn’t love the people in it. “Very bright little student, aren’t you sweet?”

“I think I have an unfair advantage,” I said bashfully, finding his touch pleasing despite my embarrassment.

Ivar snorted with derision. “Not that you need it, what with a class average like that.” He stretched out in his high-backed chair, and then went back to eating.

His older sibling was looking between us with increasing awareness. Somehow the fact that I knew our relationship was inappropriate hadn’t been on my list of concerns until now. But it was probably good to rip the band-aid quickly, since I didn’t intend to let it stop me and obviously neither did Ivar.

“I’m happy for you,” Hvitserk said in an Ubbe-like way.

“Cheers,” Ivar said, grinning and raising his glass.

The tapping of high heels was heard once more as Aslaug strode back in. Ivar gulped down his drink.

“This one is very recent.” She was holding a mottled clay pot, vaguely shaped like an amphora, and she set it down gently on the table beside her plate. “I wanted to paint it first, but was thinking of maybe putting some flowers into it. Artificial ones, so they won’t wilt.”

Ivar squinted at it, leaning forward slightly. “You know, that looks just like the one we broke ten years ago.”

“No, it was longer ago than that,” said Hvitserk. Ivar’s head snapped back quickly to look at him. “Thirteen—fourteen. I was pushing you in the cart, hit that sharp turn by the living room. Happened there.”

“Oh, it was eternally a pain to clean up after you boys.” Aslaug sounded distantly cross, as if the memory still vexed her. “Shards everywhere, all over the floor.”

“I like the shape of it,” said Thora tactfully.

“It’s really pretty.” I also complimented, observing the pot with its smooth, shiny surface like a spotted seal’s hide.

“Beautiful shape, though it wasn’t very neat,” agreed Aslaug, stroking it. “But I’ll have this one done up more tastefully. Anyway, I’m distracting you all from eating.” She nonetheless seemed to be proud of her work, and to my eyes, was slightly flushed at the attention.

Loud chewing and plate scraping resumed. I chatted more with Thora, who was enduringly friendly, throughout most of the meal. Ivar and I would occasionally lean close to exchange furtive whispers as he pointed out things I hadn’t noticed before; the orange juice stain on the tablecloth, the slightly crooked painting, the peel of the wallpaper.

Our fingers would join together under the table. He also liked to flaunt them in full view, smirking pridefully. Something warm filled my belly, so I drank more water.

After eating, we all set up in the living room. This place was far cosier—not to disparage the rest of the house, which was tastefully furnished. But here, it was much easier to relax. One of those electric fire lights flamed red in the grate, and the settee was piled with tasselled suede cushions. Laughing, I sank into it, more interested in our steadily improving dialogue. Somewhere along the way, I accepted a taste of sherry and a slice of plated pavlova. The sugary sweetness of the crust melted on my tongue, and I let Ivar steal a green grape off of it. He popped it in his mouth.

Both a long time and no time at all had passed by the time we’d finished up. Aslaug pressed her fingers to her temple as if she had a migraine. Ivar urged her in a gentle voice to dismiss us, so when she smiled at us this time the skin of her eyes crinkled tenderly.

As a guest I followed Ivar through a doorway. The bedroom was cloaked in black-and-navy and held the fond air of being preserved for return migration. There by a tall oak wardrobe, I dropped a canvas bag that held a change of clothing and a toothbrush. I would’ve never realised it was half-past-twelve were it not for the glittering of a digital alarm clock on an end table.

Ivar found his chair by the desk and let his crutch fall by the wayside. “Sit here a minute.” He beckoned me to him, and I padded across the soft carpet. The heat of Ivar’s palms warmed my legs through denim. “There. That’s better… Being on me where you should be.”

“I feel like I could be silent for the rest of the night.” Sighing deeply, I threw both my arms around his neck.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Just means I get to talk more.”

“You would anyway,” I said, and before he could open his mouth to retort I blurted out a confession of sherry, “Do you think your mom likes me? I couldn’t tell.”

His double take alleviated my concern before he even opened his mouth “Of course. We got to talking earlier, mother said she was glad I found someone who’s nice and actually sensible… Which you are.” He snorted. “Put it this way, she has no reason to dislike you.”

“I was only… Unsure if I would be considered suitable.”

“Nonsense,” Ivar said. “She’s always on my case to get settled down. If anything, you’ve made her very happy.”

Bubbles of my silliness popped harmlessly, and in the dim lamplight I wondered if he knew how desperately I’d like to kiss him. “That’s good. I’m really glad.”

I toyed with the moon pendant on my necklace. She was peering through ash grey curtains, silvery rays bouncing off of laden bookshelves. Glossy hardbacks jumped out at me, and I hoped in the morning after a slice of buttered toast, I’d be able to slide one out curiously and ask after it, just a little. Warmed, we’d talk and laugh, spread out in a tangle of belongings on various soft surfaces, like we did in his apartment.

“Relax. You worry too much. And you don’t need to.” Ivar squeezed me. “My mother’s easy to please, not like me. With brothers like mine, it’s a necessity.”

She did appear to have a lot of patience. “I thought Hvitserk was alright,” I said, grinning behind my hand.

“Only because you don’t know him like I do. And you should know by now that my opinion is the only one that matters,” he finished haughtily.

I suspected this was not wholly true, but Ivar was very wilful. Even by relinquishing a book to me on that fateful day, he’d gotten his way.

The rush of desire to kiss him overwhelmed me now. By his noise of pleasant surprise, I could tell he really didn’t know of it, that I would have to communicate it very thoroughly to him. There In his arms I found a casual welcoming, precious for its thoughtlessness.

I knew then any rejection was self-imagined. So I eased, and thought of comfort. “It’s feeling stuffy in here. Mind if I open the window just a crack?”

Ivar stroked my knee, distracted. “Not by too much.”

It was a mild Autumn evening. Tugging at the curtains, I reached up and pressed the lever down. From the gap a light breeze floated in, carrying a hint of spice. The room was ground level, and in the back garden a lone tree threw itself up in a sprawl of limbs.

Embraces resumed with sighs on our lips. Twisted boughs shivered in the wind; in the dark the leaves gleamed yellow and green, like sly cat’s eyes.

Dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[winderlylandchime]

Thank you so much. We are all doing much better and in true fashion of my family we somehow have managed to turn it all into laughter. But I do come bearing gifts! Aka random updates about the man that according to my parents I am related to even though I have doubts.

-He burned down his kitchen… twice…in 1 week. All is good, he is good but he did learn a valuable lesson that noodles need water. And that lighting a candle with a paper on fire is NOT a smart move. He is on first name bases with the fire department already though because last year he got his hand stuck in a vase and walked to their station with it and then proceeded to ask if he can go down their pole (he was allowed)
-He made 3 of his (new) friends watch qaf (prom ep and first 4 of s2) and it was INSANE! I felt like I was watching straight men watch Super Bowl. A lot of “WHAT THE FUCK MAN?! GO TO THE FUCKING PROM!” And my all time favorite his friend going “I can’t fucking believe I am rooting for a 30 year old man to crash a fucking prom to get his 18 year old boyfriend back” and my brother screaming at him “STOP USING YOUR FUCKING LOGIC WHEN WATCHING THIS SHOW! IT WILL RUIN IT!”

-Brian the cat had to wear a tiny shirt because he had to have surgery (nothing serious all is good!) and of course my brother made him his very own Brian shirt. My mom said that the vet was very confused by the “I have more balls than the other Brian” shirt… Which, I for real had no clue he put that on the shirt until my mom sent me pics

-he is still very very obsessed with QAF. Any time he or anyone in my family makes an inappropriate comment, he immediately follows it up with ‘Bri Bri would love that one’

-he made our mom and dad watch it in June and he only got into an argument over Brian 1 time. He stormed out and then 10 minutes later came back bc he realized it’s his apartment

-mom and dad both hate Craig. And Mikey. And Ben. And Lindsey and Mel pissed them off too. Dad felt bad about that one bc i was there (i was confused bc im not a fan of them either tbh) so he donated money to a lesbian org to make up for his guilt to which my brother responded by calling him a bitch and saying ‘gay rights! But fuck those two’

-He joined a painting club. He sucks at painting but wanted to try it out and “plus it can’t hurt, worst case, I make some new friends” he forced me to go with him (he’s been very lovely during this grieving journey) and we walked into a painting class full of senior citizens. He thought the “seniors painting club” meant 18+. He made friends with all of them by talking shit about politics. Except the lady named Susie, he got on her good side after he snuck alcohol in and tried to ID her for it.

-he got a tattoo of a duck with a knife and a speech bubble that says ‘duck around and find out’ dad stopped talking to him for 4 days bc of it

-He tried 3 times in May to quit smoking and failed each time because “the world is pissing me off, it’s either this or murder and we all know im crazy enough” however he succeeded it in July due to the next update

-The man went on dates!!!! That’s right plural!!!! It was a mess! But a lovely mess. And a whole ass story that I got to witness first hand because I stayed at my parents over summer. honestly this was the one thing that I was SO excited to tell you guys about if he allowed it (which he did and im typing it up as we speak)

-oh and he also had to have another small surgery on his leg in September and was on crutches for a month but somehow (see update above) he was a lot more chill about it (not really, he was still his usual chaotic dumb self but he actually slept/ate/rested when told (you guessed it due to the above update)

-and last one he said i have to share if I want permission to share the story, which is that the Shrek playlist works. His date found it hilarious on their official real first date and couldn’t stop laughing once the realization kicked in that it’s accidentally in love over and over.

Dear sweet anon!! I am screaming because you have been so missed! I legit had people who would say to me "remember anon and brother anon?" and we would wish you both well. I am so excited to have you back.

HE BURNED HIS KITCHEN DOWN NOT ONCE BUT TWICE AND THE FIRE DEPT ALREADY KNOWS HIM. Of course. Of course. Why would this not be true?

Imagining a group of straight men watching QAF and responding like it's a sport is... well, an image. And your brother is very correct, we can't think too long about some parts of the show otherwise the ick is there.

I am cackling about your parents watching the show and your dad feeling so guilty for hating the lesbians that he donated to a lesbian cause. It's okay Dad Anon, the lesbians hate Mel and Linds. They're written horribly and there's so much biphobia. It's cringe (again one of the things we can't think too hard about).

Your brother joining a seniors' painting club is giving Ted on Schitt's Creek dancing with the old ladies. The pun in his tattoo would be one that Ted would be proud of too. Sorry Dad Anon. (My parents hate my tattoos too and none of them make any reference to a curse word)

Listen, I got spouse to quit smoking when we were still in our flirting stage. We were in grad school in one of those long seminars that require a break and they said "Do you want to come have a smoke break with me?" And I responded, "You smoke?" with alllllll the judgment in my voice. And they literally never smoked again. Things people will do for the horny.

Okay I'm leaving dating to the next update because I've read ahead (my spouse hates that I love spoilers but here we are - they have healthy lungs and are married to someone who will read the end of a book first).

YALL IT'S A DOOZY.

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

~~~ a little flash fic, because i couldn't resist 🔥 ~~~

Make Tea Not War

For all that Ahsoka had fretted about sending him to meet this unknown contact in her place, Plo finds the energy of the restaurant to be rather comfortable. Calm and mellow in the force. He makes a noise of interest, drifting past the welcome desk and softly encouraging the staff to forget they had ever seen a kel dor here.

There's a corner table, one with small purple flowers in a glass vase. The secret sign he was to look for. Plo spots a party of one at the table, and an empty chair... presumably for himself. Or well, for little 'Soka, but hopefully he will suffice. She had enough on her hands with the Rebellion, and he wished dearly to help where he could.

Caustic yellow eyes meet his across the room, and it is only the grace of his years which keeps Plo's pace steady. That... is Darth Maul. The crimson skin and stark tattoos are rather unmistakable. He carries on walking up to the table, then bows politely.

"Sincere apologies, but your intended contact was not able to make this rendezvous. I humbly ask you accept my presence instead."

There is a brief delay, then the nightbrother hums softly. Unexpectedly softly, for one of his reputation.

"Sit. It matters not to me who is across this table, so long as their discretion is assured."

So, Plo sits.

"That, I can certainly guarantee," he promises.

Sith and jedi stare at each other across a table decorated by delicate flowers and complementary fruits, neither knowing where to start. After a moment, it is Plo who makes an attempt to bridge the gap.

"You look well. Your current lifestyle must suit you," he tries.

Maul gives him a bored look.

"If you please," he asks, "let us skip the pleasantries."

Plo coughs, to hide amusement. He is reminded of Mace's bluntness. "Of course, of course."

Maul leans forward, fingers lacing together over one knee.

"So," the other man drawls in a sharp coruscanti accent, "Your organization needs funding, and I am willing to contribute. Regularly. Significantly."

Plo had expected to meet a potential benefactor, but he was still surprised to hear the offer extended from this particular mouth.

"You... please forgive my surprise, but you of all people wish to help... my kind, and those who strive alongside us?"

It is not safe to say the words, but they both know what he means.

Maul looks at him for a long time, a chilly presence in the force. He reaches some kind of conclusion, and sighs, looking away.

"The enemy of my enemy is my ally."

Plo blinks twice, then smiles a little, a twitch pulling on his tusks.

"An old adage, but an apt one I think," Plo offers.

The nightbrother's brows pop briefly in agreement.

A waiter comes by, a polite and sweet voiced droid that takes their drink orders, and fills them within the span of minutes. It is a minor indulgence, but Plo requests a glass of wine. Something in short supply on the little base he lived on nowadays. He slips his mask off and on to take every sip, but it is worth the while. A sweet, dry red.

The nightbrother clears his throat, almost awkwardly, and asks a question Plo couldn't have predicted. "Tell me... have you heard any rumors if the Baran Do ways still thrive?"

The sages of Dorin? Now why would he care for such a thing? Still. Even asking was an olive branch all its own.

"I am sure the winds will always favor them," Plo replies cheerfully.

Maul seems to take a breath, and when he exhales he is lighter. In the metaphorical sense, of course.

Plo hums, tapping a talon on the stem of his wine. "You have an interest in their ways?"

Those yellow, bloodshot eyes glance at him, then away.

"Ahhh," he says, "every... tradition that can weather these stormy days is to be protected. A tsunami which leaves only devastation in its wake is not to anyone's benefit."

Surprise after surprise. Plo would not believe it out of the mouth of another, but if his aural canals do not deceive him... Darth Maul just named his own master anathema. Quite the tsunami he was.

Was it still Darth Maul, he wonders... or had the infamous nightbrother taken steps onto his own path.

The jedi master bows his head, appreciating the gift of information. A grain of precious truth, extended to a make-shift ally amid a famine. He can *feel* the discomfort of honesty in the force. Precious indeed.

"Just so," Plo agrees. "Tsunami are horribly destructive. It is important to evacuate anyone who falls in their path."

There was, in Plo's mind, no greater cause remaining than extending the underground network of The Path. Sneaking out force sensitive from Imperial controlled planets was what he lived for.

A case is withdrawn from the folds of stark black robes, and pushed over to his side of the table.

"Allow me to contribute to the evacuation fund, then," Maul says smoothly, sitting back to sip at his caf with cream. "So that fewer traditions are lost."

Plo doesn't hesitate to secret away the case, not pausing to look inside. However much it is, he is grateful for every credit.

"A worthy cause, I agree."

They sit for another half hour, only exchanging the briefest mutterings, nursing their drinks. The nightbrother claims the bill, pays, and refuses thanks.

"Do not thank me, je- hnn. No, do not thank me. Be here again in three months, at the same time, alone."

Without another word, the last person Plo had expected to meet today walks away, a dark wraith in the restaurant's sea of pastels. No one seems to notice him go by. Plo's exit a little while later is much the same, though with a little less black involved.

This is NOT a ship. I just wanted to draw this for what part of my brain demands recently: background design. So there you go, experiment on the husbands.

[garagebandvanfleet]

A Tattoo Artist Walks Into a Flower Shop...

Pairing: Danny x f!reader

Warning: 18+ MINORS DNI! swearing, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, reader has a bit of a praise kink, mention of needles

Word Count: 7.2k (jeez)

Summary: a new tattoo shop opened up next door and one of the artists catches your eye

Notes: so I got very carried away with this, first half is fluff second half is pure sin. Also, I know little nothing about flowers and plants so all my info came from Google and if it’s inaccurate I’m apologizing now. 

-

The wall of windows allowed for the summer sun to shine into the shop, casting a bright glow over the many flowers around you. The sunflowers seemed to dance towards the light and the dusty pink peonies smiled at the warmth. The name of your shop was printed on the glass of the front door, Sweet Stems written in eucalyptus green with a crisp white outlining each letter. The different flowers painted on the glass were done by a local artist, the design ranged from snapdragon stems to daisies. 

The wooden tables out front stood at the base of each window, an array of flowers in farmhouse-style metal vases with rows of twine decorating the tops were neatly placed on each table. There was a wooden awning with a light stain that prevented the flowers from being overwatered during a rainstorm.

Inside the shop the walls had been painted white, you had figured the bright petals would bring enough color to the small space. Flowers filled glass vases varying in size and shape along every wall, the ones you dried hanging from the wooden beams of the ceiling. Some vases sat on the floor, while others were sat on small wooden crates you had taken apart to create DIY shelving. Looking back, hardwood floors might not have been the best idea, water ringlets littering the material, but it was better than the rust-colored shag carpet that originally covered the floor.

You were currently standing behind the large wooden desk you had custom built to serve as a checkout counter and workstation. An arrangement of a dozen red-colored roses and baby’s breath was laid out in front of you. The flowers were for an older gentleman who requested the same order every week, stating red roses were the first flower he ever bought for his wife. The bell above the door chimed, assuming it was Ernie coming to pick up his order, you greeted him accordingly. 

“Little early today Ernie, I’m almost done.” 

“Um, hello.” The unfamiliarity of the voice caused you to look up from your work. The man stood in your shop, hand still holding the door open with one foot on the hardwood and the other still on the sidewalk. He was most certainly not who you were expecting.

This man was tall, his slender legs seeming to stretch on for miles. He was dressed in all black, a stark contrast to the colors all around your shop. Tight black jeans were rolled once, covering the tops of his black combat boots. The black Beatles shirt he wore had the sleeves cut off, exposing his muscular arms. His dark curls went well past his shoulders, and if the sunshine wasn’t playing a trick on you, there were a few well-placed highlights mixed in. You swore you could write a novel on his beauty. The way his nose curved the slightest bit downward and how, even from a distance, his eyes seemed to shine bright - putting any star in the night sky to shame. 

You hadn’t realized how intensely you were staring until the man cleared his throat, looking around your shop awkwardly. A few strands of hair tickled your cheek as you shook your head to resume your thought process, flexing your fingers as if the blood flow had stopped. 

“I’m so sorry, uh. Hi, I’m Y/N - welcome to Sweet Stems.” The voice that greeted the stranger didn’t sound like your own, tone strained and an octave higher than normal. The man smiled, briefly stealing the air from your lungs, and you wondered if you had ever seen someone as beautiful as him. In the end, your task proved useless as all cognitive functioning had stopped as soon as you saw him.

“I just wanted to introduce myself, I’m Danny. I opened up the tattoo shop next door.” He was still standing in the doorway of your shop, so when he extended his arm to point in the direction he was referring to, his hand hit the frame of the door. Danny brought both his hands behind his back as a deep blush rose up his neck and consumed his face. 

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, the last thing you wanted was to enhance his feelings of embarrassment. As you walked out from behind the desk, you wiped your sweaty palms on the pants of your overalls and held your hand out for him to shake. “Nice to meet you, Danny. I look forward to being building buddies.” 

He discreetly swiped his palms over his pant legs before grasping your hand in his. “Likewise, Y/N.” Danny opened his mouth to continue the conversation but was interrupted by a voice behind him. 

“Y’know son, you make a pretty good door.” Behind Danny stood the elderly man you had expected earlier. With your hands still connected from the handshake, you lightly pulled Danny closer to you, loosening your grip in the process. You looked at the clock on the wall and smiled.

“Right on time, as usual, Ernie.” The older gentleman followed you as you made your way behind your workstation, tying a sheer white ribbon in a bow to keep the wrappings intact. He handed you the money owed, giving the exact change, before delicately grabbing the bouquet with his shaking hands.

“Thank you Y/N, these are lovely. Not that I’ve ever had a complaint.” Ernie gave you a toothy smile before turning to make his exit. However, he stopped in front of Danny, motioning for him to bend down. Ernie was a short Italian fellow, so your new building neighbor had to bend down quite a bit to allow the man to whisper something in his ear. With a hand cupped around Danny’s ear, the older gentleman whispered to him. At one point Danny looked up and made eye contact with you, blushing a light pink. The younger man then turned to whisper something back to Ernie, who smiled and patted Danny on the shoulder before leaving your shop.

“What was that about?” You attempted to act uninterested in the matter, beginning to work on another floral arrangement. When you chanced a glance at Danny you saw that he was now standing in front of the desk with an amused smile.

“Oh you know, this and that.” Danny hummed, mimicking your lack of interest in the topic. The glare you directed towards him is what broke his facade, a bright smile spreading across his face. The sarcastic laugh you gave him only made his smile grow, eyes squinting in amusement. 

The space around you grew quiet, the only noise being the soft music coming from the speakers around your shop. Silence wasn’t your strong suit, usually attempting to fill it with your rambling. But with Dany, it felt comfortable, like two old friends sitting on a park bench enjoying the other’s company. The man broke the silence with a question you weren’t expecting.

“What flower helps people calm down?” While the question caught you off guard, your brain was quick to find the answer.

“Lavender is commonly used, it has a calming smell - plus it’s pretty. Also, gerbera daisies are nice and bright which can help calm anxiety. And they can remove benzene from the air, which is a chemical found in ink!” The enthusiasm you used while talking about different flowers was annoying to most, you often used your hands to gesture around you and rambled on far too long, but Danny didn’t seem to mind. His face had softened, a small smile gracing his lips as his eyes never strayed from yours. 

“Perfect, can I just get a dozen of those garbanzo daisies?” You tried, you really did, but there was no stopping the loud laugh from leaving your mouth. 

“Gerbera, but yes, I’ll get them for you. Any specific colors?” Making your way towards the requested flowers, you waited for his reply. When Danny turned towards you he was scratching his cheek, attempting to cover up the deep blush. 

“Whatever you think, you’re the professional.” The colors of the flowers varied - from light pink to deep crimson, blazing orange to refined white - so you grabbed one of each color until you had a dozen. You placed them in a square matte black vase, shaking your head when Danny tried to hand you his credit card. 

“Welcome to the neighborhood. I’ll try and keep the overly enthusiastic discussion about flowers to a minimum next time.” 

“Thank you. And please don’t stop your flower talk, it’s cute.” He sent you one last smile before turning to walk away, the bell above the door signaling his departure. 

-

Danny came into your shop every day for the next month, always asking you which flowers or plants were best for different things, and each day he bought whatever you suggested. He had told you he puts them in his shop, liking how they brightened up the place and how he felt like he was helping his clients.

“So this lemon drop fern is supposed to help purify the air?” 

“Lemon button fern, Daniel. You did that one on purpose.” He put his hands up in surrender, admitting defeat. Over the past month, you hadn’t stopped your ‘flower talk’ as Danny put it. You swore he did his own research on his own, always coming in with a list of questions to ask you. When he would come to visit you in-between sessions you often overheard him talking with customers, offering his ever growing knowledge on the subject. 

“One last question for you Y/N, then I’ve gotta get back.” You motioned for him to continue, watching as he took a deep breath before continuing. “What’s the best type of flower to give someone when asking them out?” Your lips formed a tight-lipped smile as you tried to hide your disappointment by scratching at your nose. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, to save yourself from feeling the way you did now, your feelings for Dany had quickly grown past friendship.

He was so kind, bringing you lunch when he could and listening to you ramble for hours about your passions. Danny always looked handsome, whether it was when he was dressed in all black with his long curls framing his face or dressed in an oddly patterned sweater with his hair pulled back in a bun. It had never occurred to you that, outside the little bubble you two had created in your shop, he may be interested in someone else. 

“Well, it depends on what they like.” You cleared your throat to push down the lump that had formed. “Personally, I prefer dahlias or sunflowers, you can never really go wrong with those in the summertime. But again, it’s whatever they prefer.” 

“Okay yeah, let’s go with sunflowers.” He grabbed the flowers for you, allowing you to tie a white ribbon around the stems.

“Make sure you tell them to use room temperature water and of course, lots of sunlight.” Danny nodded as you handed him the bouquet of vibrant yellow flowers, thanking you as he left your shop. The moment his frame was out of view, you let out a frustrated groan. You rubbed your hands over your face, slumping over to rest your elbows on the wooden desk. What’s the point in pining over someone if they don’t end up liking you back? Fanfiction had it all wrong. 

Before you could wallow in self-pity any longer, the bell above your door rang. You looked up as Danny walked back in, still holding the bouquet. He couldn’t see the way your eyebrows furrowed and lips turned down in confusion, too focused on the steps he took. You were about to voice your confusion but Danny handed you, more like shoved in your face, the flowers you had just sold him.

“Make sure to put room temperature water in the vase and of course, lots of sunlight.” He spoke with confidence, but the nervous smile and the drumming of his fingers against his leg gave him away. 

“Wait, what?” Still not understanding what was going on, you mechanically reached out to grab the flowers and held them against your chest.

“Shit, did I not make it clear I was asking you out? I thought I’d been so obvious these past few weeks. Should I leave and come back in? I could give it another try.” Danny went to reach for the sunflowers in your hand but you quickly hid them behind your back. 

“If you try and take these from me I’ll fight you.” While he laughed you could not have been more serious. You sold the flowers, you never received them. 

“So, is that a yes to going on a date with me?”

“Duh!” That wasn’t the most eloquent way to say yes to a date with such a perfect man, but you were past the point of caring. Danny’s gesture had left you near speechless, single-syllable words being the only thing your mind could conjure at the moment.

“Oh thank god.” Danny let out a relieved sigh and placed a hand on his chest. “You close up around 5 right? I cleared my schedule tomorrow after 5:30 so you didn’t have to rush or kick anyone out.”

“You cleared your schedule? How’d you know I’d say yes?” 

“Call me a hopeful romantic. Come over to the shop when you’re done?” He began backing towards the exit as you nodded, still holding eye contact when he spoke again. “Great! Okay, I have to go do my job, but uh - I will see you tomorrow!” You hid your giggle in the sunflowers when his shoulder lightly collided with the doorframe, mumbling a quick ‘bye’ as he left your shop.

Danny no longer in sight, you placed the flowers in a matte yellow vase. You placed the flowers atop your desk, and if you ended up admiring them for the rest of the day - well, no one had to know.

-

The following day, five o’clock couldn’t come fast enough. It didn’t help that you had an inability to keep your eyes off the time for longer than two minutes, making the day seem twice as long. You tried to pay attention when customers asked questions, but knowing you’d be going on a date with Danny in less than eight hours had your thoughts preoccupied.

Currently, you were helping a boy, probably no older than sixteen, decide what type of flowers to buy for his girlfriend. Every time you thought a decision had been made, he’d backtrack, unsure if his girlfriend would like them. Normally, you’d sit with a customer for hours if need be, listening to the stories they’d tell of the loved one they were buying flowers for. But as the clock hand moved to read 4:59 pm, you couldn’t care less about his decision.

Ten minutes later, you had finally got him to settle on a bouquet of light pink carnations. You added some stems of babies breath and tied the wrapping with a light pink ribbon. As soon as the boy walked out of your shop you turned off the white neon ‘open’ sign and locked the door. 

A change of clothes and a failed attempt at doing winged eyeliner with shaky hands later, you made the short walk to the tattoo shop. The first thing you noticed was the noisy atmosphere, the sound of rock music, and people’s conversations were heard over the buzzing of tattoo guns. It was the complete opposite to your shop where soft indie music played and people spoke as if they were in a library.

The walls of the space were natural brick and tattoo designs hung with black frames covered most of the left wall. You looked to your right to see a large wooden desk, a woman with long black hair sitting behind it. She smiled when she made eye contact with you, holding up a finger to signal she’d be with you when she was off the phone. Four black tattoo chairs occupied the middle of the space, only one not having a client sat in it. Before you could get a good look at the other tattoo artists, the woman behind the desk spoke.

“What can I help you with, hon?” 

“I’m looking for Danny, we uh-, we have a date.” You clasped your hands together in front of you, shifting your weight from one foot to the other to try and ease some of your anxiety. The woman gave you a warm smile, but her eyes held hints of mischief as if she knew exactly why you were here. 

“He’s in the back right now, but his chair is the second on the left. You can wait there for him if you want.” You thanked her, following the directions she gave you. As you walked towards Danny’s chair, you let your eyes wander. The tattoo shops you’d been in before while accompanying friends were different. This place seemed much more put together and inviting. 

When you got to Danny’s station, the green foliage was the first thing to catch your eye. The lemon button fern he had bought yesterday was perched atop a wooden stand right next to his chair. You smiled as you lightly ran your fingertips over the top of the plant. 

“I’ve never seen him take such good care of something like he does those flowers from your shop.” Somehow forgetting there were other people present, you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you placed your hand over your racing heart. When you turned towards the voice, you were met with bright honey eyes and a kind smile. Both his arms were covered in tattoos, some looked like doodles you’d see in a notebook while others were full of detail. “I’m Sam.” The man held his hand out for you to shake.

When you didn’t extend your hand he gave you a questioning look. You pointed to his hand that still held the tattoo gun, his gaze following with a cheeky smile. “What? Not keen on getting a quick palm tat?” Before you could respond, Sam put the tattoo gun down and shook your hand. You could feel the warmth of his palm even through the black nitrile gloves he wore.

“Hi Sam, I’m Y/N.”

“Oh, we know.” The voice came from the man tattooing across from Sam. He had long brown hair that reached just past his sternum. His tattoos were different than Sam’s, the majority being on his legs that were exposed by the shorts he wore and each looked as if they served to tell a story. “That’s Jake,” Sam said as the man you now know as Jake gave you a small wave before getting back to work. 

A curly-haired man tattooing at the chair to your left spoke up. “Danny never stops talking about you. Probably deserves a cut of the profits over at your place, he tells all his clients to go visit you.” The smile and blush on your face couldn’t be covered. Danny talked about you to his friends? You looked up at the man who just spoke, he was shirtless, displaying the tattoos that covered his arms and chest - some even traveled up his neck.

“And you never stop talking about mindful meditation, but you don’t hear me telling anyone about it.” Danny’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as you looked up to see him smiling at you. “Ready to go?” You nodded your head, letting him lead you out of the shop as the boys let out a chorus of ‘have fun’; Josh following up with a ‘but not too much!’ 

Goosebumps rose on your arms when the heat of the summer sun hit your skin. You hadn’t realized how cold the AC had made it in the shop. Danny noticed, pulling you closer to him as he rubbed his left hand up and down your arm. You gave him an appreciative smile and wrapped your arm around his waist, tilting your head closer to his body. 

“So, what are the plans, Mr. Wagner?” Danny hadn’t told you the details of your date, just the time. The outfit you had chosen seemed like a good neutral option, light-wash mom jeans and a white v-neck. Thankfully his outfit seemed to be similar, tight black jeans and a white Rolling Stones t-shirt: sleeves still intact.

“You’ll see.” His lips quirked up into a smile when you groaned quietly. You had thought all last night about what the date would entail. Danny was a calming presence, which made you think the date would reflect that - maybe a simple dinner and a walk through town. But when he stopped in front of the local put-put you couldn’t hide the surprise on your face. “Mini-golf?” 

It was obvious the way his face fell and eyes filled with panic that your initial response wasn’t what he was hoping for. You could see the cogs in his mind working to come up with an entirely new plan for your evening. “Do you not like this idea? We can do something else!” 

“And pass up the opportunity to kick your ass and brag about it for the next few weeks? Not a chance.” Danny’s eyes crinkled at the sides, breathing out a relieved giggle. “Just in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m pretty competitive.” 

“Yeah, I think I gathered that.” He slung his arm back over your shoulder as you both made your way towards the entrance. 

-

“That’s not fair, you didn’t tell me before that you’re basically a professional golfer. I want a rematch.” 

That had Danny belly laughing, harder than when you fake threw your putter into the waterfall display. “I am in no way a professional, plus regular golf and mini-golf are very different. If anything, it’s harder to play mini-golf if you play regular golf often.” 

“If that was your attempt at consoling me during my loss, it wasn’t helpful.” You kept a straight face, although seeing Danny near tears from laughing so hard made it difficult. 

“Gonna have to rain check that rematch, we’re late for dinner. C’mon.” He held his hand out towards you, and you being completely oblivious to his intentions, placed your putter in his hand. Danny let out an amused chuckle, placing your putter in the hand that held his and then extended his hand towards you again. You blushed, finally realizing what he wanted, and interlocked your fingers with his. 

The two of you made small talk, you throwing in a couple more ‘that wasn’t fair’ into the conversation. You had thrown away any and all preconceived notions you had in regards to what Danny had planned for your evening. So when you walked up to a food truck, you were absolutely beaming. 

“I thought simple food was a safe bet, I mean who could turn down chicken fingers.” 

“Vegans.” It was a lame joke, nicely timed, but all in all very lame. However, you had found out those were the jokes that made Danny laugh the hardest, and you would do just about anything to make that man laugh. Fingers still interlocked, he brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. You could feel the heat of a blush consume your face at the sweetness of the action.

“Vegans.”

-

The two of you took your time walking down the street that was home to both your shops, wanting to spend as much time together as you could. You quietly sighed when you noticed the bright flowers from your shop and the glowing neon sign from Danny’s. Finally at your destination, you both stood in silence as he rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Do you, uh, want to come in?” Danny asked as he nodded his head towards his shop. The line was cliche, but it had you laughing and nodding your head in agreement as he led you towards the door. He turned the lights on, forgoing the harsh main lights and opting to plug in yellow Christmas lights that lined the upper portion of the walls. He motioned for you to sit in his chair and he went to turn on the radio, lowering the volume and changing the station to play something a bit more mellow. 

“I see the fern likes its new home.” You checked to make sure the soil wasn’t too dry, smiling when you realized it was the perfect texture. You had taught him well.

“Oh yeah, Layla loves it here.” Before you could respond, Danny spoke up. “Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?”

You didn’t have to think long about your answer, if at all. “Definitely. At first, I never got one because my parents threatened to disown me if I got a tattoo while living under their roof. But since I moved out, I just haven’t had the time. I have an entire Pinterest board with tattoo ideas.”

“Let me guess, they’re mainly flower-themed?” Danny phrased it as a question, although you were aware he knew the answer. 

“Maybe.” You said, dragging out the ‘y’.

“Well, you’re free now…” Danny’s eyebrow quirked up and a smirk spread across his face. “No better time than the present.” He could see the nerves take over your features, eyes no longer meeting with his and fingers fiddling with one another. 

“Do they hurt?” While you’d never admit it, fear of the possible pain was the main reason you never got a tattoo.

“Depends on the spot and the person. But I saw you almost punch a seagull for trying to take your last french fry so I think you’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.” Your eyes rolled at his teasing tone, biting the inside of your cheek to stop a smile. 

“They freshly cut the potatoes that morning, I wasn’t just going to let it take my last fry.” There was no other way to describe the smile Danny gave you except absolutely smitten.

“Show me some designs.”

-

You had chosen a simple design of a chrysanthemum to go on the inside of your left forearm, no color or shading to take away from the simplicity that drew you to the design in the first place. The flower was often used as a symbol of happiness, and now when you glanced down at that tattoo it would be your reminder. The weight of your decision didn’t hit when Danny drew up the design, nor did it hit when he asked for the placement. Even when he put on the black nitrile gloves and transferred the stencil from the thermal paper to your skin. But when you heard the whirring of the tattoo gun your stomach dropped and sweat began to accumulate on your lower back. 

Danny could tell you were nervous, all the color drained from your face and eyes screwed shut in anticipation. He had learned over his years that talking with his clients that were nervous seemed to help, so that’s what he did. 

“Y’know, you haven’t asked me the most basic question.” When he saw that he had gained your attention, he continued talking and began tattooing. “I’m a tattoo artist, and yet I don’t have any tattoos. Why is that?” 

“Because Sam lets you practice on him?” Your sentence came out in a single breath, and Danny had to pull the tattoo gun away to laugh. 

“Yeah, that’s one of the reasons. But the main reason is I’m actually seriously afraid of needles.” 

“You’re lying to make me feel better.”

“No really! I get so nervous when I have to go to the doctor to get a shot or bloodwork. Sam convinced me to get my ears pierced when we were 18 and I passed out in the chair at Claire’s.” 

“He never lets you live that down does he?” 

“Never.” The more Danny talked, the more relaxed you felt. The pain was bearable, more annoying than anything. 

He was still talking, but his voice had become background noise as you admired him at work. You surprised yourself at how hot you found Danny while he was tattooing your skin. The way the muscles of his arms flexed as he worked, tongue poking out to wet his lips every so often. You couldn’t help but wiggle your lower half, suddenly feeling too hot even with the air conditioning.

He grabbed at your clothed thigh and squeezed. “Don’t move.” His tone was deep and gravely and demanding, and the way he spoke made you want to do anything he asked. Before he continued, he switched out the glove that had made contact with your thigh for a sterile one. You had to look away, tipping your head back to look up at the ceiling. Your mind kept replaying his words, simple words, but it was the tone of his voice that had your mind creating scenarios where he’d speak to you like that again.

Lost in your daydreams, it startled you when Danny let out a triumphant “done!” You looked down to see him lightly rubbing a gel over the newly marked skin, wrapping it with the same amount of care. “You got a little spaced out there at the end, thought you might pass out. You did good for me.” 

He didn’t bother hiding his smirk as you nearly choked on air, Danny knew the effect his words had on you and he wasn’t being shy about it. He turned to remove the gloves and throw them away, giving you enough time to begin formulating words again. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” 

“Danny, you paid for everything tonight. And while I know this is on the simpler side of what someone can get for a tattoo, it shouldn’t be free.” You had seen your friends drain their bank accounts getting tattoos, plus you wanted to pay him for his beautiful work.

“Y/N, do you know how many ‘no charge’ or ‘it’s half price’ I’ve gotten from you. Plus,” he began moving closer to you as he spoke, eventually looming over your body that still sat in the chair. “If I treated you like an actual client, it would make what I’m about to do very unprofessional.” Your question died in your throat as Danny’s lips connected with yours. 

The thoughts you had earlier about Danny being sweet had flown out the window as he kissed you like his life depended on it. He had one hand on the head of the chair while the other cupped your jaw, it felt as if his hand covered the right side of your face in its entirety. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible with the awkward positioning of your bodies. As you deepened the kiss, tongues coming together, Danny’s hand on your jaw moved to the back of your head. When his fingers tangled in your hair, giving an experimental tug, you involuntarily whimpered - only motivating him further. 

Danny pulled away from your lips, just enough so that he could speak and you could feel his warm breath fan over your face. You looked into his eyes, shades darker than their usual hue, and held eye contact as he spoke. “Saw the way you were squirming when I was tattooing you, and it wasn’t because you were in pain. What were you thinking about, hm?” You didn’t respond right away, lungs feeling as if there wasn’t enough air being pushed to them and heart racing. When you still didn’t respond, Danny tightened his grip on your hair and tugged harder than before. With your head tipped back and neck completely elongated, Danny trailed a pointer finger down the side of your neck. He gave a quick peck to your lips before trailing his mouth down your neck, biting at the soft flesh. “Tell me, baby.”

A gasp being pulled from you when he sunk his teeth into the spot where your neck met your shoulder. “Was thinking about you, how hot you looked tattooing me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as your nails dug into the tanned skin of his neck.

“What else?” Danny’s hand still gripping your hair and his other traveling down to latch onto the thigh like he had done earlier had your brain fuzzy. You were starting to think he enjoyed watching you struggle as he licked a long stripe up your neck, nipping at your jaw.

“When you told me not to move, the way you said it, made me want to do anything you wanted. Made me want to know if you’d talk the same way while fucking me.” He groaned softly in your ear, tightening his grip on your thigh. Even over the material of your jeans you were sure he would leave you bruised, and you couldn’t wait to wear the markings like a badge of honor. You had never been able to speak your desires to a partner, especially the first time being with them, but seeing the way Danny’s chest heaved and eyes screwed shut just by you saying you wanted him to fuck you - well, that feeling was intoxicating. 

The feeling of control that surged through you gave you an idea. You moved your hands from around his neck, trailing them down his covered upper half. When you felt the waistband of his jeans you ran your pointer finger along the skin just above his pants, stopping at his happy trail and lightly tugging at the short hairs.

A quiet hiss is the only reaction you got from Danny and you could see him trying to keep his composure. You unbuttoned his jeans and dipped a finger below the waistband of his boxers, only to remove it seconds later to trail your hands back up his toned stomach. He removed his hand from your hair, instead moving it to grip at the headrest of the tattoo chair - the leather making a noise of protest against his tight grip. He tried to win back control when he licked up the side of your ear, voice low and gravely. “What about when I told you how good you were for me?” His hand had been trailing up your thigh, but ceased all movements when all you did was let out a high-pitched whine.

“Danny, please.” He looked into your eyes as his fingers ran over the button of your jeans. A nod from you was all the permission he needed before he undid the button, helping you shimmy out of your pants and throwing them carelessly behind his shoulder. Danny stepped back to remove his own jeans and shirt, standing before you in nothing but his tight black boxer briefs. Your eyes ran down his frame, from his toned stomach that looked so lickable to the prominent bulge that had you clenching your thighs together. 

“What do you want, baby?” You reached your hands out to grab at his biceps, but he caught your wrist in his hands and pulled you up till your feet hit the ground and your chest was pressed against his. “Tell me what you want and I just might give it to you.” If any other man had spoken to you with such a cocky attitude you would’ve grabbed your clothes and left. Danny was a different story, it lit a fire in the pit of your stomach and you could feel your arousal soak through the thin fabric of your panties. 

“Wanna feel you here,” you moved his hand over your chest, squeezing your hand overtop his as it met your covered breast. “But mainly here.” Your hand continued to guide him down your stomach until his fingers brushed over your panties. Danny gasped when he felt your wetness, already so needy for him and he had barely touched you. “Want you to do whatever you want to me.” A low groan emanated from deep in Danny’s chest, and before you had time to blink his hand was wrapped around your throat and his lips were on yours. 

“You might regret that.” He bent down and grabbed the backs of your thighs, making quick work of lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. You quietly moaned when your clit brushed against his stomach, desperately grinding your hips against in search of more friction.

“Fuck, so good for me baby. Such a good girl.” Danny now sat in the tattoo chair with you in his lap, legs spread by his muscular thighs. You could feel him pressed directly against your pussy, liking the way he reacted when you had teased him earlier, your hips slowly grinded down on him. His hands released their grip on your thighs and moved to grab at your ass, landing a harsh smack to both cheeks before assisting you with your movements. The painful pleasure had your eyes rolling back and a small smile grace your lips, loving the way you could still feel the sting of his hands. 

“Can I take your shirt off?” You go to nod, but remember what he had said earlier about using your words. 

“Please.” It was all you could mumble out at the moment, thoughts consumed with nothing but Danny. His movements were quick, but not rushed, wanting to drink in the sight of you already so strung out for him. Before he could ask, you reached behind you and undid your bra, adding it to the pile of discarded clothes.

Danny pulled you into a searing kiss, tongues battling one another. He moved his lips down the column of your neck and over your sternum, making sure he left plenty of marks on his path down to your nipples. 

You continued to grind down on him as he mumbled praises, ‘so good’ and ‘absolutely beautiful’ falling from his lips. When he took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking before biting down, your moan could’ve put any pornstar to shame. Red marks were left on Danny’s biceps as your nails sunk into the flesh, a pleased hum leaving Danny’s mouth and vibrating against your chest. With one last flick of his tongue on each of your nipples, he looked up through his lashes to make eye contact with you

“Wanted to taste you, see if you tasted as sweet as you act. But I really want you to ride my face, and I don’t think it’ll work in the chair.” You placed a sweet kiss to his lips, hands cupping his face tenderly. “That’s okay, next time.” Danny smirked when you confirmed there would be a next time.  

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Danny, I’ve been thinking about this since we first met. Yes I’m sure.” Even though you meant what you said, you couldn’t stop the blush that traveled from your chest to the tops of your cheeks. Danny’s smile was one of relief, knowing you felt the same as him. You didn’t respond with words, instead kissing him deeply until your lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. The way Danny’s tongue ran across yours, teething nipping at your bottom lip, distracted you enough to not notice he had removed his boxers. 

“Stand up for me baby.”

You did as told, arms trying to shield as much of your exposed body - feeling bashful under his hungry gaze. He stood up, circling you until his toned chest met your back. “Suddenly so shy. What happened to my good girl who wanted me to do anything I wanted to her?” There it was, that tone of voice he used while tattooing you. All feelings of shyness left you, being replaced with pure carnal desire. You pushed your ass back, feeling his hard cock, and swiveled your hips. A loud smacking sound rang through the air as Danny hit one of your breasts, fingertips landing directly over your nipple. 

The shocked gasp that left your mouth had Danny humming in your ear. “So impatient.” He bent your body over till your chest was laying flat against the leather of the tattoo chair, bringing your thigh up until your knee was resting next to your chin. “You told me I could do whatever I wanted to you. I want to ruin you.” 

He ran himself through your folds, gathering your arousal on the tip of his cock, before slowly pushing into you. The low moan he emitted contrasted with the high-pitched whine that came from you. “So wet for me baby, so good. Fuck.” He gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail before he began thrusting into you, hips snapping against your ass. His movements were slow but brutal, causing you to feel as if all the air was being punched out of your lungs. 

Your arms were extended in front of you, careful not to rub your tattoo on anything, your nails dug into the leather of the chair. A thin layer of sweat coated your skin, causing you to move awkwardly up the chair. “Danny.” His name came out in a breathless moan and he seemed to like how fucked out you already were for him. The hand gripped in your hair pulled you up until your back was against his chest and your head rested on his shoulder. You turned your face to capture his lips in a sloppy kiss consisting mostly of tongues and teeth. 

“Ruin me.” Your breath fanned his lips as you whispered your words. Danny pulled you back into a bruising kiss, speeding up his thrusts and reaching a hand down to toy with your clit. All the prior teasing had your body feeling warm, but the mixture of his skilled fingers on your clit and the tip of his cock grazing your sweet spot had your body on fire. It didn’t take long, maybe five more thrusts till you felt the familiar fire spread throughout your lower half. You clenched around him as you tipped over the edge, a mixture of expletives and his name rang through the air.

You felt Danny twitch inside you as he continued to rub your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm. He wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing at the sides until breathing became difficult. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum.” Danny went to pull out of you but you quickly reached back to grab his hip, signaling you wanted him to finish in you. “God damn, baby. Yeah, you want me to stay buried in you? Fill you with my cum until it’s dripping down your perfect thighs?” All you could do was nod in agreement as his grip on your throat became all but lethal, cutting off your airway completely for a few moments. With one final groan, you felt him release, eyelids fluttering shut at the feeling of his cum filling you.

Neither of you moved as you attempted to catch your breath, bodies stuck together with sweat. Danny’s grip on your throat loosened as he kissed your shoulder, pulling out of you with a quiet gasp. You turned to face him, eyes connecting with his as he smiled softly at you. Laughter bubbled in your chest, growing louder the more confused Danny looked.

“I can’t believe you passed out getting your ears pierced at Claire’s.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you that.”

[itsamaus]

I based them off a strawberry. Meet Berri Ichigo (they/them). They are a young adult and have a pet raccoon. Pink and green is their main color.

(I suck at names be nice - I wanted to go for something strawberry related).

Body:

eyebrows/skin/eyes/eye lashes/blush: @miikocc​

androgynous body type: @saruin

freckles: @nolan-sims​

ghibli tattoo: @simsink​

zodiac tattoo/eye shadow/eye liner: @chewybutterfly​

hair: @aharris00britney​

Clothes:

everyday earring/necklace: @enriques4​

everyday shirt/pants: @aharris00britney​

formal dress: @miikocc

sports shirt: @imvikai​

sleep dress: @miikocc

party necklace: @blogsimplesimmer​

party top/pants: @simmingwithboba​

swimsuit: @simmingwithboba​

hot necklace: @maushasims​

House:

Gallery ID: hapomy9

OUTSIDE: @kerriganhouse​ (bench) | @nolan-sims (planter) | @sims41ife (trees) | @sims4luxury (rug)

KITCHEN: @sims41ife (wall/cups/plates)| @syboubou (counter/cabinets/sink/stools) @mechtasims (plates/lights) | @arwenkaboom (island/rae dunn/pot) | @aira-cc (pot/plates/cups) | @hydrangeachainsaw (pot/teapot) | @channel4sims-cc (pot) | @peacemaker-ic (laptop)

LIVING ROOM: @kardofe (petbed) | @sims41ife (wall) | @arwenkaboom (light) | @simsi45 (light)

BEDROOM: @sims41ife (light/walls/stickers/bags) | @mechtasims (bed/alarm clock/lamp/dino/crystal bowl/boob hook/wall surge/tapestry) | @hydrangeachainsaw (neon signs/mirror/rugs/cellphone holder/blob posters/tassel heart/school bag/garland/wall doodles) @aizawasbby (uravity plush) | @simbishy (planner) | @aira-cc (note holder/daisy vase) | @redheadsims-cc (switch) | @arwenkaboom (plant) | @benobun​ (bl posters)

BATHROOM: @sims41ife​ (wall) | @arwenkaboom​ (floor/bathroom set)

Note:

I had so much fun doing this, this is the first time I ever took the time to keep in mind who I was using. I had to write down each time I added something so I wouldn’t forget. I am so thankful for CC creators and even more thankful for those who put their logo on the view image lol.

[undercoveravenger]

Bad Day Bouquets

Pairing: Hamish Duke x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “[Information removed for privacy] so can I get a fic with hamish duke just telling his boyfriend he’s proud of him.”

A/N: I think we could all use a bit more of our fictional s/o’s telling us they’re proud of us. I hope that situation gets better soon, anon.

-----

Hamish Duke knew he wasn’t always the most observant man, but he always knew when something was bothering the love of his life. He always found himself feeling anxious- like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders and a tightness in his chest- when there was something going on and he was more often right than wrong. So when the familiar sensation crept up on him as the class he was auditing was nearing its end, Hamish knew what to do.

The moment the professor dismissed the class he was up out of his seat and on his way to the small flower shop that both of you loved.

Hamish had become familiar with the little old woman who ran the shop with her wife, both of them having taken a liking to him and his boyfriend when they’d come in looking for a few houseplants to liven up their apartment. Agnes, one of the women, smiled widely when Hamish entered, greeting him fondly. “And where’s (M/N), then?” she prompted, pulling out a sheet of paper to wrap the bouquet in. “Studying for another test? That boy works too hard.”

“Not today,” Hamish replied with a fond chuckle, “Something's telling me he’s not having a great day.”

Agnes nodded sagely, understanding immediately. “Take a look around for a moment while I whip up something special for him. Edith made cookies earlier today; we’ll send some with you for him too.” She moved quickly for someone of her age, selecting flowers and colors that she’d come to know were your favorites in the year you and Hamish had been frequenting the shop and spinning them together into a gorgeous spiral shape. When she was satisfied she gave a sharp nod, tying a bit of twine around the stems of the flowers to hold them in the proper place before handing them over to Hamish, the time faded tattoos across the backs of her hands and lower arms shifting with the movements.

At that moment, her wife Edith made her way down the stairs from the small apartment above the shop with a small parcel in her hands. The bright fluorescent lighting made the small flower-shaped stud in her nose flash brightly as she stopped in front of Hamish, “You tell that boyfriend of yours to come visit us soon; we miss him.”

Hamish nodded, thanking them and paying them double what Agnes told him the flowers cost since he knew she always tried to give the two of you a steep discount. “I will.” He left, consciously ignoring the fact that he knew he’d never heard Agnes call for Edith to bring cookies downstairs. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

His next stop was your favorite coffee shop, where an order he’d placed online was already waiting for him. He thanked the barista as he slipped an extra twenty dollars into the tip jar, before ducking back out onto the street and making his way back toward your shared apartment.

His hunch was proven right as soon as he stepped into the door. The lights were off and the drapes had been pulled across the wide windows. His brows furrowed as he looked around, searching for what might have caused your day to go so south. A soft sigh escaped him as his eyes found your phone, lying abandoned on the floor at the base of the wall where you must’ve thrown it. Without any further investigation Hamish knew exactly what the cause of your bad mood was. He toed off his dress shoes and locked the door behind him, making his way further into the apartment, stopping only to arrange the flowers in a vase of water before entering your bedroom. He set the flowers and your go-to drink on the nightstand before settling onto the edge of the bed beside the boyfriend-shaped lump of blankets.

“Agnes and Edith send their regards,” he murmured quietly, reaching out to run a gentle hand down your back. “And the barista, Alex, wanted me to tell you she was very grateful for the notes you lent her last week.” He smiled a little as you pushed the blankets back just far enough to reach for the warm to-go cup and examine the flowers. “There are a great many people in this city that care about you, myself obviously included.”

You sighed, taking a long drink from your cup and snuggling deeper into your pile of blankets.

“As someone that cares about you deeply,” Hamish started slowly, hand resuming its slow trail up and down your shoulders, “Can I ask what’s got you feeling so down?”

The to-go cup thunked back onto the nightstand and you disappeared back under the heap of blankets with a huff. “My mother called.”

Just like that, Hamish understood. Your relationship with your mother had always been… complicated. The two of you were like two sides of the same coin- night and day, magic and mundane, wrong and right. In all the time Hamish had known you, all you’d ever done was to try and make her proud but all she could find in you was faults. You chose to attend her alma mater, but she didn’t think your grades were high enough. You found someone that you loved, but that person was a man. “Ah,” he murmured quietly, brows furrowing as he tried to think of what to say. “Well, one shouldn’t take stock in the sayings of the ignorant, I suppose,” he said finally.

“Even if the ignorant is your mom?” you prompted, lowering the blanket far enough that Hamish could see one of your lovely (e/c) eyes peering up at him.

He nodded slowly, reaching down to thread his fingers through your hair comfortingly. “Even then,” he said, moving to lie down next to you and taking your face in his hands to make you look at him to know he was serious. “As much as she doesn’t know you, I do. I see how hard you try at everything you do; how many late nights you’ve had to work on your homework, how many job interviews at companies we both know you’d hate, and how many blind dates you went on with girls your mother chose before we found each other. She may not be, but I am so incredibly proud of you every single day.”

As Hamish spoke, he could see the weight of his words beginning to resonate within you. He knew that your mother’s approval meant the world to you, but you meant the world to him and he would do anything, bring you so many bouquets for your bad days and your good that you’d perpetually be wading through a field of flowers, to make you see that. But for now at least, the slight smile that his words brought to your lips would have to be enough.

[dameronology]

poe dameron relationship alphabet

requested by....me, bitch. has one very minor reference to adult themes. 

a - actions. what sort of things do they do to show they love their s.o?

poe is all about physical touch. not just the bog standard hugging and kissing, but small, intimate actions. he likes holding your hand under the table at breakfast and during meetings, and he’ll keep one on the small of your back as you walk through the corridors of the resistance base. at night, the bare minimum for poe is tangling your fingers together - but most the time, he’s gonna basically sleep on top of you.

b - beginnings. how did the relationship begin? how has it changed?

in the beginning, poe would have been acting solely on his physical attraction to you - i’m talking flirty comments, winking at you across the room and doing everything within his power to try and romance you into going on a date with him (whilst still absolutely respecting your boundaries, of course). once he realises your personality, the man is tripping and fucking falling for you - so nothing about his attraction to you changes. it just gets deeper, and your connection becomes stronger. he still likes your butt tho. 

c - comfortable. how comfy are they with each other? peeing with the door open close, or would they rather keep the mystery?

he’d try to keep the mystery in the beginning, but he’s so chill around you that it’s gone within the first few months. he’s prepared to be unhealthily close. like lilly & marshal from how i met your mother close. 

d - dates. do they consider dates to be important? what kind do they prefer? 

once you’re together, he’ll try and take you on a date at least once a fortnight - and it’s only because leia gently told him that your nightly rituals of eating pizza in your pajamas didn’t count as a date. smh.

e - engagement. how would they propose? who would even pop thw question?

it probably won’t be a proper proposal. chances are, poe will say ‘hey, let’s get married!’ and...yeah. it’s both underwhelming and overwhelming all at once, so really, it’s perfect.

f - fundamental. for them, what is the most fundamental part of a relationship?

being each other’s ride or die, and also having a good chemistry. i understand those are two completely different things, but poe needs an s.o who will give their everything to him, as well as one who he can verbally and mentally spar with someone. someone who will help him a hide a body, but also someone who can make him laugh (and i hope to the high heavens that those two scenarios are not connected in any way <3) 

g - gratitude. how do they show their appreciation for you?

wink wonk. u know how he’s gonna show appreciation. 

but also, when he’s a little bit sleepy and a little bit soft, he’ll quietly murmur things to you - the most prevalent one being how he can’t get his head around the fact you’re with him, and how appreciative he is of all the ways you’ve changed his life. 

h - home. a random domestic headcanon.

poe refuses to sleep until he knows that both you and bb-8 are ok. in a perfect world, you’d be curled up in bed together (ideally with beebs in his charging port, but there are some things poe just won’t compromise on) but if you’re in separate locations, he just needs a simple message.

i - infinite. do they believe their love is endless, or is there something that could break it?

literally endless and unbreakable. even if you betrayed him in every way he knew to be possible, he’d still try and find a way to bring you back around. 

j - jokes. who’s the funny one?

it’s gotta be him. i’m sorry.

k - kiss. how do they kiss? favourite type?

poe’s favourite type of kiss is the soft ones you exchange first thing in the morning - but, he also loves the desperate ones after you reunite after a mission. you know the holding onto each other for dear life, teeth clashing, foreheads touching kinda kiss? 

l - longing. who’s the clingy one? how are they with long distance?

he is hands down the clingy one. it’s not suffocating, but when he gets into a whiny mood, that’s it. he’s not going anywhere. 

m - marriage. do they wanna get married?

ideally, yes. his parents marriage was such a fundamental and important part of his childhood, and he wants to find the same connection with someone.

n - nicknames. what ones do they like?

his favourite for both you and him is babe. 

o - over the top. are they ever ott? or are they more low-key?

he can be over the top; usually when he’s done something to piss you off, he’ll go absolutely out of the way to pull out all the stops - it’s either to beg for your forgiveness or to distract you from the dumb thing that you’re yet to discover 

p - picture. what’s their favourite picture of them and their s.o?

one time, you fell asleep on top of each other in a bar after a few too many drinks. you were laying in his lap, and poe had one hand holding yours as he slumped against finn’s side - the latter of whom got a selfie of the three of you in that very position. it’s poe’s background on his work tablet.

q - quintessential. what is one they would refuse to compromise in their relationship? what’s a deal-breaker for them?

as aforementioned, there’s very little that could make poe ever turn away from you. you’ve bonded in a way that goes beyond your souls and again, even if you completely and entirely hurt him, he’d still see the good in you. 

t - tattoo. would they ever get matching tattoos with their s.o, or a tattoo for them?

absolutely!! i reckon it would be something small, maybe on his forearm. 

u - understanding. how understanding are they? or are they a little difficult?

poe would never, ever be difficult with you (not intentionally). if you’re worried about something, he’s gonna listen and make you feel validated, no matter what it is. he’d be willing to sit down for hours on end and listen to you complain about cheese - if anything, he’s just glad to be in a relationship where you get one another 

v - vases. do they buy flowers?

yes!! mostly when he hasn’t seen you for a while or to cheer you up.

w - wandering. do they wanna travel? or immediately settle down?

once the first order is down, he’d want to travel a bit - there’s a lot of the galaxy he hasn’t seen yet, and a lot of different places he wants to explore. he also absolutely wants to try the kessel run. but, once that is all out the way, he’d definitely want to settle down somewhere. he needs it, really. 

x - ex. how many exes do they have? any horror stories?

poe probably has a pretty average amount of break-up and relationship horror stories - maybe two or three. of course, he’s told you them all.

(there was also one really awks run in with zorii bliss). 

y - you. favourite thing about their partner?

poe loves the stability you bring to his life. even when the galaxy is moving at a million miles an hour, it slows down when he’s with you. you’re the one he can always count on, and the one he can always turn to you. he can rely on you for anything & you can both sleep safe knowing you have each other’s backs. he also loves that he can laugh with you. 

z - zeal. how excitable are they? who’s the calm one?

poe is absolutely the excitable one. he can be calm when need be, but his upbeat and optimistic attitude is one of the things that made you fall in love with him

[starryeyedweeb]

Valentine’s Day With Hunter x Hunter

Characters Included: Kurapika, Hisoka, Chrollo, Illumi

Content Included: Floofity fluff- Valentine’s style; fairly gender-neutral

A Valentine’s Day With...

Kurapika

Kurapika’s actually beyond excited for Valentine’s Day with you, and has counted down the days until the event

He has a pretty traditional way of celebrating Valentine’s, but isn’t it tradition because it’s beloved by all?

He had made arrangements to get off work early that evening weeks in advance, and when the day finally comes, he can’t wait to go pick you up for your date

Like most, he had made reservations at a romantic restaurant, but the one he had chosen was more of a hidden gem- in a quieter part of town, with a niche menu, and in an intimate setting

You observe your surroundings in delight as you’re led to your table, where you sit side-by-side in front of a spindly vase of flowers

“Do you like it?” Kurapika asks, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he watches your reactions carefully. “I saw this restaurant months ago, and I’ve always thought you would enjoy it.”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, squeezing his hand lightly, and he averts his eyes with a sheepish chuckle

After enjoying your romantic course meal, Kurapika takes you off to the next spot of the night: an observatory, which is conveniently empty of all other people

“I’ve always wanted to go stargazing with you, but it’s too cold to go now. Even if it wasn’t, though, you can’t really see any stars in the city,” he explains. “So I decided on the next best thing.”

You could sense his nerves, for he wanted so badly for you to enjoy yourself completely

“I love it, I promise.” You press a kiss to his cheek. “Come on. Let’s go sit down and enjoy it.”

With hands still linked, you relax into your reclined seats and stare up at the celestial scene above you, pointing out constellations and naming your favorites

After settling deeply into your contentment at the time you were having with each other, Kurapika sits up slightly and reaches into his pocket

“I’d like to give you your gift now, if that’s alright.”

“You got me something?”

“I did.” He laughs gently, his cheeks reddening again. “I’ve always wanted to get you a nice gift, and this seemed like the perfect occasion.”

He hands you the pristinely wrapped package, which you open to find a delicate necklace, with a single but stunning ruby charm

He had saved up for months to get you something nice, and had labored over picking out something that would remind you of him without being too pretentious on his part

So, needless to say, happiness swells in his chest when you break into a wide grin

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathe

“Would you like me to put it on you?”

You nod, and with gentle fingers brushing against your skin, he fastens the chain around your neck, placing a whisper of a kiss just below your jaw.

“Thank you for spending this time with me,” you murmur as the two of you sit back again, your faces illuminated by the starry scene above

“If it was up to me, I’d never leave.”

Hisoka

Going into Valentine’s Day with a partner as unorthodox as Hisoka left you with many questions about what he would do to celebrate, if anything at all

You were prepared for anything, so you were less surprised than you might’ve been when he shook you awake nearly at the crack of dawn

“What’s going on?” You mutter sleepily. “Why are you awake so early?”

He merely drops a bag down next to you and strides out of the room

“Put that on,” he instructs, shutting the door behind him

Your brows knit in confusion as you reach into the bag and pull out an outfit that toes the line between summery and skimpy, presenting the question of “Is this streetwear or lingerie?”

Knowing it would be more fun to play along with his plan, you do as he told and go to meet him outside the room

Your breath catches in your throat as you see him with his hair down and makeup off, almost as if he was going incognito

“It’s a little cold to be wearing something like this, isn’t it?” you ask by way of announcing your presence

Sighing headily as he takes in the sight of you, he approaches and wraps his arms around you, his hands sneaking down to give your ass a squeeze

“It will make sense soon, I promise.” He grabs your coat off the rack and holds it out for you. “We need to get moving if we’re going to make it on time.”

You allow yourself to be swept up in his plan, which ends up with the two of you on a plane he had “borrowed” from Illumi and the Zoldycks, flying towards an unknown destination

“Seriously, Hisoka, what’s going on?” You demand, peering out the window for clues

“Relax, darling. Would I ever lead you wrong?” He pours you a drink and holds it out to you

You take it and flash him a dubious look. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“Fine. I’ll give you a hint. I’ve always hated the cold, so I want to take the opportunity of a romantic holiday to escape it with you.”

“That’s better, I suppose.” You sip your drink, noticing him look you up and down out of the corner of your eye

“I did an excellent job picking out that outfit for you,” he declares, cocking his head slightly sideways. “We still have a while to go. Why don’t we do something to keep busy?

You slide a bit closer to him, drawing a finger up and down his hip. “What did you have in mind?”

Hours later, when the plane finally arrives at the mystery destination, you find yourselves on a secluded island, approaching a quaint beach house that had been carefully prepared for your arrival

“Was this the surprise?” you gasp, staring at the scene in awe.

“It was. Some time away where we can pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist,” he replies with a self-satisfied smirk. “Are you pleased?”

“I am! This is perfect.”

He snakes his arm around your waist, leading you towards the entrance of the house. “Let’s get started, then.”

“I thought we already did get started.”

“Darling, you should know by now that what we did was only a warm up.”

Chrollo

Chrollo had been secretly planning a celebration for months, mapping out all of his operations around keeping that one special day open

On Valentine’s morning, he’s gone, but in his place is a tray of your favorite breakfast and a note instructing you to dress warm and be ready to leave by 7:00 that night

There are no other clues, so as you indulge in the breakfast, you wonder what he could have planned for you

Because with Chrollo, it could be anything

Meanwhile, he’s spending the day making all the last-minute preparations for your celebration, and hen the hour arrives, a knock sounds on your door

But instead of Chrollo, you find a driver that had been sent to take you to the date spot

You end up being driven so far outside of the city you halfway wonder if you’ve finally fallen victim to one of the revenge kidnappings Chrollo had always warned you about

Until the driver pulls up to the base of a massive hill, where your boyfriend waits with a smile on his face

“What on Earth have you planned this time?” You ask as he extends his hand to help you out of the car

“I’m a criminal mastermind, love. I simply cannot afford to be predictable.”

He leads you up to the top of the hill, where he set up a candlelight picnic on a blanket covered in rose petals, situated overlooking a fantastic view of the entire city

“Oh, Chro, it’s lovely,” you breathe, but can’t resist a shiver as you sit down and take the glass of wine he offered

He tuts. “I thought I told you to dress warm.”

“You didn’t leave much more information, so I wasn’t sure just how warm.”

“Well, then, I suppose it’s a good thing that I planned for this, too.”

He takes out a blanket and wraps it around both of your shoulders, and you enjoy your cozy meal whilst overlooking the lights of the city

“Let me guess,” you begin, reaching for yet another gourmet appetizer. “Everything here is stolen.”

“Why, of course it is.”

“And the Troupe is probably quite angry with you for sending them on such a trivial errand to get all of this.”

“Initially, but they were alright with it when I offered them half of the spoils for their own enjoyment.”  He shifts, pulling something from his coat pocket. “But I’d like to give you something that, for the first time in years, I haven’t stolen.”

“You actually bought something?” You gasp incredulously, taking the small box in your hands.

“Sort of. I had it made.” He shrugs. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

With him looking over your shoulder to gauge your reaction, you flip open the top of the box and discover a ring, the delicate silver band formed in the shape of an elegant spider web, tiny diamonds glistening at the points

Once you’ve taken the sight of it in, Chrollo takes the ring out of the box and slides it on your finger

“Since you’re reluctant to get a Troupe tattoo, I wanted something else to symbolize.”

“To symbolize what?” You ask, admiring how the ring glistens in the candlelight.

“To symbolize that you’re my home,” he replies with a cheesy, almost joking expression, but his eyes sparkled with truth. “Do you like it?”

“Chro, I love it.”

The corners of his lips turn upward as he cups your cheek

“And I love you.”

Illumi

Honestly, Illumi had never even heard of Valentine’s Day before you came along

So, needless to say, no plans to celebrate were made until he was out for drinks with Hisoka the night before and Illumi was asked what he was going to do to celebrate

He just blinked, completely confused

“You know, people tend to get very upset if their partners don’t do anything for Valentine’s Day. They’ve probably got something planned for you,” Hisoka teased.

When Illumi was still staring at him with a blank expression, Hisoka explained the concept and helped Illumi make some last-minute arrangements

So, when you wake up on the morning of Valentine’s Day, you find an ornate vase full of orchids and a box of luxury chocolates sitting at the end of your bed

Gotta use and abuse the Zoldyck family funds, you know

You’re overjoyed and pleasantly surprised

Honestly you had expected nothing at all, so assuming that the flowers and chocolates were the entirety of your surprise for the day, you happily go about the rest of your own Valentine’s plans: a day of self-care and self-love

Dating an assassin with a personality like Illumi’s was rewarding, but also immensely challenging, so you definitely deserved it

In light of cliche and tradition, you decide to make some fondue for yourself, and are just getting ready to serve it when you turn around to find Illumi standing behind you in the kitchen

You let out a startled yelp and drop the spoon you’re holding

“Illumi, you scared me!”

“I thought I’ve been teaching you about awareness lately. You should’ve sensed my presence.”

“I was just distracted. Besides, I wasn’t expecting you to be here at all. I thought you were supposed to be working tonight.”

“I just learned what ‘Valentine’s Day’ is. I rearranged the plan so that I could come spend the evening with you.”

You sense a warm feeling spreading across your chest, and have to fight the urge to swallow him in a hug.

“Well, perfect timing. I was just about to serve dinner.”

The two of you share a two-course fondue, then settle in on the couch

Illumi wasn’t really a TV person, so you play some music softly in the background and gaze out the window as rain begins to fall outside

As you lay with Illumi’s arm folded around your waist, you reflect that your quiet Valentine’s Day was a little less than orthodox, but the peace it brought was exactly what the both of you desperately needed

[all-my-love-for-harry]

For the night.

summary: harry spends the night for the first time

word count: 1.9k

Based on this request:

“So for shy little boy could you maybe do a part where it’s Harry first time spending the night or maybe even the morning after👀👀👀👀 also I love this mini series your amazing love keep up the good work!!!!!!!”

and 

“Hi, I hope you're doing great. I'm obsessed with my shy little boy, it's so fricking good, like you're so talented girl! I have a request if you don't mind. Like when they start getting serious and y/n tells Harry what happened with Artemis' biological dad. Xx”

you can find more of my shy little boy here

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

August, 2018.

Date nights were fun. Going out on the weekends wasn’t something Y/N did often. Before Harry was in her life, she didn’t make a lot of time for dates. The majority of the men she met weren’t looking for a serious relationship and Y/N was tired to just sleep around.

At first she thought it would be the same with Harry. They’d go on a couple of dates, perhaps even sleep together then they’d continue with their lives like nothing happened.

However, Harry was full of surprises and he did not back off in any moment. Not when she cancelled dinner one night after Artemis fell sick out of nowhere, not when she told him she couldn’t spend the night at his place because she had errands to run next morning. He never seemed to be bothered if she had things to do or if she was busier than anyone he’s ever dated because she had a son.

Which, to be honest, wasn’t something she saw a lot. Her dates usually ended after she revealed she had a son, not that she cared anyway. Anyone who had a problem with Artemis wasn’t worth her time.

“All I’m saying is you should have more fun with that boy” Her mother Ella said, chopping some vegetables. It was Saturday, she was supposed to go on a date with Harry tonight and they were going to take care of Artemis, but they stopped by earlier to have lunch together. “You don’t always have to be home before eleven”

“We have fun, okay? Besides, I think eleven is a reasonable hour to go back home” she shrugged. “And Harry is not a boy, mum, He’s a man”

“Even better!” She exclaimed. Y/N shook her head while laughing, her mother was impossible sometimes. “Artemis can spend the night here too, if you want. That way, you shouldn’t be worried to get home early”

“I don’t know…” Y/N looked at her mother, who raised her eyebrow at her. "Ugh, okay” She sighed.

Truth to be told, she was kind of excited to have a full night free. Things with Harry were looking great, they did have so much fun together and every time she felt closer to him. He was a nice, kind man who seemed as interested as Y/N was.

Around 5pm Y/N left her mothers’ house to get ready for dinner with Harry, he’ll pick her up at seven o’clock so she had plenty of time to get ready before he arrived. She chose a navy blue dress with a pair of heels that matched, her makeup was done in less than an hour.

She was done just in time and Harry knocked at her door at seven, being punctual as always. “Hello, beautiful” He smiled as soon as she open the door. “These are for you” He pulled out from behind his back a bouquet of flowers.

“Harry, these are stunning” One of her hands touched her chest right where her heart was. “Thank you. Come in, I’ll put them in water and we can go”

He stepped into the house and waited in the living room for Y/N. She came back with the flowers in a vase and put them on a table behind the couch. “Ready?” He asked.

“Of course. Let’s go”

The restaurant Harry made reservations in wasn’t so far from her house, so the ride wasn’t that long. As the gentleman he was, Harry opened her door and helped her step out of the car, they walked towards the doors of the building and he opened them again for her.

“This place is nice” She said when they sat down on their table.

“I friend of fine recommended it, thought you’d like it”

“Well, I love Italian food” Harry gave her a dimpled smile, happy to please her.

They had a very lovely night, as always. With each date they had, their level of trust increased more. What Harry really liked about Y/N was how down to earth she was. Even though she was extremely smart, she never made him feel dumb. He loved listening to her, it made him feel normal.

Driving back to Y/N house, Harry thought it would be the end of the evening, so it was fair to say he was surprised when Y/N invited him to come in. “I had this bottle of wine and I’d hate to drink it alone” She batted her eyelashes at him, making him grin.

“That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He smirked before getting out of the car. He held Y/N hands all the way to her front door and waited for her to unlock it. They entered and she went to the kitchen for the wine. Harry looked around, Y/N had lots of framed pictures of her and Artemis, with friends and family.

He saw a photo book on the coffee table, ‘collage’ was written on the cover. He sat on the sofa and took another look to the cover. There was a picture of Y/N and some other people, she was next to a guy who was holding her waist and she was smiling big. “That’s Caleb, Artemis’ biological father” She said, coming with two glasses of wine.

“You don’t have to-” He started saying.

“I want to, honestly. It’s not a big deal, really” She sat down next to him, kicking off her heels. “We met back in high school. He was a nice guy, or so I thought” She took a sip of her wine. “We dated for a while then we went to collage together”

Harry put a hand on her knee for support and she sighed. “We didn’t use protection one night and next thing I knew I was pregnant”

“Did you tell him?”

“I did, I took like five tests to make sure it wasn’t a mistake” She sighed. “So, I called him”

“Wait, you told him over the phone?” he said, readjusting on his seat.

“I didn’t know what to do. After I hung up with him I drove to his apartment and he practically slammed the door on my face” Harry clenched his jaw. “Caleb told me he couldn’t do it, that he was too young and wasn’t ready for that responsibility” He raised his eyebrows.

Harry couldn’t understand how someone could give up the opportunity to be with someone as amazing as Y/N, or could refuse to be in their own son’s life. Nothing he’d said would change what Y/N lived in that time, he was just glad she was in his life now.

“I’m sorry” He said.

“Don’t be. He made his choice, I made mine” She gave him a half smile. “My mum’s a lawyer, she wanted to sue him right away but, honestly? Why would I force him to be in Artemis’ life?”

“Anyone who doesn’t want you or Artemis in their life, isn’t worth it” He assured her, holding her hand. “Thank you for opening up with me”

“I know we haven’t really talked about this, but I really like you, Harry” She confessed. “And I do see this going somewhere”

He smiled, dimples in full display. “I feel the same way, Y/N. I-I really don’t know what you’ve done to me” He leaned towards her.

His eyes fell to her lips, they’ve kissed before, however Harry always want his lips on hers. There was something about Y/N that made him want to be close to her at all times. He wasn’t sure if it was her personality or the fact that she was insanely beautiful.

Harry closed the distance between them, kissing her sweetly yet passionately. He cupped her face with his hands to pull her closer, as if that was possible.

Before any of them knew, Y/N was straddling Harry’s lap. They broke the kiss to take a breath, but she started planting little peeks all the way from his neck to his lips again. When she started rolling her hips, grinding against him, Harry grabbed her waist.

“I’d love to continue, but we’ve been drinking, love” He whispered before placing a kiss on her forehead. She nodded, sighing.

“Would you like to spend the night?” She pulled away just enough to take a look at his face. He offered her a smile and she poked his dimple.

“It depends. Do you snore?” he joked making her giggle while shaking her head. “In that case, I think I can stay”

She flashed him another smile before getting off of his lap. She took his hand to lead the way towards her bedroom. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything you can borrow to sleep in”

“It’s fine, love. Are you okay with me sleeping in my briefs?”

“Yeah, make yourself comfortable” She went to the bathroom to get changed into her pajamas and returned with a spare toothbrush for him.

“Thank you” He smiled and peeked her lips before going into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Y/N laid on bed. This would be the first time they’d sleep in the same bed, and she found herself wondering if he was of the cuddling type of he’d want to be left alone. She definitely liked to be held while sleeping, for sure.

Harry exited the bathroom and walked to the bed. Y/N finally had a good look at all the tattoos on his torso. It was impossible not to stare, he was perfect in all senses.

He laid on the bed next to her. At first, Y/N was too scared to touch him so she stayed still. Harry chuckled when he saw her hesitation and opened his arms, inviting her to lay on his chest.

Sighing happily, Y/N got comfortable on her new position. Harry’s chest was warm, soft but hard at the same time. Their legs were tangled in no time, making the space between them nonexistent.

Y/N could definitely get used to this.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

When Harry opened his eyes, it took him a moment to remember where he was. He grinned when he felt her move a little against him. “Morning, sunshine”

Y/N looked up, offering him a tired smile. “Good morning”

“How long have you been awake?”

“Just a couple of minutes. My biological clock doesn’t let me sleep in much. Having a very enthusiastic kid does that to you” She chuckled softly.

“Do you have plans today?”

“Not really, just pick Artemis up from my mums’ house” Y/N covered a yawn with the back of her hand. “Why?”

“Thought I could cook you some breakfast”

“That would be nice”

Both of them went out of bed, Harry put his pants back on but stayed shirtless and Y/N put a robe on top of her pajamas. Harry took her hand again and intertwined their fingers. “Have you ever tried kale smoothies?”

She was about to answer but another voice interrupted her. “Artemis, wait!” Harry saw a little body came running down the hall, before he could run back to Y/N’s room, Artemis had already spotted them.

“Hi, Harry” He mumbled, playing with his hands.

“Hey, buddy” He said nervously.

“And who’s this?” He heard a new voice and looked up. He saw one of Y/N’s mums standing there with a huge smirk on her face so he looked down at Y/N, who had her face red from embarrassment.

Well, what a nice way to meet the parents.

☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁

taglist!!

@myfavfanficsever @odetostep @la-cey @cock-a-doodely-doo @awkwardbullfrog @mellamolayla @moorgannn @bagtan-serendipity @awesomebooklover17 @finelineribs @sunnybusiness @beanholland @sweetenerstyle @cronias13 @vhsharry @maisley @seasidecrowbar @stylesfics-xx @autumnpauley20 @fineline-hs1 @stephaniemalvie @immajustreadwritereblog @jadert15 @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Snark Attack

A/N: It was about time I wrote for my first love in the MCU. Definitely plan on writing more. Not my gif! Feedback’s most welcome as always. 

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word count: 1430

Warnings: Foul language. Blood. Loads of snark, hence the cheesy title. Fluff?

...

Spots of blood on a dirt-covered floor were the first things you saw as you slowly came to consciousness. Your vision was blurry but you could make out your surroundings, an old warehouse.

Typical. 

A sharp stinging pain on one side of your head could be felt where your kidnapper hit you with a rod that had knocked you out. The ropes cut into the skin of your wrists and ankles. You were tied to a chair.

Again typical. 

The predictability of the whole situation made you roll your eyes. Now all that was left, was a scruffy looking guy walking in to threaten you, and get you talking. About five minutes later that happened too.

Damn, these guys sure were amateurs! 

Your cocky self obviously underestimated the severity of the situation. But you were sure rescue was on its way. Any minute now. 

A tall man with too many tattoos stepped in front, grabbed your face roughly, and looked at your wound, “ I got you good didn’t I, sweetheart?” 

“If I say I’m used to it would you judge me?” 

“You better start talking or I’m gonna make this worse.” he said, tightening his grip on your jaw.

“Define worse.” 

Just then another man dressed in a crisp looking suit stepped in the warehouse and made his way over to you. He knelt in front of you and spoke in a calm voice, “You give me what I want and no one gets hurt. You understand?” 

You simply stared at him with a poker face and eyebrows raised as if daring him to make a move. 

“Guess not.” 

He said standing up and motioned the previous guy. He grabbed something from the table and walked over to you. 

You struggled against the restraints as you noticed it was an injection. 

Your best guess was sodium pentothal aka truth serum.

There was very little you could do as the needle pierced into your skin, making you wince in pain. 

The dose he gave you was strong as within seconds your vision turned black and you passed out. 

…

When you regained consciousness this time, you were on your feet. They were tied with metal chains, so were your hands above your head. There was plastic laid out beneath your feet. You couldn’t identify any faces, everything was a blur of hazy colors and light. It was a struggle to keep your eyes open. 

The injection was making you loopy.

“What is your name?” 

You didn’t answer. 

A smack hit the side of your face. The tangy metal taste of your blood filled your mouth.

“Answer me.” 

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)” you answered, speech slurring. You had to keep up the act. 

“You work for Shield?” 

“Y-yes.” you cracked a little smile before adding, “you really think this is my first rodeo?” 

A blinding pain shot through the side of your thigh, as the man stabbed you with a knife. 

You screamed in agony and screwed your eyes shut.

 Your pants drenched in blood as you felt it trickle down your leg and onto the plastic. 

“You wanna try that again sweetheart. I got all day.” The man threatened. 

“So do I.” 

He stabbed you again. This time aiming for the other leg. You were sure the knife hit your bone. 

The pain was excruciating but nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. 

Just then the warehouse door burst open and you saw a flash of red and gold. A fight ensued but you were hardly aware of it.

Your eyes closed at this point, you felt too weak, too sleepy. After a few moments, the chains on the wrists loosened and fell through and you stumbled right into Tony’s suit.

“Hey there daredevil. You hurt?” Tony’s voice came through the face shield as he held you firmly. 

“No. I normally spurt blood from my legs. Are you done playing the hero?” you retorted, still drowsy.

Did he not see the blood-soaked sheet you were standing on?

“Okay let’s get you outta here. Hang on tight.” He said as he grabbed you by the waist and took off. 

You blacked out instantly. 

…

Clean sheets, fluorescent lights, IV drip. You woke up in the infirmary when the stab wounds in your legs started smarting. 

A vase filled with your favorite flowers placed on the bedside table caught your attention. No one’s ever got you flowers before.

You were about to press a button that summoned the nurse because you were parched when someone knocked on the door. 

“Come in.” your voice came out raspy from lack of use.

In walked Tony dressed in a band T-shirt and jeans holding a bag of take-out?

“How are you feeling?” he asked walking through the room like he owned the place and took a seat on the sofa adjacent to your bed. 

“Well, my entire face hurts, these stab wounds burn like a motherfucker and I have a pounding headache. Apart from that, I’m real dandy. Why do you ask?”. 

You didn’t exactly get along with Tony Stark. He had a tendency to get under your skin.

The man was arrogant, sassy and too full of himself. In that sense, you two were quite alike. 

“I saved your life (Y/L/N). You’re welcome for the flowers too.” he retorted, shooting a wary glance your way before fiddling with the bag he’d placed on the table. 

He sent you flowers? How would he even know they were your favorite?

“I thought rescue missions were well below your pay grade. What were you even doing there?” you questioned, guard still up. 

“I was in Hill’s office when she got the call about your kidnapping. Thought I’d do her a favor. Plus I had to test some new features of Mark XLV.” he stated, matter-of-factly.  

 In reality, Tony had been enamored ever since you had accompanied the team on a mission to take down a Hydra base. Your combat skills impressed the billionaire, and unbeknownst to you, Tony had insisted to Maria Hill that you accompany the team on more missions. 

You’d always dismissed his flirty comments as his way of getting under your skin; which he was successful in.

“You know you called me handsome when you were in that truth serum haze.” his signature smirk appeared as your eyes went wide.

“You must be deluded.” you defended yourself, and silently prayed he was making it up.

“Oh, I’m not making it up. Not when someone compliments me. Especially you.” his eyes dancing with humor, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. 

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest as you glared at him. Damn it, he managed to get a rise out of you every single time. 

“Why’re you really here Tony. It’s clearly not to make me feel better.” 

This seemed to soften his smug self. He straightened up and walked over to your bed and sat beside you, careful not to touch your leg. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. Is that so hard for you to believe?” 

For the first time, you didn’t know what to say. Did he actually care about you? 

You kept your eyes on the sheet covering your heavily bandaged legs. The silence in the room growing awkward by the minute.

“The team is concerned about you too. The guys ordered Chinese food and I thought since you can’t join us, I’d bring it to you in here.” 

“Oh. That’s nice.” you cringed internally as you said it. That’s nice?

Tony stood up and brought the bag over to you and started leaving, probably felt his presence unwanted. You stopped him as he reached for the handle.

“Thank you for the flowers, Stark. They’re my favorite.” you said, giving him a slight smile and a nod.

He turned and gave you a genuine smile. One of those rare Tony smiles that weren’t for the cameras. 

“The team’s celebrating tomorrow. I hope to see you there (Y/N). And don’t bring another guy.”

And there it is.

“Sure, I’ll swing by on crutches, so glamorous.” you retorted, rolling your eyes. 

“I can carry you around and keep you in my lap if you want.” Tony said, the signature smirk coming right back. 

“Goodbye Tony.” you pointedly stared at the door, failing to hide the blush on your cheeks.

“See you tomorrow sweetheart.” he closed the door behind him, leaving you alone to think about what just transpired. 

You rolled your eyes yet again at ‘sweetheart’ but laughed and shook your head, as you reached for the take-out. 

Chinese food, another favorite. 

...

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter 3 | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, pretty girl, Sarge), smut [f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), PIV, very very slight dom!Bucky, slight praise kink, very slight somnophilia], angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

Tag | @mrs--barnes

A/N | Decided to go pure filth and fantasy for chapter three. Enjoy. 😉

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

1300 miles playlist

_____

previous chapter

_____

Since returning in The Blip, Bucky has hated the time between when he lays down and when he falls asleep. He can't seem to turn his mind off. He's still getting used to being alone with his own thoughts, having his own thoughts. Wakanda offered him some peace, and in his apartment, he keeps the TV running constantly to fill the silence and stop himself from getting too lost inside his head. But at Sarah's house, he's afraid to turn the television on for fear of waking anyone else. So, on Sunday night, he lays on the couch listening to the house creak and groan around him, trying not to overanalyze everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours. He also tries not to think about Jo and everything he likes about her: her laugh, her voice, her eyes, her lips, her hands, her breasts—

He cuts off his train of thought. She's funny, clever, and kind, and in just a few short hours, she seems to have commanded Bucky's undivided attention.

_____

On Monday morning, Bucky debates whether or not to text Jo. Sam advises him to wait a day or two: "Put the ball in her court. You don't want to seem over-eager," he says. Bucky doesn't point out that he hasn't felt this way about a woman in eighty years, so he is definitely beyond eager.

Luckily, Jo texts him first.

The slightly outdated smart phone Sam convinced him to invest in chimes. Jo's name appears on the screen, a small pink heart next to it, along with a photo of her in her glasses holding Toulouse and the message, I think Louie misses you, Sarge.

Another picture comes through. This time it’s of himself, asleep with Louie on his chest. Bucky smiles.

“Sam,” Bucky calls across the boat, “how do you save a photo on this damn thing?” He holds his phone up.

Sam laughs and trots over to him. “Hand it here,” he says.

Bucky hands him the phone, the message from Jo pulled up on the screen.

Sam raises his eyebrows, “Sarge, huh?”

“Don’t say a word,” Bucky warns. “Just show me how to save the photo.”

Sam walks him through the steps, then says, “You can make it your background, you know, instead of this…” he exits out of the text message and looks at the screen, “sad, generic picture.”

“You can do that?” Bucky asks.

“Did you not watch the tutorial videos I sent you, man?” Sam sighs.

Then he holds up the phone, snaps a photo of himself, sets it as Bucky’s home screen, and hands the phone back to Bucky.

Bucky stares at it for a moment. “What the hell?” he mutters.

“Watch the videos so you’ll know how to change it, Sarge.” Sam teases.

_____

Jo spends most of Monday and Tuesday trying not to think about Bucky and failing miserably. The only reprieve she has is band rehearsal which gives her something to focus on that isn't Bucky's hands or mouth or eyes or broad shoulders...

She throws herself into learning new music and tries to avoid texting Bucky every five minutes. They keep a fairly regular conversation going throughout the two days, but she's afraid she's going to scare him off if she seems too enthusiastic.

_____

When Tuesday evening finally arrives, Bucky pulls up outside the bar on a borrowed motorcycle Sam hooked him up with. He's sure that Sam only made it happen so Bucky wouldn't ask to drive his car.

He calls Jo on the intercom outside the residential door to the right of the bar. She buzzes him in, and he takes the stairs two at a time. He's full of nervous energy that he can't seem to burn off. At Jo's door, he runs a hand through his hair before knocking.

When Jo opens the door, Bucky has to stop himself from kissing her immediately. It doesn't seem like the right move for the very beginning of a first date, despite what happened between them two days earlier. Jo's dark hair is loose, falling across her shoulders, and her lips are a deep shade of red. It reminds him of the color women wore in the '40s, but he can't remember anyone looking as beautiful in the shade as Jo does.

She's wearing a black button-down shirt tucked into slim, black jeans, and when Bucky's eyes follow the trail of the gold necklace laying across her collarbone, he's greeted with the sight of the beginning of her sternum tattoo and the lace of her black bra peeking out. He licks his lips and flicks his eyes back to Jo's.

She smirks at him.

"You look gorgeous, doll," Bucky says.

"Not too bad yourself, Sarge," she says, taking in his usual dark jeans and leather jacket. She notices that he's not wearing his gloves.

"These are for you," Bucky says, handing her the small bouquet of flowers he picked up on the way.

Jo smiles and takes them. "You did say flowers." The corner of Bucky's lip pulls up in a smile. "They're lovely," she continues. "Just let me put these in water."

She moves away from the door, and Bucky follows her into the apartment. He watches as she pulls a vase from a kitchen cabinet and fills it with water. He can't stop himself from staring at the curve of her hips and backside in the tight, black denim she's wearing. All thoughts of not kissing her yet are dismissed.

He steps up behind her as she stands at the counter, snipping the ends of the stems and placing the flowers in the vase. Bucky's hands sweep over her hips and around her waist, pulling her flush against his own body — her back against his front. He takes her hair into his hand and moves it, so it falls over one shoulder, granting him access to her pale neck. His lips find the spot behind her ear, and he kisses her gently, before moving down to suck a bruise into the skin where her neck meets her collarbone. Bucky hears the scissors Jo was holding clatter onto the counter.

"If you start that, we'll never get to dinner," she says almost breathlessly.

"I did promise you dinner," Bucky mumbles against her neck.

"You did."

He spins her around and kisses her lightly on the corner of her mouth, careful to not smudge her lipstick.

"Then dinner it is," he says, pulling away and offering her his hand.

Outside, Jo eyes his motorcycle with suspicion. "You want me to ride a motorcycle. In New Orleans," she says.

Bucky shrugs.

"The potholes alone will kill us," Jo argues.

"Do you trust me?" Bucky asks, his eyes shining with excitement and his mouth curved up in a flirtatious smile.

Jo nods. With that look, Bucky could ask her to ride a motorcycle naked through Mardi Gras and she would agree. "Of course," she says.

Bucky's smile broadens, and he places the extra helmet on her head. Jo doesn't care how much this will mess up her hair; she's too focused on how gentle Bucky's hands are as he secures the strap and flips the visor down. He puts his own helmet on and motions for her to climb on behind him. Jo wraps her hands tightly around Bucky's waist as he starts the bike.

He's surprisingly agile as he maneuvers the motorcycle through the streets of New Orleans, avoiding potholes and roadblocks. Jo relaxes her hold on his waist a bit and rests her helmeted cheek against his back. Bucky's heart swells at the thought that she trusts him to keep her safe.

_____

The restaurant Bucky chose from Sam's list of suggestions is housed in a converted warehouse a few blocks from the curve of the Mississippi River. Inside, it's louder than Bucky would have liked, but that also means that Jo sits close to him so she can hear him over the noise, her body angled toward his and her hand resting on his arm as she looks over the menu. Bucky places his own hand on her knee.

He has to remind himself to actually read the menu in front of him instead of just staring at Jo. He's finally made himself focus long enough on the entrees to decide what to order when he hears Jo let out a soft snort beside him. He looks up.

"Sorry," she says before biting her bottom lip to stifle another laugh.

He just stares at her.

"You do this thing," she continues, "when you're concentrating on something, where you squint your eyes, and you rest your tongue on your bottom lip. It's kind of adorable.”

Bucky sets his menu down on the table. "I don't think anyone's ever called me 'adorable' before," he says.

Jo hums and cocks her head to the side, staring at him. "Definitely adorable. But would you prefer charming? Handsome? Incredibly sexy?" Bucky blushes. "Should I go on?" she teases.

Bucky takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckles. "Please don't," he says.

"Not a fan of compliments, Sarge?" she goads him.

"Not used to hearing them," he mumbles.

Jo smiles and squeezes his hand. "We should change that," she says.

The corners of Bucky's eyes crinkle with his smile, and Jo wants to place kisses over each line created. Instead, she closes the short distance between them and opts for placing a kiss on his stubbled cheek. She likes that Bucky lets her do this, lets her show her fondness for him this way. She's always been overly affectionate with people she likes.

For his part, Bucky is enjoying the contact. He used to love to hold a woman's hand, brush the hair from her face, press a kiss to her cheek, and after being denied any form of gentle touch for eighty years, he finds he can't get enough of it. He thought he would shy away from it after so long without human connection, but Jo makes it easy. She seems to make everything easy for him. He thinks about how normal it is to sit in a restaurant with a beautiful woman, and he chokes down the thought that maybe he doesn’t deserve anything easy or normal.

Over dinner, Jo leads the conversation. While Bucky answers her questions and engages with her stories, she's noticed that he prefers to stay quiet, prefers to listen. So, she talks. And while she talks, she observes him, observes the way his eyes follow her hands, the way his tongue drags over his bottom lip, the way his body tenses and turns ever so slightly to an unexpected noise in the room.

"You're very intense," she finally tells him.

"Sorry," he says, running his tongue over his lips again.

"Don't apologize," Jo says. "I like it. I like you."

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile, and, for a brief moment, Bucky wants to pour himself out before her, tell her how she makes him feel like himself again after so long. He wants to confess to her, wants to tell her more than he's told Sam or his therapists or anyone in a lifetime – stories of his childhood and family, of Steve and the war, and everything after that. But the words get caught in his throat and the moment passes.

When they step outside of the restaurant after dinner and another drink, there's enough of a late-night breeze blowing to cause Jo to wrap her arms around herself. Bucky shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over Jo's shoulders before tucking her body into his side. She lifts her head and smiles up at him as he leads her the few blocks to where the bike is parked.

Before he places the helmet over her head again, Bucky kisses her, his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her body against his. He nips her bottom lip gently with his teeth and lets his hand wander down her backside, pressing her body impossibly closer. When he finally pulls away, his cheeks are flushed, and his pink lips are slightly swollen.

Jo brings her hand up to cradle his jaw. "Take me home, Sarge," she whispers.

_____

At traffic lights, Jo, warm in Bucky’s leather jacket, finds her hands wandering from Bucky's waist to his thighs, drawing slow circles across the thick muscles there. When they stop at one particularly long light, Jo has to stop herself from letting her hand ghost across his crotch. She’s trying to respect his boundaries, his need to be in control. By the time they reach Jo's apartment, Bucky's half-hard beneath his jeans, and Jo is anxious to get him upstairs.

He parks the motorcycle on the street outside the bar and stashes the helmets while Jo unlocks the building's residential door. When the helmets are locked up, Bucky meets her at the door and guides her inside, his hands on Jo's hips. She turns and presses him against the inside of the door, reaching up to stroke her fingers through his hair and ghost her lips over his, their breath mingling.

"Are you done teasing me?" Bucky growls.

"Never," she laughs and moves out of his reach. She makes it to the bottom of the stairs before Bucky catches up to her. In one swift move, he lifts her up and tosses her over his shoulder, smacking her backside before climbing the stairs. Jo laughs and enjoys the view of his muscled back beneath her hands.

Bucky doesn't put Jo down outside her apartment. Instead, she hands him her keys, and he unlocks the door while holding her with one arm around her thighs. He doesn't set her down in the living room either; he carries her all the way through the apartment to her bedroom and tosses her gently onto her bed. Jo bounces once and laughs before sliding out of his jacket, kicking off her shoes, and pulling Bucky toward her.

"Come here," she says, releasing his dog tags from beneath the collar of his shirt and tugging gently on the chain.

Bucky steps out of his own shoes and climbs onto the bed, hovering over Jo. He pushes a strand of hair out of her face and stares at her. Her lipstick is faded from dinner and their kisses, but her cheeks and chest are flushed red in its place.

“You’re beautiful, Jo,” Bucky says, and he leans down and kisses her gently. They stay like that for a while, kissing slowly, finally breaking away for air and for Bucky to spread kisses across Jo’s jaw and neck.

“Bucky?” Jo whispers. He hums in acknowledgment, his lips pressed against her collarbone. “You're in charge, okay?”

Bucky exhales slowly, his fingers trailing up and down Jo's sides. “Good," he says. "Because first I'm going to make you come apart on my fingers, then my tongue, then my cock."

Jo practically whimpers, and her back arches, her chest pushing toward Bucky’s hands as they trail across her breasts then down to untuck her shirt. His fingers move quickly over the buttons on her blouse, and he parts the fabric to reveal the black lace of her bra. He leans back slightly and takes in the sight of her pierced nipples pressing against the fabric.

"Gorgeous," her murmurs before laving at one of her nipples through the lace. He leans back again and pulls the fabric down to take her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.

Jo sighs and weaves her fingers into Bucky's hair, her nails scraping against his scalp. Bucky growls against her breast, and his fingers move to the button of her jeans, popping it open and tugging the zipper down. His flesh hand dives beneath the waist of her underwear, and his fingers ghost over her clit. He's moving purely on instinct and maybe, he thinks, muscle memory.

“Bucky,” Jo whines as his hand dips lower, two fingers sinking into her wet heat.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He presses one more kiss to her nipple before claiming her lips again. He strokes her slowly, enjoying the way her walls clamp around his fingers and her eyes fall shut.

“More,” she pleads, and Bucky smirks against her lips. He crooks his fingers and presses his thumb against her clit until she’s gasping.

“Look at me when I make you come,” Bucky whispers, increasing the speed of his thrusts, his thumb pressing harder against Jo’s clit. He feels her tighten around his fingers, and she keens, arching her back, her eyes flying open and locking on Bucky’s. “Good girl,” he praises, and he adds a third finger as she clenches around him and digs her own fingers into the bed sheets, coming undone on his hand.

Bucky slips his fingers out of her and tugs her jeans and underwear down her legs, tossing them on the floor. His hands slide up her legs, over the curve of her hips and across her stomach to reach behind her back and unhook her bra. Jo sits up and shrugs out of her blouse and bra, letting Bucky throw them aside. His hand on her shoulder guides her to lay back down.

Bucky sits back on his heels and takes in the sight of her, from her flushed cheeks to the barbells pierced through her nipples to the trim patch of hair between her legs.

“Fuck, doll, look at you,” Bucky finally says, licking his bottom lip.

Jo breathes out a laugh and pushes at Bucky’s shirt until he’s pulling it over his head. He stands from the bed to pull his jeans off, as well, keeping his boxers on for now, then returns to her, his lips finding hers again. Their teeth clash, and Bucky’s fingers dig into the skin at Jo’s hips, holding her in place, keeping her from pressing up against his crotch.

“Be still,” he whispers, and his teeth nip at her jaw.

Bucky runs his tongue down her neck to the top of her left breast where he stops to suck a bruise into her tender flesh. He soothes the spot with his tongue and a kiss before continuing his path down her stomach to her hip. He uses his tongue to trace the floral pattern inked on the outside of her left hip down the top of her thigh and across to her cunt.

Bucky's heated breath ghosts across her sensitive flesh, and Jo gasps when he dips his tongue into her folds. He laps at her slowly, then sucks her clit between his lips, and Jo’s back arches and her whole body seems to rise off the bed.

“Be. Still,” he hisses again, and his arms wrap around the backs of her thighs to hold her in place.

“There," Jo whines. "Don’t stop. Please."

Bucky shifts his own hips against the bed, seeking any form of relief. He loves the sounds he's pulling from Jo, loves the way she tastes, and the way she ruts against him, despite his iron grip on her thighs. Later, he thinks, I'll lie on my back and let her ride my face until her legs collapse.

Stars explode behind her eyes when Jo comes, and a scream is caught in her throat. Bucky places a final kiss against her cunt, then pulls back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jo reaches for him. He kicks off his boxers before settling back over her. She can feel him hot and hard against her thigh, and Bucky reaches down to stroke his cock, pulling the foreskin back with a groan.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, his eyes meeting hers.

Jo nods and cups Bucky’s face in her hands. “Are you?” she asks.

"Yes. God, yes," Bucky groans. He hasn’t wanted — needed — anything this badly in so long.

Jo wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. Bucky fists his cock, running it along her folds to gather her slick, before pushing forward, sheathing himself inside her in one thrust. Jo gasps, her head falling back against the pillows, her neck bared for Bucky’s lips and tongue.

Bucky’s vibranium fist is clenched so tightly in the sheets he thinks he might rip them. He relaxes his hand slowly, the plates that work as his muscles whirring quietly beside Jo’s ear.

Bucky groans against Jo’s neck. “Fuck, it’s like you’re made for me.”

He holds himself very still, giving Jo time to adjust to him, until her hips rise to meet his. He sets a slow pace at first, enjoying the way her body flutters around him. Jo digs her short nails into the skin of his shoulders, and Bucky is surprised to find he likes the slight sting. He shifts her legs even wider with his large hands on her thighs and sits back slightly to watch himself sink into her over and over.

Jo's hands drop to his waist, and she caresses the skin there gently before whispering, "Faster, please."

Bucky practically growls at her request before pulling back and snapping his hips against hers at a frantic pace. Jo keens, and Bucky shifts again to press his body over hers, covering her completely. She can feel his dog tags against her heated chest. He watches her bite her bottom lip, her green eyes meeting his. Jo is lost in his eyes, his pupils blown wide; the look he's giving her somewhere between awe and adoration, and Jo is certain the look in her eyes mirrors his because she is so far gone for him.

“I want to see you come again, pretty girl. Give me one more,” Bucky demands, his thumb rubbing harsh circles against her clit.

That simple command is all it takes to send Jo spiraling over the edge for a third time. Bucky follows behind with a low groan, tensing and burying himself deep within her. He drops his weight on top of her briefly, his head resting against her shoulder, before pulling away and rolling onto his back, bringing Jo into his side.

They lay like that for a while, Bucky running his flesh hand up and down Jo's arm while Jo presses lazy kisses against Bucky's chest. Eventually, she excuses herself to take her contacts out and wash her face, tossing Bucky a clean washcloth from the bathroom door, and when she slides back in bed, Bucky is on her again. He makes good on his promise to himself to have her cunt over his face, pulling another orgasm from her before she falls onto the bed beside him, laughing.

He takes her face in his hands and sweeps his fingers across her cheeks gently. He wants to tell her how amazing she is, how happy he is to have met her, how wonderful the past few days have been, but he isn't sure how to put all of that into words. Not yet.

So, he rolls them both onto their sides, her back pressed against his chest and his flesh arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Jo hums and laces her fingers with Bucky's, her eyes closing. She's warm and happy and sleep is calling her name.

_____

Bucky wakes an hour or so after he's fallen asleep, the beginnings of a nightmare fresh in his mind. When his senses clear, and he feels Jo's body pressed against his, he feels calm. He uses the arm wrapped around her to pull her closer to him and presses kisses against her shoulder until she stirs.

Jo mumbles sleepily and pushes back against him, Bucky's cock nestled against her lower back. His fingers find her cunt, and she's still slick with evidence of their earlier encounter. He presses inside her slowly, groaning as he fills her, her walls tightening around him.

"Bucky," Jo sighs, her hand moving back to grip his hip as he ruts into her.

When he comes, he sinks his teeth into her shoulder to stifle his cry, then runs his tongue across the spot to soothe the sting. Jo drags the hand wrapped around her up to her mouth and kisses his palm. He tries to remember what he would have said to a woman in this situation eighty years ago, but the romantic words don't come.

Instead, he whispers, "I really like you, Jo," against her shoulder.

Jo laughs sleepily. "Good. I like you, too, Sarge."

_____

When Bucky wakes the second time, he’s alone. He can hear faint music coming from another room. He checks his phone. 6:00 AM. He slips out of bed and slides his boxers on.

The apartment is still dark with all the curtains closed, apart from light spilling from a crack in the music room door. Bucky finds Jo sitting on the floor, a guitar in her lap. He knocks and pushes the door open further. Jo turns to look up at him and smiles.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” she asks. Bucky shakes his head no. “I don’t always sleep well,” she says.

Bucky sits on the floor with her, his back propped against the wall. Jo has to stop herself from staring at his muscled chest and thighs.

"Play me something, doll," Bucky says, resting his head against the wall behind him.

She runs through a couple of songs while Bucky replays the events of last night in his mind.

"Shit!" he says suddenly, sitting up straight. Jo stops strumming and looks at him, bewildered. "I didn't wear a condom," he says.

“It’s okay. I have an IUD so I can’t get pregnant," she tells him. "And I’m disease free. I assume you are...you know, with all that super soldier serum running through your veins," she gestures toward him.

Bucky nods but stays silent.

“Do you know what an IUD is?” she asks in response to his silence.

He blushes. “When the government pardoned me, they made me do a complete physical — doctors poking and prodding me," he shudders involuntarily. "So yeah, I'm clean. Afterwards, I don’t think they really knew what to do with me, so they gave me a bunch of pamphlets on everything from mental health to safe sex.”

Jo hums and mutters something about the state of the American public health system.

“We should have had this conversation before we slept together," Bucky finally says. "That’s what the pamphlets recommend.”

Jo tosses her head back and laughs, and Bucky beams with pride at the sight.

“Come on, Sarge," she says, setting her guitar aside, "I’m taking you to breakfast."

_____

next chapter

[theclockworkmonk]

Cultural Exchange

Written for @kataang-week

Day 2: Blending Cultures

Words: 2,009

Read on AO3

Read on FF.net

Summary: Katara has some selfish reasons for encouraging Aang to explore Fire Nation culture.

*******

Katara was starting to get worried as she walked up to Zuko's old family house on Ember Island. The outdoor furniture was smashed and splintered, and the door was ajar, hanging off its hinges. She sped up, beginning to panic, and ran up the stairs onto the porch.

She threw the door all the way open forcefully. "Hello!? Aang?"

She was greeted by a chorus of pained male groans.

"Close the door!" Haru wailed, shielding his eyes from the bright morning light that was now flooding the front room of the house. All the other young men, basically every male friend their group had made since leaving the South Pole, gave similar cries of distress from where they were strewn haphazardly across sofas and armchairs.

Katara sighed in relief, but then grew annoyed at the boys for scaring her. Instead of closing the door, she moved to the windows and threw all the curtains open.

"You're evil!" moaned Te'o from the floor, where he had fallen out of his chair.

"What exactly happened to those plans for a laid back, calm bachelor party?" Katara asked the room harshly, "How did it go? 'Oh don't worry, Katara, Zuko's not one to throw wild parties!'"

"Uggghhh, I"m not, but I'm friends with a lot of bad influences," came a weak voice from under a coffee table.

Katara laughed at the sight of the soon-to-be-married Firelord crawling out from under the table, looking like he had been put through a dozen successive Agni Kais. But her laughter died and she gasped when she saw what was on Zuko's head.

"Zuko, what happened!?"

"What does it look like? Your brother got us drunk."

"No, I mean what happened to your hair!"

Katara bent all the water from a nearby vase and froze it into a flat, shiny mirror, and held it up to Zuko's face. His eyes widened in horror and he leapt to his feet, upending the table.

All of his hair had been reduced to a narrow strip down the center of his head. That hair had been left long, and was tied back, but both sides of it had been shaved down to his scalp.

He recognized this look. It was exactly the way Sokka had his hair when Zuko had first encountered him.

"Aw Zuko, I'm touched!" crooned Katara dramatically. "Showing your support for rebuilding Southern Tribe culture by sporting a warrior's wolf tail!"

Zuko stared in disbelief at his reflection. He raised his shaking hands to the sides of his face.

"I look like I stuck my head between two grinding stones," Zuko muttered.

"Oh, don't say that, I'm sure once the Firelord is seen sporting this hairdo at his wedding, it will be all the rage across the Fire Nation," said Katara with a grin.

Zuko buried his face in his hands. "Oh, spirits, the wedding! Mai's going to kill me."

Katara was about to agree, but was interrupted by a scream of anguish and horror coming from the bathroom.

Katara and Zuko both bolted across the room and down the hall. She whipped out her bending pouch, ready to slice the door open, but lucky it was still unlocked. She kicked the door open and her blood froze in fear again as she saw Sokka doubled over, his face buried in the sink and his hands over his head.

"Sokka, what's wrong!?" asked Katara urgently, placing her hands on her brother's back. "Are you hurt—oh…."

She jumped back and gasped when Sokka turned to face her, his lip quivering.

He was completely bald, with a crude painted blue arrow leading from the back of his head, ending between his eyebrows.

Katara's chuckle at Zuko's expense was nothing compared to the explosion of laughter that erupted out of her now. She had to put a hand on the wall to steady herself as she shook until she was out of breath.

"Well, it was just a regular festival of cultural exchange last night, wasn't it?" she squeaked out.

"This isn't funny, Katara!" said Sokka desperately. "You don't understand, it's not coming off! It's real! And my hair! Next time I visit home, my brain is gonna freeze!"

"Oh, calm down," she said dismissively. She grabbed her brother's cheeks and pulled him down to inspect his new body art. "There's no inflammation on the skin, it's not a real tattoo. You just found some...wow, really durable face paint."

She looked him in the eye suspiciously. "Where did you get this stuff?"

"Uuuuhhh," said Sokka uncertainly. He turned to Zuko. "Where did we get this stuff?"

"Uuuuhhh," Zuko concurred.

Katara rolled her eyes. "Seriously? You don't even remember last night?"

"I can remember most of it," said Zuko defensively. "Things just get a little fuzzy after that bottle of moonpeachshine got opened. He was the one who brought that, so really this is all his fault."

"Hey, I don't remember tying you up and forcing the stuff down your throat, Lord Lots o' Shots," replied Sokka.

"Where's Aang?" Katara suddenly said, her grin wiped from her face.

For a moment, they just looked at each other in silence, then ran through the house again.

After searching the whole house and not finding Aang, Katara was beginning to panic again. But when she checked the back garden, she found Appa there sleeping soundly. A lumpy mass was sitting on the bison's head: a human body, the top half covered by a blanket, but long legs protruded from underneath, with blue arrows ending at the feet.

"Aang!" Katara called as she ran towards him, and thankfully the tattooed feet stirred. Aang slowly sat up, squeezing his eyes shut at the sunlight as the blanket fell from his face.

"Oh come on!" Katara sighed in relief. "You too?"

"What?" he mumbled, getting his bearings. He reached up to scratch his head, and discovered what was itching him.

Aang was wearing a wig. Avatar Aang, the mightiest being in the world, was hungover with a lopsided wig of black hair glued to his head. The foreign hair was pulled back into a knot that was contained by what Katara recognized as Avatar Roku's old hairpin.

Aang reached up and felt the hairpin, and winced. "Oh Spirits, I had hoped that was a dream."

"So you actually remember what happened?" asked Zuko, joining them outside along with Sokka, who had put a hat on to avoid getting sunburned.

"Well last night, Sokka got excited by this idea of me wearing Roku's hairpin at the wedding, as a sign of the Fire Nation's commitment to the Avatar and the balance of the world. I wasn't as intoxicated as he was, so I pointed out to him that one needs hair in order to wear a hairpin crown."

"Oh yeah!" said Sokka, remembering now, "Seems like a short sighted fashion decision."

"It's not short-sighted, that's the point," said Zuko irritably, "When royals or generals suffer a great defeat, they cut their hair off. The crowns of the Fire Lord and Prince are designed so that you can't wear them unless you've gone long enough without a defeat to have enough hair to wear it."

"Yeah, you said all this last night," said Aang. "Then Sokka suggested that I could borrow some hair, and we asked who would have extra hair to borrow, and that's how we ended up partying with the—"

"The Ember Island Players," Zuko finished in horror. "Oh, kill me now, this is going to be the subject of their worst play yet."

"I certainly hope so," said Katara. "I'll be there opening night."

"The wig and the facepaint….seemed like a good idea at the time," finished Aang painfully.

"Well if this stuff doesn't come off my face soon, then the Firelord is going to have to have them interrogated about how they undo it," said Sokka.

"Oh I will?" asked Zuko, raising his eyebrow. "The way I see it, I just have a bad haircut, I didn't put any crap on my head, so you can go begging for them on your own."

"It is not a bad haircut!" said Sokka angrily. "You're now the best looking guy here, saving my dignity is the least you can do."

"I might need help getting this thing off me too," mumbled Aang, futilely pulling at the wig. "And we should probably put this back in a safe spot."

He detached Roku's hairpin crown from his knot, and Katara gasped as his hair (that wasn't actually his hair) fell from it.

The messy black hair fell to the base of his neck, covering his ears and hanging in bangs over his forehead, partially obscuring his eyes. He scrunched his face in annoyance and brushed the hair away from his face. Katara felt her face grow hot as she watched her boyfriend's fingers run through the hair, and an image floated up in her mind of her fingers replacing them.

Zuko and Sokka went back into the house, Zuko cheekily offering to melt the facepaint off of Sokka, and promised to keep most of his face intact, as Aang climbed down off of Appa, still pulling at the mop glued to his head.

"I need to find a way to get this thing off me," Aang grumbled. "It won't stay out of my face, people can't see my arrow."

"Well, we can't have that," Katara chuckled. "The world can't know that the last airbender has broken such an important air nomad requirement as the sacred chrome dome."

"Well, it's not a requirement," said Aang, "but I still suspect I look far too much like Zuko for my taste—"

"Wait, really?" Katara cut him off, her eyes widening.

"Well you tell me. I don't have a mirror, but I suddenly feel the urge to sulk and reclaim my honor— "No, I mean, shaving your head isn't a requirement or anything?" Katara asked quickly.

Aang seemed surprised by her question. "Uh... no. Most of the boys did anyway, because it gives you a slight edge in airbending, since your skin is in tune with the air currents. We all had to shave it once, when we got our arrows, but most girls grew it back."

He continued to fidget with the wig as he started walking back towards the house, seemingly oblivious to the blush creeping up his girlfriend's face.

Katara tried to act casual as she fell in step with Aang and linked her arm with his.

"Sooooo...hypothetically speaking," she began, not looking at him, "you could have a full head of hair. If you wanted to."

Aang shrugged. "Yeah. But I've never really felt the desire to. With hair, you have to wash it, and there's so many different haircuts to pick from, it's easier to just shave it in the morning."

He turned to look at her curiously. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason!" she said innocently.

They walked in silence for a few seconds, then a strong morning breeze blew past them and Katara felt her knees grow weak as Aang's messy "hair" whipped in the wind, dancing around his handsome face beautifully, in a way his real hair had never grown long enough to do.

"I was just thinking Sokka might be onto something!" she blurted out before she could stop herself. "You know, about wearing Roku's crown. Maybe the Avatar adopting a few Fire Nation fashions will placate a few of the naysayers, who say that you're a foreign interloper. It will show them that you're their Avatar too. It would be a great exchange and blending of cultures, to reflect peaceful cooperation."

Aang frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I….guess that kind of makes sense." He shrugged and chuckled. "I'm still definitely going to get this hair off me, though. Then I can decide whether to start growing my own."

"Hmmm….yeah," Katara whispered greedily under her breath, "I bet that'll look even hotter."

"Hmm? What was that? I didn't hear you."

"Nothing!" she squeaked, and ran back into the house.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 38

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, slight angst

; Word Count: 4.7k

; Warnings: Slight mentions of body insecurity/self-hatred

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Only two more chapters after this one! I apologise if this isn’t good or anything...I wrote it all today as I wanted to make sure I keep hitting one a week for you! This should mean that Flower should officially end in two weeks! 😢 it’s sad to think about but I hope you’ve all enjoyed the journey with me too! Also...once you’ve read the chapter then you might want to look at this link....it’s an important link

; Flower Masterpost

-

The dress shop you’d chosen for today was exactly how you’d imagine a wedding dress shop to look inside. The elegant interior design gave everything an expensive appearance; creams and golds and muted greens tastefully blended throughout the furniture and the walls. While you knew that wedding dresses weren’t cheap anyway, the whole atmosphere of the shop made it all appear so much more costly.

You had no real idea of how you were meant to find a wedding dress, and your first suggestion of just ordering one offline had almost given Chungha and Soyeon a heart attack. Even Hoseok had looked at you a little funny when you’d mentioned it, making you realise quickly that you’d made a bad decision.

Just ordering one from the internet wasn’t a good choice because you likely wouldn’t get the dress you imagined. Plus, Chungha had pointed out that you had no idea whether you’d even like the dress in person or whether it would look good on you.

That had been all you needed to realise that going to a store would be the best option. You were just a little nervous about it, worrying that they might not even have wedding dresses that would fit you or something. Or that you’d look too fat in front of everyone or you’d rip a dress accidentally.

Despite the reassurance your best friends had given you, you were still convinced that you weren’t going to find a dress you liked. Maybe a dress that didn’t look half-bad as long as you didn’t look in a mirror or any photographs in the future. You may have come a long way in terms of self-acceptance, but you still had your moments of doubt and self-hatred.

Formal events were most definitely one of them. The knowledge that your wedding was supposed to be the one time that you would look perfect and be the centre of attention was horrifying for two reasons. One, you were terrified that you’d just end up highlighting the fat on your stomach or your arms and two, you still hated being the centre of attention.

Already you’d been discussing with your therapist about this, pointing out that you were dreading your wedding day instead of being excited. Hoseok was understanding of it as well and was trying to help you overcome the issues and instead get you hyped up for it, but the knowledge that everyone would be focused on you was nauseating.

How did people enjoy it?

Still, you’d searched around for dress shops that looked to be friendly and held the kind of styles that you’d be most interested in before finding the best looking one. You knew there was every chance you might not find a dress you liked here so you also had a list of backup stores to visit at a later date.

For today though, you had your mom, Hoseok’s mom and your best friends here with you. All the people who would give you the right advice about what dress to pick. You’d told them all to be honest as the last thing you wanted was for them to try and cheer you up by lying.

At the moment, you were sitting on one of the couches that were set around the small room as you waited for the assistant to come back. The store had three rooms that were used for bridal parties to try on dresses and pick their favourites, away from anyone else who might happen to wander by. You’d like the privacy it offered which had been another factor in choosing them.

Before attending, you’d specified the types of dresses that you’d prefer to try on and the colour schemes. Upon arrival, she’d looked over your body with a critical eye that had made you feel uncomfortable before disappearing out of the door once more. As she had a lot of experience in helping brides find the perfect dress, she was now weeding out the dresses that she knew for a fact wouldn’t suit you.

Maybe someone else wouldn’t like that, but you appreciated the extra effort. Plus, you knew that you could always ask to see them if you didn’t find any from the dresses that had been specifically picked out for you to try today. You figured that you’d let her get on with it though. She had way more experience than you did in this area.

You were nervous though, your leg bouncing quickly while your fingers were tapping at your jean-clad thigh. Everyone else just seemed to be excited but the large mirror on one end of the room filled you with dread. What if you looked fat and ugly in every dress? You wanted to look perfect but you weren’t unrealistic. There was only so much to do with an average base, after all.

Unsurprisingly, your mom notices your quiet and shy demeanour. Not that you were naturally outgoing anyway, but mom’s notice these things. 

Reaching over from where she’s sat next to you, her hand firmly takes your own and presses it against your leg, stopping it from jerking. Glancing over to her, she gives you a soft smile before running her fingers along your cheek in a gentle movement.

“What’s wrong? Worried?” Nodding self-consciously, you try to avoid her gaze as you feel heat spread through your body. Even your fingers tingle with embarrassment, not wanting to cause a scene in front of everyone.

“Aren’t I supposed to be worried?” 

“No, you’re supposed to be excited. But don’t think about what you’re supposed to be. Just enjoy the moment and have fun dressing up!” She encourages you, giving you a bright smile while squeezing your hand. It attracts Soyeon’s attention from your other side, causing her to stop chatting with Chungha and Hoseok’s mom on the opposite couch.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Now it’s her turn to try and comfort you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder before hugging you tightly. It causes you to smile softly before looking at her, shrugging underneath her embrace.

“Nothing. I’m just...you know me. If there’s one thing I can stress over then I will.” You can almost hear the audible sigh in the room. There’s no doubt that it’s not meant maliciously, but you know that everyone was probably hoping that you’d be able to enjoy today and get excited. Instead, you’ve just made it clear that they have damage control to do.

“What are you stressing over? Not finding the right dress today? The wedding itself? The cost?” The questions are peppered at you from your mom and each one is almost right. As excited as you were to get married to Hoseok, you’d never been one of those girls who fantasize about a wedding. As such, you’d never particularly cared to pay attention to what weddings require.

What Hoseok and you had discovered over the last few months was that weddings required a lot of money and a lot of different people involved. The florist, the venue, the interior design of the room, invite makers, catering, suit makers, wedding dressmakers and so much more. It was a headache to think about and you’d tried to get everything sorted as quickly as you could and for something that wasn’t going to bankrupt you both.

Despite that, you were still looking forward to finally getting to marry Hoseok. It was just the whole process getting there that was causing you anxiety. You wanted to look your best for him. Blow his socks off and all that jazz.

“Yes and no. It’s stupid,” Your voice lowers, almost to a whine. “You’ll think I’m being stupid.”

“Hey...no. No, we won’t. You know we won’t, we never have.” That comes from Chungha and you can see that she’d like to be part of the ‘physically comforting’ crew. But there’s not enough space for her, so she’s relegated to just talking to you from over the glass coffee table between both couches. There’s a fresh bouquet in a pretty vase on the tabletop alongside copies of wedding magazines scattered along the surface.

A quick, unsure glance takes in Hoseok’s mom and you feel even more anxious as you wonder whether she’s judging you. Is she unhappy at what she sees? Uncertain whether or not she wants her son to marry you after getting to witness firsthand your anxiety and fears? You know that she knows about that stuff. Hoseok had told her over the years with your permission, but it was another thing entirely to see it in person.

There’s no judgement in her eyes though and it settles you a little. Instead, there’s concern, a frown on her forehead as she leans forward and watches you closely.

Swallowing, you sigh before finally deciding to just be honest with them. You needed their support right now and you wanted to be excited about picking a dress. This was going to be the dress that you’d remember forever. The one that you hoped would make Hoseok cry when he saw you.

“I just am worried. That...you know...I won’t look good. In my dress. Or any dress. Or that I’ll look fat. Like it’ll highlight my fat bits or something. I know he’s going to look gorgeous because he’s always beautiful and a suit is just going to make him stunning. So I’m afraid that I won’t look good next to him.” The little ball of anxiety in your stomach is growing bigger as you speak, paralysing your chest and making it a little harder to breathe as you imagine all the ways a dress could highlight your bad points.

Your mom can tell, purely, by the way your movements beneath her hand start to get a little more forceful as you try to fidget. She presses down a little harder, forcing you to stop and look at her. There’s so much love in her eyes, but you also see the concern and upset.

“You’re going to look beautiful, sweetheart. You know why? Because you’re already beautiful! Everyone will be in awe of you, thinking you’re the prettiest girl in the room on the day and that’ll be because you will be. Because you are.” She finishes, squeezing your hand while a firm smile is pressed onto her face.

“She’s right,” Hoseok’s mom interrupts, causing you to look over and see that she has her supportive smile. “You’re going to look amazing. And as someone who knows my son pretty well, I have every confidence that he’s going to cry like a baby when he sees you. Hoseok thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. You in a wedding dress is just going to be the cherry on top.”

That makes tears fill your eyes as your breath catches. Pulling your hand away from your mom’s grasp, you wipe at them daintily before sniffing. You’d carefully applied makeup this morning in a possible replica of what you might want your wedding makeup to look like. Smoky eyes and a neutral lip with a subtle natural look to your face. The actual makeup would be more in-depth but you figured this would be enough to get an idea with the dress included.

Before you can say anything in response to her, the door opens up again and a moveable clothing rail is rolled inside. It’s loaded with beautiful dresses, all carefully wrapped up in plastic or paper to keep them pristine for their potential bride to try on. The sight of them makes your stomach knot up in both anticipation and fear.

Your assistant, Fatima, closes the door behind her before giving you that brilliant white smile, full of customer service as she gestures to the dresses.

“Okay, so I’ve kept almost all the ballgown style dresses. I know you said that was your ideal silhouette and I’ve picked out all the ones in ivory for you. There’s only one or two that are shoulderless. I know you said you weren’t fond of that but there are some really pretty ones that I think would work with your body. Minimal lace as well though there’s one or two with some nice designs on them.” Standing, you head over to the rail and gently finger through the dresses with wide eyes.

There were so many of them.

As if she could hear your thoughts, Fatima speaks again. “You don’t have to try them all on if you don’t want to. If you find the dress then just let me know! Don’t force yourself if you’ve fallen in love with one, okay?” 

Nodding slowly, you look over at everyone else with raised brows. Understanding the silent question, almost everyone laughs and gestures to the dresses with excitement.

“Oh my god! Get trying!” Feeling shy, you carefully take the first dress off the hook before disappearing into the en-suite changing room. Taking your clothes off and carefully folding them onto the little seat in the room, you let Fatima in once more to help you slip the dress on. She hurries around you, adjusting bits of the dress and smoothing out areas before bringing you back out into the main room.

This one is pretty plain and simple with a ballgown style that reaches down to the floor in gentle swathes of soft, ivory fabric. The bodice consists of what seem to be two pieces of the same fabric, carefully designed so the right side slips underneath the left side in a criss-cross over your chest. It gives you a classic neckline that only gives the slightest hint of cleavage and helps to enhance your breasts while the straps rest on the very edges of your shoulders.

You love the style and overall design of it, appreciating that the shoulder straps are thick and the sweeping bodice manages to highlight the good parts of your body. For a moment, you wonder if you’d managed to find the dress on your first try, but turning around and examining it from all angles you soon realise that you haven’t quite got it yet.

Turning to the others, they all tilt their heads in various directions and make contemplative noises. Slowly, you spin around for them to get a good idea of the whole dress before you look at yourself once more in the mirror. Running your fingers down the luxurious cavenza, you acknowledge that it’s a beautiful dress.

But it’s not yours.

“I don’t think this is the one,” You say. “I think it’s too simple?”

Raising a brow, you look at the girls to get their opinion. They hum for another moment before nodding agreement with you.

“It looks beautiful but you’re right. It’s not quite...right. A little too boring. You look amazing though.” Smiling shyly, you turn to look at the mirror once more with a little hesitation.

You’d been so worried that a dress might just make all of your more unsightly bits even more obvious than normal such as the belly you could never seem to get rid of or your thick hips and butt. Thankfully though, the silhouette style you’d decided to try seemed to be doing a great job of disguising all those bits.

The only thing that you weren’t quite happy about was your upper arms, the fat there a little too much for your liking. Frowning, you take a deep breath and try to ignore it before looking at Fatima.

“Not this one. Can I try the next?” She nods eagerly before gesturing for you to re-enter the dressing room.

The next hour carries on like that with you trying on dress after dress and finding a reason to dislike every single one. It begins to get a little disheartening and you worry if you’re not going to be able to find the right dress. What if it didn’t exist or something? Wasn’t there supposed to be some magical moment when you’d put on a dress and it’d just feel right?

Like a sign from the heavens that you’d found the One?

Shaking your head at the mirror in exasperation, you turn back into the dressing room and begin to peel off the dress you’d been trying. This one had been an instant dislike with the train being far too long and the bodice making your body look particularly frumpy. You were more than happy to get out of it.

As Fatima helps you, undoing the laces at the back and making sure the dress comes off without any tearing, you give her an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. I hope I’m not wasting your time.”

She laughs at that, shaking her head as she carefully places the dress back into its protective wrap and hangs it up. Taking the next dress off the rail, she pulls it out of its wrap and turns to you with the same happy expression on her face.

“It’s okay, honestly! It’s what I get paid to do. Besides, it’s all a process. You wouldn’t believe how many brides have to go through multiple appointments before we can find the right one for them. Don’t stress yourself if it’s taking a bit longer than you might have hoped for. It just means that the right one for you is still out there! And trust me, you’re a lovely bride compared to some I’ve dealt with.” Fatima says, smirking before gesturing for you to spin around.

Wincing slightly, you wonder how many bridezillas she’s had to put up with over the years. You’d think it was a sexist term but you’d certainly read enough Reddit to know that it was, unfortunately, true for a sadly large number of brides out there. Hopefully, you wouldn’t even remotely be considered one.

“Not many left to go through now.” Fatima sing-song’s, carefully zipping up the pearl buttons on the back of the dress. Inhaling, you hold the top to your chest to help her along before watching as she continues her routine of making sure any unfortunate creases disappear.

Lifting the skirt slightly, you follow her back out into the room and stand in front of the mirror. It’s not one mirror, but more like a mini-wall of mirrors. There’s five, with one big one in front of you, two slightly smaller to either side and at an angle, while another two are angled even further in. It helps to give you a good look at everything from as many angles as possible while the bright lighting illuminates all the good points of a dress.

Tilting your head, you examine it closely before turning from side to side to try and look over all the angles. Humming lightly, you spin and watch as the skirt flares out dramatically. It had a slightly longer trail than some of the dresses you’d tried but it’s not so long that you’d need someone to carry it or anything.

“What is this one made of?” You ask, letting your fingers trail over the delicate design that makes up the bodice of the dress and spreads down onto the skirt. It feels soft and you feel pretty wearing it, admiring the leaf design and the way it creeps up your shoulders to cover up the straps.

“The leaf design on the bodice and the shoulders are ivory lace, tulle and Royal Organza with an ivory gown, tulle illusion and beading,” She gestures to the material that covers the bottom of the gown, the material light and see-through in an elegant manner. “The back of the dress is a v-design and the leaf design also continues around here. I must say, it looks beautiful on you!”

At any other moment, you’d be wondering if she was just trying to hurry the appointment up to get it moving and have you putting a deposit down already. You’d taken up so much of her time today that you wouldn’t be surprised.

But she sounds genuine, and you’re too busy admiring the dress to care. Because you agree with her. It’s a stunning dress and for once, you think it does look beautiful. It hides all the bits you were self-conscious about yet outlined your body perfectly to give you a body silhouette that you loved.

The lace design extends along with the skirt in all directions but it’s only directly in the front and behind where it extends almost to the edge. It’s intricate and so delicate, causing you to wonder how people managed to make these. You certainly wouldn’t have the patience for it.

“I...I love it.” You find yourself saying, eyes wide as you look yourself over in the mirror. Shifting around, you turn to everyone and give them an expectant look. Posing for them slightly, you shift in all directions to make sure they can see it all properly before spinning and letting the dress flow out.

“Oh my god, it’s so beautiful.” Chungha breathes out, pressing a hand to her chest as her gaze is focused firmly on the dress. Soyeon is nodding too, a huge grin on her face before she squeals and claps her hand as her excitement takes over.

“Ahhhh! It’s amazing. Oh my god, it’s perfect!” 

Hoseok’s mom nods, standing up to move over to you and get a closer look. She slowly moves around you, taking in the gown up close before reaching out to gently trail her fingers over some of the lace. You let her, watching closely to see what she thinks.

“Oh my, Hoseok is going to cry. You look amazing.” Her words cause a sudden surge of emotion in you as you look over your shoulder, taking everything in once more. It’s not the fairytale moment you’d imagined it might be, but it feels close enough. There’s not a single thing you hate about the dress.

You don’t even particularly hate yourself in it. Biting your lip, you try to imagine yourself on the day itself; the veil trailing down your back while your makeup has been professionally done and a specially made bouquet is held in your hands. The feeling in your stomach isn’t anxiety or self-hatred but...excitement.

“Mom?” Looking at your mom, you see the way there are tears in her eyes too. She’s got her hands covering her mouth and you frown, hoping she’s okay. Stepping over to her carefully, you reach out and take her hands gently.

“Mom? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You’d crouch in front of her but you didn’t want to potentially do anything to ruin this dress. Not when you’d taken so long today to find it. Maybe you were just lucky that it had only taken one session to find it. You didn’t know, nor did you care anymore. 

You’d found it.

“Oh honey, you look so beautiful! I told you that you would, didn’t I?” Wiping at her eyes, she gives you a watery smile before giving a weak laugh. Slowly, she stands and places her hands on your shoulders, taking you in from a little distance with such a fond and happy look.

Feeling a little shy under her stare, you look down at your hands before taking a careful step back and letting her look at you from all directions. Chungha and Soyeon are almost vibrating with excitement as they stand to the side, clasping their hands together and giving you the biggest smiles possible when you laugh at them.

Looking over at Fatima, you smile at her. The look on her face is satisfied and you guess she’s probably content that she’s managed to fulfil her job today. Another bride was satisfied with her choice, after all.

“I think I’m going to have to put a deposit down on this one.” Looking back down at the dress, you run your hands down it once more in wonderment. It was odd to think that you were going to be wearing this in a few months, only then you’d be walking down the aisle to Hoseok. For a moment, you imagine what his face might look like.

Glancing at everyone else, you smirk slightly as you feel a little mischief taking over at the thought of him.

“Hoseok was bugging me this morning about if he could be allowed to see the dress. Trying to say that traditions are silly and everything. I’m going to call him, right now. Wearing this. Just to tell him I’ve found it. It’s going to drive him up the wall knowing I’ve picked it and he’s not allowed to see for months.” That makes his mom snort in amusement while Chungha let’s out a whoop of delight.

Your mom is shaking her head, amusement thankfully drying up her tears. Reaching to her, you embrace her in a tight hug that’s a little rare from you. But you’re thankful to her for everything she’s done and for all her support so far. Plus, you get the feeling she needs to have a hug right now.

She hugs you back just as tightly, patting your back before rubbing at it in soothing motions that make you feel young and small once more. When you pull away, she gives a slightly exasperated look before rolling her eyes.

“Go on then, go call him. Honestly. Do you two ever go a day without teasing each other relentlessly?” Laughing, you nod at Fatima who exits the room. You presume there’s more to go through before you’ll finally be able to leave but at least you can stop getting in and out of dresses finally.

“Never. Besides, this is revenge for him eating the last of the Crunchy Nut this morning.”

[1000roughdrafts]

Criminal

DeanxReader request from @rileynicole1967 based on the song Criminal by Britney Spears

A/N: I watched the music video to get an idea for how to go about this, so this fic is similar to that story line :) AND I HAVE A COMPUTER NOW, so I can finally post and write! <3

Warnings: mention of spousal abuse in the beginning, lots of fluff, eludes to sex, some swearing, violence, somewhat of an OOC Dean at the end, you’ll see why

Word Count:2.2k

Something people commonly say about a reason someone might stay with their abusers is that after the bad, the abuser will buy them flowers and jam them into a vase as empty as their apologies. But it's not always flowers. It's surprising them with lunch at their job, or taking them to dinner on a night they least expect, or they clean the house because they just know they've been working extra hard lately.

Y/N hid the bruises well under long sleeve shirts, hooded jackets, and she always wore pants. If eyes really are windows to the soul, how does one hide those kinds of injuries? Luckily these are more difficult to spot than marks on the skin, but sometimes someone will pop up who can read one's eyes like a book they've flipped through so many times the ink is smudged on the edges.

Y/N thanked her lucky stars that both happened in one night. Flowers came in the form of a trip to the bar she initially met Damian in, the man she spent six miserable yet wonderful years of her life with, and the latter came in the form of Dean Winchester.

In the back corner of the bar, at a table with a fake candle, she sat cradling a drink in her hands. Strings of lights hung on the walls and ceilings above five pool tables, four of which were occupied by loud, though respectful, groups of people. Damian droned on about something regarding work, a story he'd told about five times already, but she hadn't the spoons to bring that up.

She kept herself entertained by watching and listening to the people around her, noticing right away as two men walked through the door. The first man's eyes shot straight to the bar, his feet following suit. That's a man with a purpose, she thought. The other let his eyes scan the entire building along with the people in it before he'd even set foot inside. When his eyes ping ponged back to center, they landed on Y/N's, and in an instant, they read her story.

The man smiled, following the tall one to the bar. They ordered and sat to talk for a while, the man's eyes floating from the pool tables to the man in front of him and on occasion, her. She couldn't be sure what Damian was saying, but she was certain about the sneaky glances she shared with the mysterious man in the leather jacket.

"Dean," she heard the other say in an attempt to gain his attention. Dean, she thought, how fitting.

"Are you listening?" Damian hissed, waving a hand so close to her face she thought he might hit her.

Her eyes darted and narrowed at him, body jerking back. "Of course I am," she glared.

Dean's eyes burned like lasers into her until she returned the glance, his brows turned down in worry.

"Bullshit," Damian scoffed. His voice raised, "what did I just say then?"

She looked back to him, "something about work," she said and sighed.

He scooted the chair back, the metal scraping against the floor in a shriek. His shoulder tensed as he mildly shouted, "you know, I was fucking right about you. You have absolutely no respect whatsoever, do you? I oughta teach you a fucking lesson."

Dean, overhearing the conversation, shook his head and gulped down the last of his beer. He let the glass slam against the table on it's way down and when that wasn't enough to get that asshole to step back, he walked over to the vacant pool table, dramatically clearing his throat. He looked overa t her table, and then at the groups around him.

In a tone of authority he attracted the attention of the nearby groups, asking for one brave enough to take him in a bet. Sneaking a glance at her table, he hid his gaze by scratching his jaw as his head turned.

Damian distractedly looked over at the table, making eye contact with Dean before scoffing. Dean nodded at him with a smile, but Damian turned his attention towards Y/N. He relaxed his upper body, leaning his elbows on the table. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "what a tool."

She masked her chuckle in a scoff, uttering a soft, "yeah."

He began talking about something unrelated, as if the last five minutes simply vanished into thin air, but she was just grateful the heat of his words were taken off of her. She looked over at the pool table, Dean's eyes already on her. His eyebrow raised in a question, and she flashed a quick, small smile in response.

He nodded, slipping the pool stick between his fingers to line up a shot. His eyes remained on hers as he bent down, aiming and missing. The group bellowed a laugh, and Dean's opponent lined up to make quite a few shots, ending the game with a sunken 8-ball. The men cheered, gaining the attention of Dean's main goal for an opponent, Damian.

"Ah, better luck next time," one of the men said to Dean through laughter, patting him on the back.

"Guess so," Dean smiled, looking at his feet.

Damian chuckled smugly, leaning forward to pull his wallet from his pocket. Y/N looked him over as he counted the wad. Stuffing the wallet back into his pocket, he gulped some of his beer, eyebrows hopping as he told her to "watch this", and set the drink down. She jumped a bit, gripping onto his wrist to pull him back into the chair.

She knew a hustler when she saw one. Damian didn’t like to be wrong, and he certainly didn’t like to lose. He ripped his arm away and leaned down.

His pitch was high and voice soft, as if he was talking to a toddler, “this is easy money, baby. Did you not see that guy just get his ass kicked?” he laughed again, licking his lips before looking over at Dean. Looking back at Y/N he spoke even quieter, winking, “drinks are on him tonight.”

“But,” she protested, but he was already halfway to Dean who stood chalking the tip of his pool stick.

“You up for a game?” he asked, "500."

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean said, patting his wallet. “I just lost a good chunk of change, I-”

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her hand to watch the game.

“Tell you what,” Damian said, a tight, smug grin on his face, “you win, it’s double,” he shrugged, “I win, it’s just 300.”

Dean looked up at the ceiling for a split second, tilting his head while he contemplated the offer. His lips swished from side to side and then he smiled, “deal,” he said, holding out his hand.

-

By the time solids were wiped out and the 8 ball was left, Dean smiled at Y/N when Damian's back turned, slipping the pool stick between his fingers to line up a shot.

Eyes moving to Damian, he grinned, “8 ball, corner pocket,” then glanced over at Y/N. Damian just stood with his arms crossed. Dean kept his eyes on her as he bent down to aim and sunk the 8 ball.

He stood slowly, barely concealing his smile. Y/N felt a smile creep onto her face as well, dropping it when Damian threw the pool stick onto the table in a tantrum.

“This is bullshit,” he grunted, flipping around and marching over to Y/N. Stunned, Dean froze until Damian gripped her wrist, digging his nails into her skin as he yanked her so hard she nearly tripped over her own steps.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grumbled, taking his anger out on her wrist as he tugged.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, waving a hand as he shuffled sideways to get out from behind the pool table, “wait!”

Damian’s grip felt like a growing fire the more she tried to wriggle free. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dean running up at them just as Damian whirled around.

He yanked her into him. "Stop fighting me,” he said through his teeth, bearing down on each word.

She loosened up, letting him keep his firm grip on her arm, but she was knocked back by Dean shoving Damian. He stood between them. Only surprised by the interaction, he charged at Dean, which only served as more of a pack to the punch Dean threw at him. He was knocked back with another punch, landing on the floor.

Dean shook out his fist, taking a few breaths before turning to face her. With his hand resting on her shoulder, he bowed his head to look into her eyes, “you okay?”

Shocked, she just nodded, her mouth agape as she looked at Damian. She looked back at Dean with next to no expression before running over and falling at Damian’s side.

Dean felt his insides squirm and weaken, like he’d just reached the end of a rollercoaster. He was sickened by the thought of how he treated her, and for her to just run to his side hurt him. But she surprised him when she reached into Damian’s pocket for his wallet, ripping out the 600 in bills before throwing the wallet onto his back. Dean chuckled a bit, but stowed it when she turned around to jog back to him.

"I believe he owes you this,” she shrugged, handing it over.

He laughed, looking down as he grabbed it. Stuffing it into his back pocket, he looked up at her, head tilted. “Dean,” he smiled, holding his hand out.

“Y/N,” she said, shaking his hand.

--

Dean rolled over, wrapping his arm around Y/N in the bed of his motel room. She flinched a bit, but hummed when she came to her senses. Smiling, she rotated to face him, tracing the outline of his tattoo with her fingers.

"Nice tat," she cooed, and he couldn't quite tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

"Thanks," he said, banking on sarcasm being the safest bet, "it's to keep me from being possessed by demons," he said with a lift of his eyebrows.

Her eyes bounced between his before she busted out in a laugh, "right," she played along. Her attention shifted, "and the gun is for?"

Confused, he glanced over to the nightstand, gun placed next to the clock.

He chuckled, "you don't want to know."

She pulled her head back a bit, but half of her lips turned into a smile, "mysterious," she laughed. "What are you, a drifter with a gun collection?"

"Something like that," he smiled, dipping his head to her neck, pecking small, soft kisses.

She'd never felt like she was the focus of another's attention until her time with Dean, and perhaps that was dangerous, but in the moment it was everything to her. He kissed her like he'd been kissing her for years, like he knew just how to get her going. She didn't want the night to come to an end, but with the sun bleeding through the curtains of his motel room, she knew she'd have to say goodbye soon.

"Are you a criminal?" she blurted out. In a laugh, she added, "I just can't take the suspense anymore."

He laughed, "in some states," with a small nod before rolling over to sit at the edge of the bed.

It was hard to keep up with him, to tell when he was being serious and when he was being sarcastic. She just smiled, sitting up to gather her clothes.

When dressed, she found a pen. Reaching for his arm, she rolled up the sleeve to his flannel, smiling before writing her name and phone number on his forearm.

"When you're in town next, or not too far away, call me."

---

Dean had never done this for anyone before, but something with this connection was different. It was like she saw him for what he really is under everything on the outside. They'd met up at least fifteen times since the first night, and he had yet to figure out what exactly drew him to her.

She knew exactly what she liked about him, though. The bad boy, criminal type that treated her like she should be treated, even if they were just hooking up. The kind with a soft side that bled from him in moments he least expected it to, moments where he was really trying to show just how ‘bad’ of a guy he is. 

"Let me come with you," she said in a rushed breath, gripping onto his arm before he could turn for the car, "whatever you do, I want to join. I don't have a life here," she relaxed her arms, letting her hand fall from his and back to her side. "Not anymore, at least," she said, softly shaking her head.

"Y/N, it's not safe," he said softly. Taking her with him meant confessing to all the lies he's told her, unraveling the truth about what he does; saving people, hunting things, the family business. He rolled his eyes at himself.

She gripped onto his arm again, "I'm serious, Dean," she said firmly, her eyes piercing into his, "please." 

Dean glanced at Sam, who gave him a look she could only translate to meaning ‘no’, but then it softened, and he looked at her. Dean just nodded, opening the door for her. Dean knew that she would learn soon enough why tagging along was a bad idea, and she’d leave when she knew what was good for her. He’d learn to never let anyone in the way he let her in, but until then he’d enjoy the company of anyone other than Sam. Y/N was just excited for a new adventure, whatever that may come with. Her mama would be disappointed, but all reason aside, she just loved the guy.

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[hogarthwrites]

if you want it you got it forever

pairing: samuel drake/reader (m/f)

genre: smut

warnings: graphic sex

words: 1,604

summary:

You and Sam have a nice Valentine's evening together.

note:

Hello! Back with some smut. It's a day late but I hope you all enjoy it! Happy Valentine's Day!!

Sam said no one's ever given him flowers, and you made it your mission to remedy that for Valentines. Despite the cold weather, you were able to find a nice bouquet of roses that you held onto as you made your way to Sam’s apartment.

He had invited you over, and even though Samuel Drake could be a romantic, he rarely ever went all out. So you were quite surprised as you walked into his apartment and it was dimly lit and petals littered the floor.

“Sam?” You called out and he peeped out of the kitchen.

“Shit, you're already here?” He went back to the kitchen and you followed him in to see him staring at a pan.

“I'm gonna give up on this,” he pouted. “Chloe’s curry recipe just isn’t working for me.”

You looked at the burnt food, and kissed him on the cheek. This made him feel a little better, but he felt bad he couldn’t even go through with making you the romantic dinner he had planned in his head.

“Why don’t we order some pad thai again?” You suggested. “I’m sure you have wine somewhere and we can watch those DVD’s we haven’t gotten through.”

“That could work,” Sam nodded.

“Oh these are for you,” you held up the bouquet.

“What?” He gave you a lopsided smile. “For me?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Happy Valentine’s day, Sam.”

His hand was on your waist as he pulled you in for a kiss.

You ended up watching 50 First Dates after an intense debate between Wedding Crashers and The 40 Year Old Virgin . You leaned into Sam as he had an arm around your shoulders. The flowers you gave him were placed in his watering can, with Sam promising to buy a vase for it in the morning.

“That was... cute,” you looked up at him when the movie ended.

“I mean, if you’re okay with traumatizing your spouse every morning with a tape telling them they have memory loss and they’re married to some guy they don’t know,” he shrugged.

“God, Sam,” you laughed. “Okay, you have a point.”

“Of course I do,” he looked smug.

You moved up to kiss him, softly at first, but as the kiss deepened, he pulled you into his lap. He moaned softly as you started grinding against him, feeling as he started getting hard under you. Your lips moved down to his neck, following the tattooed birds, down to the base of his neck.

“Alexa, play Cruisin’ by Smokey Robinson,” he said out loud, much to your surprise.

The song started playing and you couldn’t help but laugh into Sam’s neck. “Seriously?”

“Come on, I’m just setting the mood, baby,” he kissed you again. This time his hands slid under your shirt, cupping your breasts. “Is it working?”

“You think?” You continued to grind against him, sighing as his lips met your neck.

You slid your hand under his shirt as well, feeling the hair on his chest. His hips bucked in anticipation when you pulled his shirt off.

“Excited?” You slid your hands up and down his thighs.

“You think?” He chuckled, biting his lip as you undid his jeans and pulled them down.

You slid your hand up and down his cock, watching every reaction he made. His hair tangled in your hair as you took the tip of his cock in your mouth, enjoying his taste.

“That’s right, baby,” he sighed. “You look so good.”

Encouraged, you bobbed your head up and down his length faster and Sam gently pulled on your hair. You pulled away, looking up at him and kissing the tip of his cock, pre-cum smearing your lips.

“Do you like it when I do this?” You swirled your tongue around and ran your thumb over it.

“Hmm,” Sam threw his head back in pleasure.

You took his cock in your mouth again, grabbing onto his thighs as he started thrusting up into your mouth. He pulled you back up on his lap and kissed you hard.

“More,” you groaned as you began grinding against his crotch. “Give me more, Sam.”

“How do you want it, baby?” Sam nibbled on your earlobe.

“However you want me.”

He pulled your shirt off and you slipped out of your jeans. Sam took his time exploring your body, kissing every inch of your skin. His brown eyes met yours as he kissed your navel and gave you a smug grin. It was an all too familiar look he’d give you before eating you out for hours on end.

Sam licked your clit once, making you shiver at the cool that followed the wetness, turning you on even more. His tongue explored your pussy, sliding it in before drawing circles on your clit again. He loved the feeling of you planted against his face, holding your legs open for him.

His stubble was wet from your juices, but he didn’t stop until you were writhing and moaning under him. The sounds from your lips riled him on even more as he lapped up your cunt, his nose swiping up your slit to your clit.

“Oh, god, Sam, I’m gonna cum!” You pulled at his hair. Your orgasm was so close and you lifted your hips up to grind against his face, your moans filling the room, drowning out the song that was playing.

Sam kissed you as you came down from your high, tasting yourself on his lips and his tongue.

“You alright?” He whispered, caressing your hair softly.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “More, Sam.”

“Of course. I’m not done with you yet,” he purred.

You squealed as he pulled you up and kissed you again. His hands moved from your waist to your ass, which he squeezed before giving it a little slap.

You pushed him down on the sofa, running your fingers down his chest, admiring his body under you. You lifted your hips and guided his cock to your entrance, humming in delight as you lowered your hips and his thick cock filled you up.

Sam’s lower lip is pinned between his teeth as he watched you bounce up and down. You loved it when he watched you fuck him, as you took the reigns and set your own pace, his sultry eyes focused on only you.

“Fuck,” he smiled up at you. “Keep going, baby.”

You pushed down on his muscular shoulders and fucked him harder, making him groan loudly. You didn’t understand how you were always so wet around him. With past lovers, you never lasted as long as you would with Sam, and you definitely never came with as much frequency and intensity as you did with him.

He pulled you in for a kiss before wrapping his arms around you. You squealed as he slammed his hips up against yours and set a quick pace.

You bit down on his collar and your toes curled, feeling your orgasm come closer with every thrust Sam made.

“Sam,” you garbled. “I’m gonna cum.”

Sam paused and flipped you around on the bed, so he was on top. He grabbed your hips and continued to drill into you with such intensity you were at a loss for words. His eyes were wild with lust as he watched you writhe under him, moaning his name to encourage him more, desperate for both of your releases.

“I’m so close!” You grabbed at the cushions under you.

“Cum for me, baby,” Sam panted. His fingers sunk into your hips so hard that he left bruises.

Your toes curled and your back arched as you came around his prick, causing him to slow his movements as your pussy spasmed. As soon as he regained his senses, he slammed into you hard. Pleasure filled your senses, and you happily lay there, taking in every thrust.

“Oh, you feel so damn good,” he lay on top of you, giving you passionate open mouthed kisses.

Sam couldn’t think of anything other than to fill you with his seed, the thought egging him on more. As he neared his orgasm, his movements became more erratic and with one loud groan, he pushed deep as he could inside you and coated your insides with his sperm. He collapsed on top of you, softly kissing your cheek.

He didn’t pull out until he was able to catch his breath again and he took you in his arms. He continued kissing your neck and your shoulder, muttering sweet nothings in between.

You’re beautiful.

I can’t get enough of you.

Can’t believe how lucky I am .

You wrapped your arms around him, cradling him to your chest. Sam’s playlist had stopped playing long ago, so you could focus on listening to him breathe.

“Anyone ever told you you’re a great lay?” You ran your fingers through his hair.

“You tell me every time we have sex so I almost believe it,” he grinned.

“You should.”

“You spoil me.”

Sam was quiet for a while before he looked up at you.

“Thanks for spending Valentine’s with me,” he whispered. “I’ve never done this with anyone else before.”

“Really? Not even with past ex-lovers?"

“Not like this,” he intertwined his fingers with yours and kissed your fingers. "This feels different."

“We could do this every year,” you quietly said. “If you want to, that is.”

“I’d love that.”

You were overcome with fatigue as Sam kissed you softly. He pulled the fleece blanket over both of you as you fell asleep and he stroked your hair back from your face.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered. “Happy Valentine’s, sweetheart.”