#i planned this drawing like 5 minutes after getting the ask but kept forgetting to actually get to it im so sorrryyyyyyyy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mightymorphingayagenda · 4 years ago

Note

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here, x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.

Humourless.

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.

“This is the part where you-“

“Shhh.”

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.”

Cue phase two of the plan.

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative.

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.”

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.”

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.”

Eris said nothing.

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued. “To do as you’re told.”

She gave him strict instructions. Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me. Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.”

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle: a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.

Who’s your daddy, now?

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.

“Damn it,” she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway…

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…

“Ugh,” she said again, louder. Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time.

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?”

He meowed again.

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.

Cassian’s jacket.

Uhg.

Now she was thinking about him again.

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”.

He purred.

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath. Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him. The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.

Not a man. A boy.

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex. Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet. In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it.

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her.

Her screaming.

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body. What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles. And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even. In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues.

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь”

Her mother’s last words.

Ten numbers.

Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door. All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.

Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.

Like a phone number.

No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough. Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.

A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.

“Здравствуйте.”

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.

“Who is this?”

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-”

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.

A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.

Go down for murder.

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body. How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.

Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly. Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.

Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers. The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.

“If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”

“You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?”

“Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.”

“Woof,” Nesta had said dryly.

“Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

“You offering to adopt me?”

“I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.”

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.

“But you ever want job, you call me.”

Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.

Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice. Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.

Until Feyre had moved to the city.

Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics, selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit. Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.

At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.

Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner.

Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.

Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.

Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.

The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.

Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.

Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring. A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings.

If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain.

It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done. Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.

She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.

That and the fact they were really very good.

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly. Sinking deeper into the basin.

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.”

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully.

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.

“You told me to give him a chance.”

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?”

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on-

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?”

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”

“Ever heard of the third date rule?”

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?”

Feyre sighed.

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-”

“So why did you send him my way?”

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked.

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.”

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.

“Well I’ve been smoking.”

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.”

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.”

“He only smokes them on special occasions.”

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?”

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh so you did hear me?”

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”

She hung up.

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client. An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could. Because it was just easier.

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.

Fuck.

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot; but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong.

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living!

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.

—

Cassian had ignored her calls.

All three.

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator. Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy. She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.

“All work and no play?”

Cassian looked up from his desk.

“I can fix that,” she said.

He’d never looked more handsome.

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.

“What are you doing here?”

Rude.

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.”

She turned to find him watching her.

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.

“You’re still upset about that?”

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.”

“Oh really?”

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.”

“You don’t have a clue what I want.”

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly.

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.

It was all very conflicting.

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again. “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.”

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.

“You’re right,” she said.

Cassian blinked.

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.”

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike. “Your emergency, of course. Which was?”

“Nothing to do with you.”

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.

“Shit.”

His head fell into those large hands.

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up. So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.”

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?”

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.”

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.”

Nesta slid of the desk.

“Go on,” she instructed.

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.”

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.

“I can tell.”

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”

Cassian swallowed.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?”

“If you say please.”

“Please don’t screw around with me.”

Nesta faltered.

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.

“I’m really into you,” he admitted. “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.”

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion. “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.”

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.

“Nesta-“

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.”

“Someone could come back-“

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.”

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.

“Nesta-”

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders.

“I want you,” she purred again.

He might have tried to breath. And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.”

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.

“You want me,” he breathed.

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously.

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.”

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter.

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…”

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.”

“And I’m saying you could be in me.”

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over. The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.”

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout.

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.”

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.

“Yes, yes, please.”

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.”

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze, wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair.

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.”

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.

“More,” she demanded.

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him. Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.”

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”

His words sent her over the edge.

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders. Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.

“Then get on your knees.”

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again. “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.”

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.

“Down boy,” she purred.

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly.

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.”

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.”

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby”

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth. Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.”

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew. His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.

“Cassian,” she keened.

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles. Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips.

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.

“Let me take care of you.”

“Cassian.”

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there. “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Nesta smiled.

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.”

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.

It was so good.

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him. And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl. Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,” She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit.

Nesta whined softly.

“Cassian…more…”

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.”

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.

“Oh!”

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.”

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.”

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.”

She turned her gaze to him.

“Shame.”

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.

Cassian grinned.

“You like Italian?”

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”

“Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.”

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.

“Lethal,” he whispered.

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair.

Their second date had been incredible.

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child.

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?”

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying. Which off course only made him like her more.

“What? Make you blush like a-”

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them- like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?”

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”

“Says the military man.”

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.”

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”

“That was so a line!”

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.”

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive. “Because I’d love to take your top off.”

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.”

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.

“What would you rather we talk about?”

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute. It reminded you that you were alive.

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore. Tame Impala playing from his pocket.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.

“Well you’re the only one getting it.”

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.”

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly, hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.”

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.

“Yes please.”

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower-

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.

“What are you doing?”

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did. Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.

“Congratulations.”

Cassian grinned.

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”

“Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.

“Please do.”

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.”

He pulled back abruptly.

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?”

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.”

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-”

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.

“But I-”

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.”

“More romantic than that sentence?”

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.”

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.”

“How have you already failed?”

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.”

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.”

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf.

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.

“Did you decline my call?”

“Yup.”

“Bastard.”

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.”

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.

“That why you’re calling?”

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?”

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation. “Yeah, I’m free.”

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday.

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-”

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?”

Shit.

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait. In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-”

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.”

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-”

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.

“Fine, your stropping-”

“Fuck off.”

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.”

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.”

“Hang on a minute-”

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.”

“Alright, alright Don.”

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.”

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?”

Cassian sighed heavily.

“This a secure line?”

“Always”.

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.”

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?”

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.”

“Lucien?”

“Turns out the kid’s his.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.”

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?”

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.”

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-”

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.”

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.

Rhys went silent again.

“We could always just kill Eris.”

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-”

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.”

“Dick.”

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-”

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.”

“I’m fucking Persian!”

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.

“A fanabla!”

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.”

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.”

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-”

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.”

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?”

“If I said yes would you come back to us?”

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.”

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.”

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.”

“Nesta’s no Feyre.”

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

TAG LIST

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rosy-wooyoung · 4 years ago

Text

ATEEZ reaction : surprising them with homemade food

requested: yes, thank you! [honey, I am SO sorry for only doing it now] prompt : their s/o surprising them with homemade food genre : fluff warnings : !! food mention !! (obviously but I prefer repeating it), very poorly written, overbearingly cliché. A/N : so uhm, hi again? this got requested like months ago and i never actually sat down to write it [commitment issues oops] but now I’m happy that i actually manage to do it today! Also don’t mind the mistakes, pleaaaase I feel like I speak like a 5-year old when I have to write something in english (even though I have an c1 diploma in english sdfjhsf i’m so sorry if it’s bad)

Hongjoong

Songwriter!Hongjoong

You finished eating dinner near 8 pm and laid on the couch after doing the dishes.

After having patiently waited for your boyfriend to come home, you decided to go to bed as the clock neared midnight, still no trace of him.

It’s only when you washed your face and applied your serum that you changed your mind.

Putting on your shoes and your coat, you grabbed the plastic bag carrying the Tupperware filled with the food you had prepared for dinner and made your way out the door.

You weren’t keen on walking alone at night, but fortunately, his studio wasn’t that far, so you managed to make it safely there.

Knocking on the wooden door, you received no answer, so you slightly pulled the door open, only to be met with silence.

Hongjoong had noise-cancelling headphones latched on his ears, head bobbing at a certain rhythm as he scribbled some lyrics in his brown leather notebook.

The notebook he carried everywhere, even when he was around you.

Sometimes, he would get inspiration just by watching you sleep, read or cook. Writing down whatever crossed his mind, he never showed you what they said.

However, you paid no mind to his privacy. You respected that he kept it a secret, you did the same with your poetry book.

You knew how it felt when someone read pieces of art you’ve created, you feel naked and exposed to the reader, and it made your guts churn of anxiety when someone even tried to look into your notebooks.

But now, you had a problem to deal with. How do you make yourself noticeable without scaring your boyfriend to death?

Banging your fist on the door didn’t work and calling his name didn’t work either.

He jumped out of his skin when you softly placed a hand on his shoulder, a yelp unintentionally coming out of his mouth.

Turning around, he noticed your figure and laid a hand on his chest, the other grabbing your forearm as a sign of affection.

“Sorry baby, I didn’t know how to make myself noticeable.” You said with an apologetic look, but Hongjoong waved it off.

“It’s okay, sugarplum. Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“Well, since it’s past midnight and you weren’t coming back, I decided to bring a piece of home to you and brought you this.” You lifted the plastic bag and handed it to him. It was his turn to look at you, remorse filling his eyes as he realised that he lost the notion of time and stayed behind at the studio to produce.

“Thank you baby, but I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and he stood up, hugging you tightly as he kissed your cheek. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“It’s nothing, baby. You should eat now, it’s going to cool down,” you whispered as you let go and he sat down, drawing another chair to have you by his side. He kissed your temple before you rushed him to eat, noticing his eyebags and his tiredness written all over his face.

You were getting tired as well, but Hongjoong was a hundred times worth it to stay up late at night, to see him with a bright smile and adoring eyes on his face as he tasted the food you cooked.

Seonghwa

CEO!AU

“Hello Miss, where can I find the office of Mr Park?”

“Park Seonghwa?” the receptionist said, and you nodded, replacing a piece of hair behind your ear. “The head department is on the 19th floor, at the far end of the left corridor.” You thanked her and made your way to the elevators, waiting with other employees.

You greeted people you knew by sight with a nod and a smile, going to the floor reception. Some people stopped talking, listening to your words.

“Excuse me, is Mr Park Seonghwa here?”

“Yes, but he’s currently in a meeting. It’ll end in a few minutes,” she said, looking up what seemed to be his schedule on the computer. “Do you have an appointment with him?”

“Oh no,” you stuttered as you could almost feel his coworkers’ eyes on you, “I’m just his wife, and I need to give him something he forgot at home.”

“No problem, I’ll guide you to his office. Please follow me,” she announced, standing up, her heels clicking on the white tiles. You awkwardly smiled and bowed at his colleagues and followed the secretary, thanking her as she showed you the door of his office.

Your husband appeared a couple of minutes later, reading a file while talking on the phone. You cleared your throat, and Seonghwa looked up, his phone almost falling from the shoulder that was pressing it against his ear.

“Can you please fix a schedule with my secretary, I have a lot of work to deal with right now. Yes, yes thank you. Have a nice day too. Goodbye Sir.” he ended his phone call, sliding his smartphone in his pants pocket.

Tenderly looking at you, he smiled and approached you.

“Honey, baby. I didn’t expect you to see you here,” he warmly said before capturing your lips in a sweet yet passionate kiss, an arm wrapping around your waist.

“I’m because my husband, whose head is constantly into business, forgot his lunch before going to work this morning,” you stated as you lifted the brown paper bag, his eyes widening as his shoulders softly subside in relief.

“What did I do to deserve a wonderful wife like you?” he asked as he took the bag, kissing your cheek at the same time.

“I don’t know, but your wonderful wife would appreciate that her husband wouldn’t forget his lunch every day because she’s taking time on her lunch break to bring the food to him.” You arched a brow, and he chuckled, his arm never leaving your waist.

“I love you,” he muttered, and you softly kissed his lips.

“I love you too. Enjoy your lunch darling,” you said as you made your way towards the door, shooting him a smile before walking away.

Little did you know that once you were out of sight, he went out to the lunchroom to eat his food - something that he never did -, showing off the fact that his wife came to bring him lunch.

He earned the complaints and whines from his colleagues, whose partners didn’t even look at them when they came home.

And with that, he asked his secretary to cancel a meeting in the early evening to come home earlier than you, preparing you a nice, lovely dinner to thank you for your gesture.

Yunho

Architect student!Yunho

In the small apartment that you shared with your lovely Yunho, you were about to prepare dinner, but you realised that there was nothing in the fridge.

Quickly turning off the stove, you put on your shoes and jacket and made your way out the door, a quick trip to the convenience store.

You arrived in front of the store as the sun was setting, the last rays of sunshine hitting the windows, sending beautiful scenery in front of you.

You knew that Yunho was working hard, as much as you did, but you wanted to surprise him a bit, so you decided to buy the ingredients to cook his favourite food.

Packs of meat, vegetables and rice in your bag, you were off to go home.

Riding the bus, you checked that you had everything and stepped off at your stop.

Yunho hadn’t moved from his spot while you were absent. He was still focused on his work, an HB pencil in one hand and a ruler in the other.

You placed everything down on the counter and started working on your duty.

Boiling water, grilling the meat and stirring the vegetables in a pot. You were so in your thoughts that you didn’t even register your boyfriend walking in the kitchen, sneaking his arms around your waist while prepping your shoulder with kisses.

“What’s cooking, good looking,” you snorted at the pun, and he chuckled, kissing your cheek as you cooked the meat while stirring the veggies.

“Open up, handsome,” you say as you bring a piece of meat to his mouth with the spatula. He opened his mouth, and you dropped the piece of meat on his extended tongue, munching on it after kissing you.

“Maybe two more minutes? But otherwise, it’s perfect, I liked the way you seasoned it, baby,” he stated, and you smile, stirring the food for a couple more minutes.

While eating, Yunho looked exhausted but happy. He did a little happy dance when you placed the plate in front of him, earning a kiss on the cheek for taking care of everything.

“I know we can get pretty busy with college and work,” he started before taking a sip of water, the food feeling extremely hot in his mouth, “but I’m glad we established a pattern of regularly eating together,” he admitted, smiling as he reached across the table for your hand.

“It feels good to be just the two of us, it’s sometimes tiring to have someone around constantly,” he nodded at your words, his thumb softly rubbing your knuckles.

“You’re right, our friends can get pretty hectic,” he chuckled and so did you, the subject of the conversation coming back on studies.

“So, how’s your project doing?” you demanded, and he just shrugged.

“It’s sometimes hard to get inspiration, but once I get it, everything goes smoothly,” you nodded and kept listening as your partner explained his work, a passionate sparkle in his eyes, outshining the ceiling light hanging above your heads.

“So yeah, we’ll see how it goes. Normally, if I didn’t mess up too much, my professor should be happy about the plans.”

“Why wouldn’t he be happy?” you questioned as you took the last piece of food that you had on your plate before crossing your cutlery.

“I mean… There are elements of my imagination in my work,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his warm hand leaving yours, “but I took into account every piece of advice that you gave me since the beginning of my work, and honestly, I think I wouldn’t have gotten this far without them.”

“Oh shut it,” you snorted at your boyfriend, but immediately calmed down as you noticed the same serious expression on his face, “are-are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he smirked, and you both stood up, going back to the kitchen to fill up the dishwasher.

“But you’re the one majoring in architecture, not me,”

“I know,” he retorted as he wiped the counter, “but it sometimes helps to have an outside point of view. Someone who doesn’t constantly have their nose in the theory and lecture notes is very helpful for creativity. You’re my muse Y/N, you have such amazing ideas that everything seems brighter and easier when you help.”

You chuckled at your boyfriend’s praise and went for a hug, squeezing him tight around you.

“I’m so happy that we’re together,” you said as you laid your head against his chest, his hand going into your hair.

“You don’t know how much I love you Y/N,” he said as he kissed the crown of your head.

“I think I have an idea,” you said as you looked up at him.

“No, you don’t, I love you more than you can ever see or imagine,” he mumbled as he pressed his lips on yours in a sweet kiss. He was giving you all the love and affection he had for you in this kiss, and you felt complete.

Yeosang

Idol!Yeosang

Waking up to the sound of your alarm, you were quick to turn it off to not wake up your boyfriend sleeping next to you.

Forcing yourself to start your day this early is such a pain in the ass, but your income makes it motivating and worth it. Plus, you wanted to save time for tonight because you knew how lazy you could get when it came to cooking.

So, at 6 am, you put on an apron over your pyjamas and started cooking the meal for tonight - Yeosang’s favourite - while preparing your breakfast at the same time.

Being good at multitasking has its perks after all.

Around an hour and a half later, you were done with cooking and washing the dishes, now getting ready to go to work.

The sun was rising, making the task of getting out of your comfortable apartment a little less painful.

Yeosang didn’t move an inch when you closed the main door, still dead asleep in your shared bed.

It was his first day off after going a few months without truly resting, and you could tell that his body needed it. When he came home last night, he was slow and could barely keep his eyes open during the show you chose to watch, he was tempted to use your shoulder as a pillow.

But it was one of the rare times that he could spend alone with you so he wouldn’t let that pass.

It was finally midday when you looked at your phone, still no news of Yeosang.

Knowing how tired he was, you didn’t worry about it, he was probably still asleep.

And you were right, his body went into recovery mode.

He woke up around two in the afternoon, shaken awake as a truck honked just under your windows.

Yeosang was still tired even though he slept for over twelve hours, so he decided to stay in bed for a bit longer.

He finally got out of bed around three as the rest of the group asked to play a bit of Among Us with them.

He stayed behind the computer for the rest of the afternoon, deciding to go for a run as the day was coming to an end, only eating a banana while he was getting ready.

It smelt like you had cooked something this morning, so he wanted to wait a bit until you came home to eat with you.

You were about to close the door behind you when you heard a familiar low voice.

“Y/N, wait!” Yeosang was in his sports equipment, slightly out of breath as you let him in.

“Hi,” you said with a smile as you swiftly pecked his lips. You both took off your shoes, hurrying your boyfriend to take a shower as you entered the kitchen.

You could finally settle down to eat when he appeared from his shower, making your way towards you before prepping your neck with kisses, asking about your day.

“Woah, you cooked my favourite dish?” he asked as you put a plate in the microwave.

“Yes! I figured out that you’d appreciate eating something special on your free day,” you replied, and Yeosang hugged you tightly from behind, giving you a big smooch on your cheek.

“Thank you, love,” he mumbled against your skin as a ‘ding’ drowned his voice out.

You both sat down on the couch, your plate in hand and enjoyed the food and each other’s company for the rest of the evening.

San

Hacker!San

“Sannie?” you asked as you walked into his dimmed bedroom, his computer screens being the only sources of light in the room, alongside with LEDs ornating the walls.

Headphones screwed on his ears, he rapidly typed on his computer, lines of coding appearing on the screen. San couldn’t hear you, he was a tad bit too focused on his task to pay attention to his surroundings.

As a way to make yourself noticeable, you turned on his bedside lamp, startling him as he took off his blue light glasses, Grime blasting from his headphones as he let them fall around his neck.

“Sweetie, do you need anything?” he said as he spun his chair around, observing you.

You were balancing a plate, a glass filled with coke, a napkin and some cutlery on a trail, carefully making your way towards your boyfriend as you tried not to spill anything on his fancy setup.

“Dinner’s served,” you sweetly chanted as you finally laid the trail in front of him, the smell of fresh, homemade food invading his nostrils.

“Thank you, baby, you’re amazing,” he said as he encircled an arm around your waist, making you fall on his lap. You smiled as he laid a soft kiss on your upper arm, grabbing the fork with his other hand before bringing the food to his mouth. He gratefully hummed and nodded as he munched on it, shooting you a wink as he looked up at you.

“It’s delicious baby girl,” he mumbled after swallowing, directly taking another bite. He lightly frowned as he didn’t see a plate for you. “You already ate?”

“Yeah, I called you a couple of times from the kitchen, but you seemed busy so I didn’t want to bother you,” you said as you shyly tightened your ponytail, a disappointed look growing on his face.

“Y/N, babe,” he started, tightening his grip around your figure as he put the fork down, “you should’ve yelled for me to come to eat with you... You’re my girlfriend, coding and hacking come after you, okay? I love you more than anything, I can and I will put everything aside to spend time with you. So next time, I’ll come downstairs to eat with you, alright? I don’t want to know that you’re eating alone in our home.”

“Yes Sannie, but-”

“Shht, there are no buts,” he said as he kissed you on the lips, keeping on eating the food you cooked for him with you still on his lap after he made sure that this wouldn’t happen again. You watched your boyfriend filling his stomach and talked with him about everything, just catching up on the last few days that you spent separated from each other.

“I love you darling, thank you for the amazing food,” San said as he cupped your face, placing a big, soft kiss on your cheek.

You giggled and slightly moved his beanie, being able to play with the hair at the back of his head.

“I love you too San, I do,” you whispered as you straddled him and rested your head on his collarbone, his hand rubbing your back up and down your spine.

“Wanna cuddle?” he suggested, and you were about to say no since he looked busy, but you caught yourself just on time, his light scolding coming back in your mind.

“Yes, please,” you mumbled, and he approved, removing his headset from his neck and shook the beanie off his head, replacing his hair in a somewhat correct way.

“Alright,” he softly mumbled while wrapping his arms around you, carefully standing up as he laid kisses on your exposed skin. It didn’t matter where it was, every spot that he saw some skin, he had to kiss it.

And that’s how you spent the rest of the night cuddled in San’s arms, his cold hand drawing circled on your stomach, sending shivers in your body as he soothingly rubbed the skin.

Mingi

Dancer!Mingi

You huffed as you nonchalantly threw your phone on the table, your boyfriend being unreachable as you called him for the nth time tonight.

You knew that he was training and improving his dancing skills, but you wished that he could take small breaks here and there.

Not to text you back, you could wait, but for his sanity and health.

There’s a reason between working hard and overworking yourself.

And Mingi seemed to struggle to distinguish the difference between the two notions.

You never said that it was easy, you were struggling as well, but sometimes you wished that he’d understand it better than you do.

The clock neared midnight, and he still wasn’t home. You started getting slightly irritated as he was probably overworking himself and not eating.

But you couldn’t blame it for that, you did the same when you had big exams or assignments coming up, you tended to ditch breaks and skip meals.

So, since you were caring about your boyfriend’s well being, you stood up and went to the fridge, where a container filled with the potion you had prepared for your boyfriend was.

Putting on a warm sweater and some pants before making your way out, locking the door behind you.

You took a longer road to go to his practice studio, but you found with relief that the convenience store was still open, sighing in relief as you read that it wasn’t going to close anytime soon.

You took drinks for the two of you and some extras as you thought that some of the boys could be still practising, paid and headed to the practice room.

When you arrived, you waved at San, who looked exhausted and sweaty, surprised to see you out at this hour.

“You’re here for your lovely Mingi?” he teased as he declined to give you a side hug due to his current state.

“Yes, I was getting worried since he wasn’t coming home,” you declared, and San smiled, finding adorable that you were looking after your boyfriend.

“You can go, he’s still in the practice room, he’s the only one left.” you thanked him and gave him one of the spare drinks that you bought since you didn’t know who would still be there with your boyfriend. His dimples appeared when he thanked you, and you wished him a good - yet short - night of rest before entering the building.

When you arrived in front of the practice room door, you noticed your boyfriend dancing through the window, and you could see that his movements were slower and less energised than usual.

You slowly opened the door, your eardrums being attacked by loud music, the bass resonating in your stomach as you made yourself seen.

When Mingi saw you, a sort of relieved yet guilty look appeared on his face as he went to the stereo to lower the music.

“Hey,” he said in a whisper, eyes carrying a truck of guilt in them.

“Hi babe,” you said as you handed him the plastic bag, “I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t have eaten, so I went out and bought this for you,” you said as you sat down together, in the middle of the room.

Mingi was more tired than he wanted to show. You had identified a pattern within him, his looks on his face and his figure betraying him. When he was as hunched over as he currently was, you knew that his back was hurting and that he was overworking himself.

However, you didn’t say anything, your behaviour and gaze unintentionally telling him what your opinion was. The silence was the best option. You were both exhausted, and the last thing you wanted to do was to start a fight this late in the evening.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Y/N,” he said before clenching his jaw to stifle a yawn, but you caught it.

“You’re welcome honey, but you know my opinion on your behaviour,” you added, and he nodded, eating his mouthful.

“I know, I know,” he sighed and kept on eating while you opened the two soda cans laying in front of you. Mingi took a few gulps of it, and you got another one from the plastic bag, your boyfriend looking at you with wide eyes.

“But, let’s not talk about this now, the last thing I wanna do is get in an argument with you,” you said, and he listened, thanking you as you handed him the can. “I already barely see you during the week, so I don’t want to get into a fight when I have an opportunity to see you,” you sighed but smiled anyway, Mingi’s guilt increasing in his heart.

“I’m sorry-”

“Shht,” you said to your boyfriend as you gently rubbed his back up and down, applying some pressure on spots that you knew were aching. “Are you coming home soon or do you plan on sleeping in the guest room in the building?” you asked as you watch your boyfriend take another bite of the food you had prepared for the two of you.

“Let me finish this amazing food, and we’re going home,” he answered, and you nodded, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “It’s very tasty by the way,” you knew that he was trying to change the subject and you appreciated the effort, trying to forget his neglect of self-care and simply smiled at him.

When he finished his meal, you stood up and put everything in the trash, noticing in the mirror that Mingi struggled to get up, a grimace abruptly replacing the smile he was giving you moments ago. As soon as you turned to face him, he tried his best to erase the pain off his face. You didn’t raise it, but you made a mental note to yourself to try and reason him later. And, if it wasn’t working, you’d call Hongjoong for help. Maybe he’ll listen to him.

The walk home was silent, quite awkward. Your boyfriend tried his best to be as natural as possible, but his back pains were making him hiss and silently groan in pain at almost every step he took.

“Okay, maybe I did a bit too much tonight,” he said as his voice hesitated, alerting you. He looked broken, his bottom lip between his teeth as he kept on walking to your place, feeling a wave of relief as your apartment building came into sight.

You held his hand and grabbed his forearm with your other free hand, helping him to walk until you finally arrived in front of the elevator.

As soon as you entered your home, you sped to the bathroom and ran a warm bath, sprinkling some relaxing salt in it before helping Mingi to take off his shirt.

Once he was done, you helped him to get out of the tub and took care of him. He stared at you in awe as you dried his hair with the blow dryer and assisted him in putting on his pyjamas before walking him to bed.

Quickly doing your nighttime routine, you walked to your bed with heating patches as your boyfriend was already lying on his stomach, the most relieving position for him to sleep into. You slightly pressed some areas in his back, and you applied some patches where he grunted more loudly.

“Alright, now rest, baby,” you kissed his cheek, and he extended his hand to grab yours.

“Thank you for everything, baby,” he said as you shook your head with a faint smile, feeling the tiredness getting the best of you.

"It's okay, Mingi," you whispered as he lifted your linked hands to his mouth, kissing the back of your hand, a loving gesture that you particularly appreciated.

“Sleep well, baby, and think about what we’ve talked about at the studio, okay?” you mumbled, giving him one last kiss before falling asleep, still holding his hand.

“I love you,” Mingi mumbled before falling asleep, as well.

Wooyoung

College AU

Entering the library, you tried your best to hide the plastic bag from the librarian, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the smell of food following you like your shadow.

You weren’t allowed to bring food inside the library, school authorities were scared that you’d stain the books or not clean the tables, which was the case when you went to work in the library.

You had always found this disrespectful that people would leave their trash on the tables without cleaning, it exasperated you.

Why was it so complicated to put your trash in a bin?

But since you thought that you were quite a clean, hygienic student, you allowed yourself to sneak in food for you and your friends.

When you arrived near your friends, Mingi was the first one to spot you, hungry for the content of the plastic bags you were carrying.

Your friends discreetly clapped their hands as you arrived as a hero at the table. You shushed them when they got a bit too excited over the food, reminding them that you weren’t supposed to eat there.

Since you were the one that went and bought the food, you were the one distributing the small containers the Chinese takeout the employees had put the food in.

Wooyoung was the only one who was kind of sulky because he wasn’t fond of the place you bought the food from since that event. That event where one of the cooks had put in a sauce containing bell pepper, and he hated them.

He always associated this restaurant with this event, and now he doesn’t set foot at this establishment anymore.

But before he could even say anything, you took the container in front of him and gave him a blue bento box, making him frown yet didn’t say anything.

“Enjoy, everyone!” you whispered as you all started to eat.

You slightly observed your friend’s reaction next to you as he opened the container.

Wooyoung discovered that his food had nothing to do with Chinese takeout. It was homemade food, cooked by you and his eyes opened wide.

You giggled as he took his fork and started eating hastily, munching on the food with closed eyes and a content look on his face.

“Is it good?” you questioned, and Wooyoung eagerly nodded, taking another bite as he didn’t even swallow his first one.

“It’s perfect,” he answered, rice almost falling from his mouth as it was full. Hongjoong, who was sitting next to you, slightly elbowed you in the ribs, a smug look on his face.

Wooyoung wasn’t expecting the fact that you would make a detour to your apartment to take and heat homemade food just for him.

He was touched, but now he was too focused on devouring his plate to care about anything surrounding him.

A few moments later, as he had finally emptied the lunch box, he rested back a bit, a hand on his stomach.

“Wow, I’m full,” he said as a hiccup took over him, immediately slapping his mouth as the sound came out of his organism.

“Did you see at the pace you ate? Y/N isn’t even done yet,” you puffed as Seonghwa took you as an example, known among your friend group that you were the quickest to shove your food down your throat.

“It was worth it, though,” Wooyoung said, and you shook your head, the indirect compliment sending warmth to your cheeks.

“And what do you say to Y/N?” Hongjoong said before taking a sip of coke as if he was a mother scolding her child.

“Thank youuuuu,” he said as his voice trailed on the last word, resting his head against your forearm, only to have you put your fork down and ruffle his hair, a way you use to say “you’re welcome” when your mouth was full.

Once you were all done with eating, you placed everything back in the plastic bags and started working again, Wooyoung’s head never leaving the spot on your upper arm.

You didn’t mind him, you were sometimes adjusting his head as your muscles started getting sore, but nothing much.

A while later, as you wanted to stretch your arms above your head, you woke Wooyoung up, his head almost slamming on the table as you moved your arm.

“Mmh?” he said as he woke up, wiping the fatigue away from his eyes, nodding as you asked him if he was alright. “Food coma is kicking hard right now,” he added, and you smiled, relieved that he felt a bit better after his nap.

“It’s okay, but you need to go to bed now, it’s getting late,” you said as you packed your stuff in your backpack, putting your coat back on.

“You’re going home already?”

“Yes, it’s almost midnight, and I have a presentation tomorrow at eight,” you explained as a pained smile drew on his face, and you agreed with him by nodding.

“I’m out now, good night guys!” you said to your friends as you stood up, waving goodbye as some of them looked like they would leave this place near dawn.

You bid farewell to the librarian as well and braved the freezing night, hurrying home as not to catch a cold.

And run into someone suspicious and creepy but that’s another thing.

“Y/N!” someone said behind you as you paused in your steps, recognising your friend’s voice.

“Woo? Aren’t you staying with them?"

“No, I’m tired, I honestly don't know how I'm still awake,” he said, and you started walking again with him by your side.

“And…” he stopped in his tracks, and you frowned but imitated him. “I wanted to thank you for being considerate and caring towards us, but particularly towards me,” he said, and you chuckled, waving it off.

“Of course, you are all my friends after all,” you said with a smile as you looked at your friend, who had an indecipherable look on his face.

“That’s... that’s the problem, Y/N,” you looked at him confused and blinked, not knowing where he was coming from.

“What do-”

“Y/N, I like you,” he blurted out, your eyes widening in surprise, not expecting him to confess right now, in the middle of the night in the freezing cold when you could both fall asleep standing up. “More than friends,” he added, and you nodded while looking away, feeling the red spreading on your cheeks. Your friend took a step closer and cupped your face with his cold hand to make you look at him.

“What about you? I've been dying to know, even if you don't feel the same,” he said in a breath, and you inhaled sharply, confused about the sudden question.

“I- I think I do too b-”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, and you suck in a breath, anticipating his next move.

“Can I kiss you?” Wooyoung asked, face dangerously close to yours, his eyes going back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

“Of course.”

Jongho

College AU, Student abroad AU

“Mom?” you asked as you came into the living room, your iPad with a Chrome tab opened in hand.

“Yes honey?” she answered, looking up from the TV, your dad slightly huffing as he couldn’t hear the news.

“You know Jongho, right?” she nodded at her words, initiating you to keep going, “I’ve just gotten off the phone with him, and he seems very sad and down,” you explained as you sat down next to her.

Your dad’s attention immediately shifted to you and your mother as a boy was brought up in the conversation.

“Who-”

“Honey, no, it’s not her boyfriend,” your mother said, and your dad blinked, surprised by her reaction and shrugged, his attention going back on the telly. “And? Do you want to do something to cheer him up?”

“Well, I concluded that he’s a bit homesick, so I wanted to prepare a Korean dish for him. Wanna help?” Your mother agreed and stood up from her seat, fixing her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“Sure!” she says as she washed her hand. “So, kimchi fried rice. What do we need?”

A few hours later, here you were, in the kitchen with your mom, right back from a trip to the convenience store to get the ingredients. You read a bunch of recipes and even watched a tutorial, trying your best to make it as similar as possible to the way they made it in South Korea.

You were struggling a bit at first, but everything turned out alright in the end, happily placing the mixture in a safe spot to let it rest for a couple of days. You were proud and satisfied with what you’ve created, truly hoping that it would heal his visible homesickness.

A few days later, you placed a container filled with your preparation in a paper bag along with your lunch and went out the door after saying goodbye to your parents, who were still eating breakfast. For once, you were happy to go to college, because you were dying to see Jongho and his potentially positive reaction.

The lectures go faster when you pay attention to the teachers, amazing. In no time, here you were in the cafeteria, eyes scanning the crowd to see your friend. Once you caught sight of your “target”, you made your way over and sat across from him, a gentle yet faint smile decorating his face when he saw you.

“Hi Y/N,” he said after swallowing a piece of his industrial sandwich. He looked heavyhearted and tired as if he had spent the entire night on his phone speaking with his family on the other side of the world.

“Are you okay?” you sweetly asked, and he weakly nodded, and you kept staring at him. “You sure?” you raised your eyebrow with a concerned look, and he just shrugged.

“My feelings didn’t really subside,” he stated as he referred to the conversation he's had over the phone with you the other night. You reached across the table and softly rubbed his forearm, the gesture making him weakly smile.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I can help,” you say, and he shook your head.

“I appreciate your kindness Y/N, but I don’t think you can do anything about this…” his voice faded as he thickly swallowed, the sight of your friend being so close to crying made you pout.

“Okay,” you said as you withdrew your hand, Jongho internally whining at the lack of warmth. You searched in your bag and pulled out two steaming lunch boxes, one for you.

And one for him.

“What is this?” he asked as he turned the box between his hands.

“It’s a surprise! Open it,” you smiled as you innocently opened yours, stabbing your hot food with your fork.

Taking the lid off, his eyes widened, going back and forth between the kimchi and you, sitting across from him with a soft smile on your face.

“You seemed so down last time we called,” you said as you ate a spoonful of your lunch, “so I made you a dish with my mom that I remembered you liking. I know it won’t bring your family to you, but it’s still something I guess,” you explained as Jongho pursed his lips, nodding at your explanations, never looking at you in the eyes.

It took you a few seconds to register what was happening, and you drop your fork in your box.

He was crying.

You stood up and sat down next to him, circling your arm around his shoulders.

“Oh Jongho,” you said in a concerned tone, “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I just wanted to make you happy. I know how hard it is when you miss your home and family, I just wanted to give you a bit of family love and warmth that you can’t have right now.”

“Thank you so much Y/N, really,” he said as he sniffled, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. He chuckled as he realised how emotional he's just gotten over food, and he turned to the side to give you a proper hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered in your ear and squeezed you tight against him, feeling his rapid heart beating against your chest.

“It’s okay, Jongho. Taste it first, I wanna know if we can make you some more further in the school year,” you gently rubbed his upper back and he smiled, grabbing your fork from your lunch box.

“It’s delicious,” he said as he munched on the kimchi fried rice, reaching for your hand and rubbing your knuckles.

He looked at you with such adoration in his eyes that you got shy and flustered, your hands going clammy as he wholeheartedly approved your work, taking another bite of the food.

“You’re welcome,” you said in a soft voice, and you smiled at each other, enjoying each other’s company for the rest of the lunch break.

___

A/N: I like it but not a lot... I don’t like it. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it!!

338 notes · View notes

harryswatermelonsegment · 5 years ago

Text

Pool Party

Pairing: Reader/Harry Styles

Rating: R, text book smut

Word Count: 5k 😳

Warnings: Slight sub/dom tones I guess? & alcohol consumption

A/N: Sorry this is late, life somewhat resuming here in the UK so it means I’m back at my job. I managed to fall asleep mid edit folks 😳, this is my entry for the @helladirections Summer Feeling Fic Challenge, with the prompt “pool party” click the link for the masterlist. I’m still writing two more, one for @berrynarrybanana ‘s Sex Bucketlist Challenge but it’s turning out to be a 20k slow burn I wasn’t expecting 😬.Oops. But enjoy this one, I’m proud of her. My one other blatant thirst fic can be found here. Reblogs get free gratitude for the next 5 years 🍉💕

You'd been friends with Jeff since your teens, when his parents (despite their wealth), wanted him to get a job at the restaurant you worked at. In their rightful thinking, they wanted him to learn you had to work from the ground up.

Despite your clearly different class background you found a ton of common interests making the whole thing immaterial. He was a caring, down to earth guy and you were both people who really enjoyed sarcastically taunting each other every shift. You'd got used to visiting his house in the hills even though you'd been scared to get lost at first around his parents large house. Becoming solid friends quickly, you'd managed to keep in touch, as much as adult life would now allow anyway.

You knew his main role was managing a pop star but you'd not caught up in a minute and when you did, you kept your job chat out of the conversation where you could. This is why, as you barge through the kitchen, to the pool outside, you're shocked to nearly knock a stunned Harry Styles onto his behind.

"Fuck, shit I'm so sorry" you clutch your chest looking at the red wine on his tank top and his now empty glass. The soiled garment was tucked into some dressy shorts and partly covered by a loud hawaiian patterned shirt. Oh god what had you done?

You were quite honestly mortified. You'd never actually met the man himself, usually meeting Jeff at his for a few drinks or at a restaurant. You'd heard him mentioned in stories about travelling or how his campaigns were running Jeff into the ground with meetings. So, although you weren't a massive fan of his per se, in the way you didn't ask Jeff for updates or info, the way you'd hope you'd meet the attractive pop star was definitely not this.

He looked down at the offending stain then back up into your eyes, keeping his head angled down and blinking through his lashes. You couldn't read his blank expression and it put you on edge.

Maybe it was the heat trapped in the doorway, but as your eyes stayed locked you suddenly felt a fire spread from your navel up to your cheeks, and then from your center down to your toes. Your lower stomach clenched as you stared back at the guy covered in a good 2007 French rouge.

Fuck me he's pretty, you thought.

A rapid film reel of moments; sweaty bodies, those large biceps holding you against the nearest wall, smacking of lips against skin and moans of release flashed in your brain.

It had definitely been a while since you had got laid in your defense, your mood and pent up sexual frustration getting worse by the day as you tried and failed at the L. A. dating scene. Maybe you were picky, but horny and picky was an awful place to be.

However, the reality of the embarrassing scene you were currently a star of, flipped you back into the present.

Seemingly over the initial incident and hopefully not a mind reader to your thirsty brain, he takes you in and smirks.

Harry knew from the way your breathing hitched looking at his torso that you were at least a bit interested. He had clocked you the second you walked in through the big glass doors. A shirt of a band he liked and a natural beauty he wanted to spend some times with you he pondered. Ideally naked.

Zig zagging across the world promoting the album and had left little time to enjoy another person. Status and obligation to his job making it hard to just go out and meet someone. But here you were, dressed unlike anyone else, looking absolutely adorable in your embarrassment. You must be trustworthy if you're in Jeff's home,he wasn't a "bring your friends too" kind of host with his clients usually around.

This could be a fun evening for you both, he thought. Something unspoken, almost magnetic, drawing you both to one another. Surely that wasn't all his side right?

"I was told it was a good year, but I wasn't planning on consuming it quite this way?" inwardly he rolled his eyes at the barely there quip. But you laughed anyway.

"I am so, so awfully sorry, look, let's see if there's some dish liquid or something, possibly some of my next months rent in there too if I have to replace it" you let out a nervous laugh as you walked towards the kitchen. But in all honesty you weren't kidding.

Harry laughed at your sarcastic remark, impressed by your confidence in owning the situation and getting on with things. He casually watched your hips sway past a few people in to the open plan kitchen with as much subtlety as he could, you were confidentially locating all the parts needed to try and remove the offending stain.

"You seem to know your way around 'ere. I'm er…I'm Harry by the way" awkwardly waving as you mixed some solution in the sink drenching a sponge in it.

"Yeah" you smiled turning from the sink with the damp rag "known Jeff a good while, have definitely spilt red wine here before. I'm Y/N" you giggle. The beam from his own mouth matching.

"Ah! Y/N, of course, I've heard him mention you, didn't you once hide rotting mackerel in a unpleasant guys blazer?" he chuckled

"Heyyyy. Only after he spanked my ass getting him the check. Deserved a hot plate to the crotch too" you shot back.

You weren't sure where to go from here the thought of wetting down the white tank yourself definitely appealed but also seemed far too forward.

"Um…" you began gesturing with the sponge in your hand. You expected him to take it from you to sort himself out but..

"Oh yeah sorry" he replied shimmying his shirt off, dumping it on the back of a bar stool, then, crossing his arms across his stomach and lifting the tank top over his head you were slack jawed and frozen taking in the lean muscles and tattoos littered intermittently across his abdomen. He spread the top across the islands worktop flat, then grabbing the sponge with a simple "thanks" and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration as he tried to rid the dull red mark from it's center.

You still hadn't moved. A pink twinge to your cheeks as you watched his shoulder blades and back muscles scrubbing. Dirty thoughts circling your brain still.

"I would have helped you but I didn't want to start a wet tshirt contest in such a high end establishment yknow?" you thought out loud.

"Oh yeah, good call. I'm fiercely competitive Y/N so would probably be under that fancy waterfall thing by now showing off m'moves in my pants" he wiggles his hips trying to suggestively show you his "moves" but you can't help but smirk at just how endearing this man is. Dammit.

When he's finished with his shirt he drapes it over another barstool before handing you the sponge back.

If anyone asks him if he blatantly and deliberately got naked to gauge if you were into him he'd definitely deny it. But the truth is, he definitely did. Luckily for him, with the way you bite your lip and drag your eyes down his flesh as he brushes past your side to get back to the sink, he's right.

"Speaking of getting in the water in your" you use air quotes "'pants' I'm off to get out of mine" you declare, pushing yourself from the counter and keeping eye contact a second as you stroll back to the sliding doors leading to the pool.

"I… What??"

" The pool Harry?.... What did you think I meant?" you narrow your eyes and press your lips together before shutting the glass door again and turning once more to smirk at the opened mouthed man still by the sink.

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

You'd been schmoozing in the water for a few hours now. There were probably only 20 or so people still here and the 3rd frozen marg had got you buzzed. You were in the small hot tub type pool, attached at the top of the main one on a slightly higher level. You hadn't seen Harry for a while but the last few times you caught his eye he'd been surrounded by at least 3 other people fighting for his attention, so you banked your flirtations to soothe your own ego, grabbed another marg and tried to forget about how he had started a tornado inside you, yearning for his hands on your thighs and head peering up at you from where they met in the middle. The strong pull of lust was clearly in your head then. What a shame.

You put it to the back of your mind as you finished catching up with Glenne. Both flushed and giggly as usual, she was the perfect match for Jeff and their chemistry unmatchable. You always enjoyed hanging out with the both of them, if anything, they gave you hope your own match may be out there. She left you in the tub alone, as she went to grab herself another drink and check on her host duties boyfriend.

"Don't you find drinking whilst already in water the weirdest thing?" you look up to find Harry standing over your right shoulder as you sit with your back against the pool wall and your elbows propping you up behind you, drink in one hand. His eyes unsubtley slip down to where your breasts lay pushed together in your halter neck bikini. You definitely weren't imagining it then. Fucking fantastic, you think.

"I mean drowning yourself on the inside from the alcohol and being in more than 4 inches of water really adds a danger element to my life if I'm honest" you reply sipping your drink.

And there goes those dimples again.

He's just in a pair of yellow swimming shorts now which doesn't help the alcohol flush at all. Sitting by your right side, putting his short glass full of amber liquid and ice, on the side of the pool and sliding in to join you. He leaves a small gap, as to not appear a total letch but your smart mouth has him hooked.

Taking a sip of his drink with the water up to his collar bones he hums.

"I do feel incredibly dangerous now, you've got a point"

"I mean if you think that's danger" you edge closer, not drunk but buzzed enough to take your chances you whisper into the shell of his ear. "You should see what thrills are in the guest bathroom. 1st floor on the right? " he chokes on his drink as your suggestive whispers make his dick twitch. He definitely couldn't get out of the pool for a while.

You're gone before you get a verbal reaction. If this all goes badly then you can just hide in there and slip out to an Uber and never see Jeff again right? Right. Cool.

With a soft white towel around you and your heart rate high as you reach the main guest bedroom you enter the room, you notice a large weekend bag in there and freeze. Shit. Someone's staying over, you hadn't factored that in, but a glance to the tag and the embossed H. E. S tells you you're good. Well, if not you'll just be a creep hiding in someone's bathroom but let's not think about it too much. Your faux confidence was working well so far and what other chance was going to arise like this one? Hot celebrities need fun with strangers too right?

Entering the bathroom you rub the towel over you, leaving mostly dry skin. You'd peel away your bikini if you were definite you wouldn't need to peel it back up your limbs should this plan backfire. You move to the mirror to adjust the black flecks from your minimal makeup dispersing under your eye and just as you're about to smooth down the stray baby hairs that humidity has got to around your face, you see Harry appear in the mirror behind you. Your belly flipping over and over with the thrill he'd took the bait.

Wasting no time he smirks and holds your gaze, wrapping his hands around your waist whilst his lips attach to the junction of your neck and collarbone. His tongue drags over your soft skin and he licks and softly sucks swirls onto it with his plush lips.

"Hm. You're right. This is a more fun type of danger" he says between kisses but before he's even finished his sentence you've spun around in his arms.

The bottom of your spine cold against the marble countertop, arms around his neck as you smash your lips into one another's with urgency. Tongues and wet noises as you get to know one another through your bodies alone.

He runs his hands down your back and presses his hard length against your thigh. He's definitely packing you think as you lift up a little rub your pubic bone against his front, panting out a little moan as the sweet friction of your bodies colliding sends you into overdrive. Catching the noise through your parted lips he gently tugs on the bottom one, teeth grazing the supple flesh. This combined with his large palms kneading your ass and pulling you further, tighter, into the roll of his hips. Only two layers of damp clothing separate you,forcing your lips to break from his mouth and fully moan, not caring who may be around. You could not remember the last time a perfect stranger knew your body quite this well.

His own grunts were speeding up when he suddenly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you up beside the sink, you gasp in shock but it was more the way the lean man thrusted you up there like it was nothing. What else could he do? You expect him to go back to kissing you but instead he pulls back with his rock hard erection outlined in the wet shorts he still has on. Looking at you dead in the eyes both raging with lust and concern. Whilst you try not to worry how you were going to accommodate him inside your tight walls.

"Is this…? I mean, you want this too right?" his hands are resting at either side of your parted thighs. You nod. "Need you to say it Y/N" he steps forward, lips wet and brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip that was now puffy and pink from the earlier biting. He knew you were down to fuck, but now he wanted to test your preferences. What kind of fun you were about to have shall we say. So when you lick his thumb tip, holding his fist still and grazing your wet tongue up and down from knuckle to tip before closing your eyes and humming around the entire digit, he knew you were both in for a good time.

Removing the thumb he whispers a barely audible "fuck me" before smashing your lips back together, tongues massaging together as he peels your underwear to the side with his hand swiftly and presses digit you'd lubricated with your mouth against your clit, moving it fast from side to side with just the right amount of pressure to make your head spin. Gasping, you throw your head back, hands clasped around his neck as you lean back and feel yourself start to leak a little with arousal. The few spots dripping down on to the counter.

You could say it had been a while but really this guy was moving his way round your body in the same way you tune a guitar in key. Calloused fingers applying the right amount of pressure as you felt yourself start to get to the edge already. He was kissing down the front if your chest, between your breasts, not missing a beat when he pushed both triangles of your bikini aside and you moaned loudly as he kissed and sucked hard around your nipple, tentatively pulling it between his teeth firmly, the sound you let out made him clamp a little harder before sucking in the whole nipple again, soothing the skin his tongue. Most likely leaving a mark behind, but you kind of liked the idea of proof he'd been devouring you in all honesty.

You were becoming blissed out from all the stimulation. Clenching and moving your hips around nothing but this magical thumb working your clit up and down hard. You were overcome with this whole situation playing out the way it had. You broke away from his mouth again.

"Oh fuck.. Harry, I'm… FuckFuck I'm going to come, I'm gonna fucking… Ahhh" he pulled back one arm steadying you as your head hit the mirror behind you in your release. He just watched you and slowed his thumb down watching as the liquid cascaded onto the counter.

After you'd come down you open your eyes and shyly smiled before kissing him passionately, his hands moving around your waist tightly. You moved your hand to his shorts, teasingly grazing the outline of his cock between your fingers in hopes of repaying the favour. He does a single throaty laugh and removes your hand, holding himself against his thigh. You look at him in confusion when he splutters,

"Sorry, sorry its just I'm going t'blow my load if you touch me." then he's back on your lips "Too. Fucking. Sexy" he says between wet kisses to your jaw, neck and clavicle. "Wanted to do this since I first set eyes on you" one hand is on the back of his neck twisting nape curls between your fist whilst the other rests behind you, stopping you from hitting your head on the mirror again.

"Oh yeah? Before or after I ruined your clothes?" you laugh teasingly as he slides his hands around your back to finally remove the bikini top properly, lifting it up over your head and tossing it aside somewhere on the floor. He let's a laugh out himself completely entranced still by how natural you are around him, it was often hard to connect with strangers in his position.

"I'd spotted you walking in, was trying to open the door for you m'love" he says before sucking a red mark into your breast and massaging and pulling the other nipple slightly with his hand.

You struggle through sharp intakes of breath for a reply.

"Well….ah...that's what chivalry.. Oh.. Get's you these days I guess" and you're both laughing a little.

"Hmm. Have to try harder with my manners then won't I? I mean, I've got to clear up the mess I've made here" he cups his hand against your pussy rubbing it up and down a little with his palm. You let out a guttural noise at the friction. "Ladies first and all'tha too right?" he giggles again at himself.

You're practically cumming right then, you couldn't remember the last time someone actually went down on you. Your previous boyfriend not particularly into offering you foreplay. A main point of why he didn't stick around too long.

Harry kisses down your abdomen now, soft sloppy, sensual pecks, humming into your skin every so often in appreciation as he works at removing your soaked bikini bottoms with his hands, pushing them down to your knees before you help, letting them fall from the remaining ankle to the ground.

Harry is moving far too slow for you, kissing across each hip down to the top of your slit, breathing over where you desperately need him before paying the other side the same attention. Then he's licking up each crease where your thigh meets your pelvis.

"Y/N, just.. Just turn, that's it and lean back as far as you can there, shuffle forward until can't balance anymore" you shift your ass as forward as possible on the lip of the sink and prop yourself up on your elbows trying to be as flat as possible on the cold counter as you could, your toes behind the sink with one foot the other dangling over the edge. You keep you thighs open as Harry hunches over the counter where you now lay diagonal. He places his arms under your thighs and bends your legs flat out as he can stretch you, you're expecting some more teasing but he just looks down at your pussy licking over his lips and almost whining before burying his tongue inside you immediately. The force of his tongue lapping up your previous climax causes you once again to knock the side of your head against the mirrored wall. You turn and watch the scene almost as a spectator, witnessing yourself bare to this beautiful man, curly brown hair between your fists and making sounds like he's savouring every taste. He catches you watching before taking his mouth off you, immediately, you're whining in protest.

"Watch my eyes not my reflection baby, I'm right here"

His authoritative tone eclipsing every thought you had about the casual nickname, you stared down at the wonderful site of him lapping and suckling on your clit. Pointed tongue and firm laps against the swollen button. He then starts lapping up at your glistening hole,unhooking an arm to spread your lips open between his fingers and licking right from the bottom to the top with all the sloppy wet noises involved. He was feeling you contract as he locked faster and faster over you. His tongue deserved an award never mind his music. You couldn't believe you were on the brink of a second orgasm so quickly but when he sunk his middle finger into you at the same pace his tongue was working at, you were screaming his name into the extractor fan above before you knew it. You felt waves of liquid cascade from your pussy as he gently lapped up the produce of his work from you. You flinched in overstimulation but he cleaned up every last drop tenderly before carefully closing your legs and pivoting you round to your previous sitting up position on the counter. Neither of you had spoken a word since you came but as he leads your arms to drape over your shoulders, holding your fucked out body against his chest whilst peppering your temple with soft pecks . Then he kisses you intensely, letting you taste the sweet juices of yourself on his lips. You hummed in approval of the sweet taste as you came round.

A few minutes of carnal making out and things were heating up again. Your hands cupping his jaw then sliding to graze fingernails up and down his back, digging them in a little harder now and again and causing goosebumps to pierce through the skin rapidly under your touch.

You could feel him swallowing down grunts from the friction he was getting from his shorts covered cock brushing up and down between your slick folds.

He'd made you cum twice. Hard. He always got off of making his partners cum of course, so he was feeling beyond turned on and the slight heat of your glistening folds against his length was almostvsending him over the edge.

"I want you inside me" you whispered against his lips desperately.

No sooner had you said the words, his left hand was frantically searching through the vanities top drawer in hope. Finding a packet, checking the date quickly then tearing it between his teeth, spitting the seal onto the floor and pushing his shorts to his ankles, stepping out of them at speed before kicking them away.

He smirked when he caught your eyes bulge at his cock. He knew it was above average but the reaction was always a further compliment he thought.

Stepping forward he put on a show of putting the condom on, first rubbing the drops of sticky pre cum at the head and down his length keeping his eyes locked to yours as you wriggled on the counter with anticipation. He whined a little as it squeezed him rolling it on, so red and over sensitive from turning you on. So that's why, when you grabbed for it, he stilled your hand. Dimples appearing back in his cheeks as you looked again in confusion. He kisses you, languishing the moment before grabbing you forward from the countertop to the floor again, still keeping your lips attached. He lightly grips at your hips and turns you round to face the mirror once more.

Harry lightly grabs your throat, and the way you whimper and push your ass back against him, makes him mentally bank that idea for later perhaps. He runs his left hand up the column of your neck lightly holding your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him with his hand on your face and the other already working up and down your folds.

"I want you to watch us. Want you to watch yourself come apart. Want to watch you cum around my cock yeah? " he whispers in your ear. You noticeably shiver with excitement of what's to come.

"Please Harry, please, need it, need you."

You watch yourself babble and beg for his cock. The pathetic whimper from yourself as you try and circle your ass into his crotch again to encourage it happening. You were never patient and he's driving you insane here.

Bringing two fingers infront of your lips as you watch yourself in the mirror he looks you dead in the eye through the reflection.

"Spit" so you do, "good girl" he says kissing your cheek. His saliva lubed fingers are back rubbing your clit quickly whilst his knee nudges the back of yours to spread your feet wider as he kisses the back of your neck and shoulders. When he pauses next you're not expecting the hard thrust of him entering you entirely, sure you were dripping wet with the result of two orgasms but you cry out in a mix of stretch and pleasure as he pounds into you at a furious pace. His spare hand not on your clit is holding the bottom of your spine down as he keeps up his rhythm. His pace was that of a man desperate for release after watching you fall apart on his fingers and tongue. The build up meant he was already close as you tight walls fluttered around him. He pleads with you to stop tightening your walls around him or he's not going to last he whimpers.

You were already close again, you'd never cum this many times or this quickly in your life but you were ready for another round and by the sounds of him and the stutter his pace kept slipping you knew he was close too.

You quickly removed his hand, sucking your own fingers into your mouth to replace his own at your clit.

"M'gonna cum, but… OhOh fuck.. But need you harder. Deeper" you manage to get out.

He grunts a curse before squeezing your hips at a pressure that will leave marks tomorrow but the delight in the speed he was now able to snap his hips against the swells of your ass, was well worth it. It only took a few more seconds with the fingers that knew you best, for you to gush against his cock. Feeling absolutely exhausted you slump your sweaty chest onto the cold counter.

His orgasm taking him by surprise when you clenched up to milk him dry. He all but shouts your name as his hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his cum fill the one barrier between you.

His lips were back on your sweaty neck for a second whilst he disposed of the used condom. He ran the walk in shower and wordlessly you took his offered hand to join him under the hot spray. You'd never had an encounter end like this before not that you were a seasoned professional but after 3 orgasms the way his hands moved round your body under the water, washing away your antics with sweet strawberry-banana smelling suds on the flannel, left you with a warm floaty feeling the worn off alcohol never had.

He gently wipes your makeup from under your eyes then, smiling at the cute way your nose wrinkles slightly as he rubs at each eyebrow.

"I don't even have words" you finally laugh out blushing, not able to stand his gauge as you say it.

"Oh. So that's how to make that smart mouth o'yours stop is it? " he grins, you gasp in mock offense and go to say something but going under your chin with his thumb with his forefinger to connect your lips under the warm water spray he kisses you when you pull away you can't help but ask.

"So does this make us even on one ruined fancy vest then?"

"Hmmmm" he ponders with both hands on your face looking at the ceiling out if the falling water. " I'm not sure, I mean it was a custom, pretty high going rate those yeah"

"Yeahhhh you're right, you're right. Better factor in the cost of the custom job then hadn't I huh?"

You hurriedly sink to your knees on the tiled floor.

#harry styles #1d #harries #one direction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fandom #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #summer feeling fic challenge

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jhoudiey · 4 years ago

Text

You like to play God, don't you?

Wrote this fic a while back, #ChickenChallenge starts trending on magicam again, and Yoru ends up trying to distract herself with her friends. Ends up watching Jade as he builds a terrarium, and ends with dumb and dumber fluff. 1825 words.

hey you’re that chicken girl from NRC right?

Yoru stared at her phone. Idia had finally updated it so that she was able to use it freely, her hands no longer an issue on the touch screen. She normally didn’t pay attention to notifications, but had texted him earlier that night hoping to hang out, instead her magicam had exploded, messages popping in so quickly she could hardly keep track

show me ur feet

where else do you have feathers?

check it out, I’ve got weird feet too!

Whoa! Is that from a magic accident!? Crazy!!

omg ur disgustingggggg!!!!

you fucking freak!

ahahahaha no way your real. You’re like a chicken!!!!

can you send me a pic of your chicken feet? They’re so freaky I wanna show my friend!

you ever jerked a guy off with those? Do you want to?

She stared at the picture of the penis in her inbox with disgust, is this how normal people communicated? Why were all these people she didn’t know suddenly messaging her anyway? It was already past midnight, didn’t they have anything better to do? She exited her messages and found there had been a series of throwback posts from NRC Halloween, #ChickenChallenge was trending again. She sighed and closed the application, having lived through that once had been enough, she had no desire to repeat the experience online.

Idia still hadn’t texted her back, but her mood was soured. Focusing on her alchemy work wasn’t enough to distract her from the constant buzzing coming from her phone.

“Fuck this” she grumbled, throwing her phone onto her bed before launching herself out the window. She didn’t need to wait for a text back from Idia, she’d just show up, the same as always.

As luck would have it, however, Idia was busy. He wasn’t gaming as was usual for him at this time of night, but was in the middle of a video chat with Vita, making it much more awkward to sit in the corner of his room quietly. She didn’t want to know what they talked about when it was just the two of them. She wandered back out of the dorm, hesitating in the Hall of Mirrors. It was late, she should just go home...but… he might still be awake too.

She knocked on the door tucked down the halls of Octavinelle dorm, silently cursing herself for going down there in the first place.

“Come in”

Jade welcomed her into his and Floyd’s shared room, a small smile painted on his lips. He was in his pajamas, though clearly invested in building a terrarium, plants and stones laid out carefully on his desk in front of him. She spied Floyd, his pajama shirt discarded on the floor beside his bed, fast asleep curled around one of his pillows facing away from them. He’d likely turned away from the lamp light Jade had kept on as he worked.

“Ahh, I guess it is too late, I’ll go” Yoru mumbled looking between them, she’d never gotten along comfortably with Jade.

“You can stay. I don’t mind, Yoru-san,” He held his hand out to offer Floyd's desk chair to her “Would you care to join me? Clearly something is the matter or you wouldn’t have come by so late. I do know how much you loathe to be here.”

She hesitated.

If she stayed, she’d have to deal with his casual cruelty and observant eye, if she left she may have to deal with another dozen messages about how she was a disgusting bird freak who really should be embarrassed to look like that, not that she needed the reminder. She sighed and crawled onto the chair, her legs tucked in against her body, arms clutched around them as she watched Jade work. He was meticulous.

Like everything he did, every movement was measured, everything planned well in advance to come together just as he imagined it.

“Is this what you normally spend your weekends doing?” She asked, her eyes following his graceful hands as he arranged some moss.

“Hmm, it is something I am quite fond of, yes.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it be better to keep a garden or something? What’s the point of this?”

He laughed quietly.

“This is what humans call ‘a hobby’ I believe. The point is to enjoy it, Yoru-san.”

She rested her chin on her knees, her eyes drifting across his desk to the discarded pieces of clothing on the floor near Floyd's bed. She felt Jade watching her and turned her gaze back to him.

“But why do you enjoy it? What’s so good about building a tiny garden in a jar?”

“You mean what’s so entertaining about creating and controlling an entire ecosystem one can hold in their hands? I wonder…”

She snorted.

“Ahhh, so it’s just something else you can manipulate. Makes sense.” She grinned at him, his hands expertly arranging rocks along the bottom of the jar.

“How cruel, Yoru-san, to suggest my innocent hobby is anything but… I can’t deny the implications though.”

“Hah, so you admit it then. No wonder you like it...” She chuckled, her eyes wandering once again to Floyds sleeping form, his back slowly rising and falling with his breaths.

“Admit it? No, I simply enjoy when certain things go as planned” He smirked at her. He’d caught her wandering eyes twice now, though she was trying to hide it. She hadn’t come here to see him, after all. She faced him again, not wanting to meet his eyes instead focusing on his hands.

“Do you ever add bones?”

“Oya? What is it you’re trying to imply, Yoru-san?”

“...They’d be good for the soil. I can bring you some, if you need.”

“I suppose that would raise fewer questions than gathering them myself...Thank you.”

“Mmmm” She nodded with her head still on her knees, content to watch him in silence. He was building a whole planet before her, a God playing with nature to whatever suited his whim. A rock here, moss there… no wait… over there instead. It was fascinating and tedious at the same time. His hands weaved patterns from nothing, a garden blossoming from his fingertips. She felt her attention slipping and closed her eyes, the soft tinkling of his tools being drowned out by the slow tide of Floyd's slumbering breath. She tilted her head towards him, her own breathing slowing to match his like the sea lazily lapping at the shore.

“Why don’t you lie down with him, Yoru-san? I don’t mind” Jades voice cut through her dreamy haze, jolting her upright.

“What? No. Huh?” She stuttered, horrified that Jade had somehow known the comfort she felt in that moment. “I’ve gotta go, I must have fallen asleep. Bye Jade” She hurried to leave, bumping into Floyd's desk in her haste. The precariously stacked books toppled over and fell to the floor, making an awful racket in the near silent bedroom.

“Oh shit, sorry!’ She whispered in a panic, hoping she hadn’t woken Floyd. She scooped to pick the books up, her wings threatening to topple the chair she had been sitting in just moments ago. Jade laughed as he watched her struggle.

“Fufufu, Yoru-san. You seem quite flustered, did something I say upset you? Perhaps my suggestion to sleep with Floyd-”

“No!” She yammered quickly. Too quickly. “No, I’m just tired. I have to go!” She pushed the books back onto the desk haphazardly and turned to leave, hoping that Jade hadn’t caught sight of her face, red as it was sure to be. How could he have known what she was thinking?

“Hmmpppfff” Floyd whined, wrapping his arms around her waist, his face buried in feathers. “You’re too loud, Fugu-chan, be more quiet”

Jade smirked at the pair of them as Yoru struggled to free herself from his grasp. Floyd whined into her back, dragging her into his bed so he could go back to sleep.

“Yoru-san, it’s better if you don’t fight him, he can be quite insistent when he wants something” She knew he was right. To get free she’d have to peel him off of her, and with how tightly he held her it would be hard, Floyd really was too damn strong. She sighed and stopped resisting, feeling her feet leave the floor as he flipped her over him to settle her between his body and the wall.

He murmured wordlessly as he shifted around her wings, careful not to pull out any feathers accidentally. He settled between them, his head resting slightly above hers, his face nestled in her hair, body pressed tightly against hers. She was glad Jade couldn’t see her anymore, she could feel him watching them still, but with their faces turned away from him he wouldn’t be able to read her expression. She felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest, she was sure Floyd must have felt it too, though if he did he made no mention of it. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she had come over, all she had wanted was to chat a bit, to forget about the people on magicam trying to ruin her night. She had to admit though… This was nice too. Ever since spring break they’d been more comfortable with each other physically, Floyd often clinging to her whenever he slept over, but so far that hadn’t left the confines of her bedroom. No one ever saw how often she clung back, she’d made sure to disengage from his grasp before he woke whenever she found herself too near him. It was much too embarrassing to be found like this, her face burning again knowing that Jade was probably enjoying himself immensely, proven right yet again.

The lamp clicked off, Jade finally retiring, Yoru felt herself finally relaxing. Her body jolted as tension left her, and she laid her arms across Floyd's, drawing lazy circles on the backs of his hands with her fingers. He sighed into her hair and pressed himself against her a little tighter at her touch, fast asleep once more. Yoru closed her eyes knowing it wasn’t safe to fall asleep where she lay, she had to get up and go home or she’d never hear the end of it. 5 more minutes then you have to go home she told herself, but it really was very comfortable, laying with Floyd like this.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Euuuggggghhhh Jaaaaade, turn your alarm offffff” Floyd complained loudly. He was close...too close. Yoru’s eyes snapped open with a start, she’d fallen asleep in his arms.

“Ahhh, I must have forgotten to turn it off. My apologies, you two fufufu”

“Mmmmm~ good morning, Fugu-chan” Floyd murmured as he tightened himself around her once more. She felt him smile as he nuzzled his face into the nape of her neck, her face blazed red once more.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #yoru crowley #jade leech #floyd leech #dumb and dumber #canon x oc #spent all afternoon working on my new oc i forgot i wanted to post this today #whoops #amon coming soon tho

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slipping-through-my-fingertips · 4 years ago

Text

Music for the Soul

Summary: Soulmate AU where the song your soulmate is thinking of gets stuck in your head.

This fic is inspired by and gifted to @yellowpaintpots.

Notes: canonical, this is S2 E6 and a little beyond but it’s not exactly like the show obviously.

AO3

Kurt Hummel was used to not fitting in. At McKinley High, he was often an odd man out. He did partner projects alone, he held his tongue around bullies and had no one to complain to, and most days, he had an entire lunch table to himself. No one sat with the kid in weird, homemade clothes unless there was no other choice.

What kept him going was music. He had one earbud in as he walked down the halls. Choosing from playlists his mother used to listen to, Broadway soundtracks sung by people still performing on stage today, and to the thrill of his father, rock classics. If Burt Hummel had passed anything onto his son, it was his music tastes and the fantastical idea of soulmates.

The image of a white knight coming to save him by serenade was one that haunted him before he fell asleep. A boy, which little eleven-year-old Kurt held close to his heart, picked out by the universe meant just for him. Even when he started to find the fantasy a little too cheesy, it kept Kurt going until he found the glee club.

No one could touch him or change him because there was someone out there who would love him exactly the way he was.

The New Directions were a hot mess when they started, of course. The 5 of them weren’t winning any competitions when they first found themselves in the choir room but they were five misfits who finally had friends. People who understood the passion of music and an adult who shared that same passion and would hopefully guide them to their dream futures.

Just months later, they became a mixture of a dozen sophomores and freshmen with a Sectionals win under their belt all ready to face the Dalton Academy Warblers in a few weeks. With Regionals looming over them, glee had become much messier than usual. With plenty of in-fighting about solos and song choices, the choir room was always a jumbled, loud mess. That is until Mr. Schue came up with the idea for a school musical. It was taking their minds off of Regionals for the time being.

Kurt was all too happy to be auditioning for a role instead of sitting in the back row wishing he had a shot at a solo. His voice was too unique for Ohio. But someday, he knew, it would get him to Broadway. He held that thought close to his heart while tuning out Rachel’s insistence bickering.

Yesterday, Mr. Schue had decided their school musical was going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Kurt loved cult classics as much as the next person but he wasn’t sure how Mr. Schue had gotten this approved by Figgins. It seemed too risqué for high schoolers.

He only hoped whoever his soulmate was enjoying the soundtrack he had stuck in his head this week.

Kurt planned on auditioning for Riff Raff. Already putting mental outfits from his closet to wear. The wound of Mr. Schue assuming he’d play Frank N. Furter based solely on the fact that he was gay was still fresh but his audition was going to blow everyone away.

He had chosen “Dammit Janet” for his audition despite it being a Brad and Janet duet. Quinn, who was hoping for Magenta, was going to be his partner. They had joked about the main roles already being off the table before auditions; it was clear Mr. Schue had chosen Finn and Rachel for the leads. It was hard to be upset when Quinn had instantly offered to do a joint audition with him. Their voices went so well together and Kurt liked spending time with her.

Ever since Kurt and Mercedes had their stint as Cheerios, they had gotten closer. The three of them even had a weekend sleepover this past Saturday. Mercedes had dumped the Cheerios but Kurt stayed on and Quinn had just gotten back on the squad after her dismissal last year. Coach Sue had them sing during practice last week and Quinn was waiting for him after their showers with the suggestion of a double audition song.

They had been having rehearsals in the auditorium during their shared free period and twice after glee club on days when it wasn’t already reserved. As the day came closer, Quinn offered her house to practice in since her parents were rarely home and so Finn wouldn’t become Rachel's spy. Though, Kurt assured her Finn was much too engrossed in video games to bother with their rehearsals.

Since they increased their run-throughs, Kurt’s had one song in his head all morning. In case the lyrics weren’t already ingrained into his head, he had his own little concert in his head. Just after lunch, that changed. A mere 3 hours until his audition after school his soulmate’s music had taken root. As much as Kurt was willing to bow down to the queens of pop, what he wouldn’t give for 5 minutes of something other than Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream”. This bubble gum pop song had gone from ‘oh, that’s a good song to scream in the car’ to ‘if I hear it one more time, I’ll rip my ears off’ fairly quickly.

It hadn’t helped that his brain went from one song on repeat to another.

As he sits in geometry, he tries to hear Mr. Finnegan’s explanation of arcs but his brain has other plans.

Let you put your hands on me in my skin tight jeans.

Kurt knows it’s just a song but the image is so clear in his head.

Smooth, soft skin. Obviously, someone who used lotions regularly, Kurt expected nothing less from his soulmate. Neatly trimmed fingernails so they wouldn’t catch on Kurt’s pants when fingers trailed up to cup his knee. The grip would be teasingly light. He never let his fantasies get too far. Especially outside the privacy of his bedroom. In all honesty, even when he was alone in his bed at night envisioning the same kind of scenario, Kurt didn’t really know what came next. He wasn’t even sure what kissing really entailed.

What if his soulmate is ready for...certain things...Kurt’s not even to verbalize yet. What if he’s imagining their first meeting very differently then Kurt, who’s hopeful they’ll have coffee or a meal together before they do anything besides maybe hand-holding. The touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets, unless you ask Katy Perry it seems.

He spends the rest of math wondering what the boy with Katy Perry in his head must look like. Kurt wonders if his soulmate wears bright colors like his idol or maybe Katy is a secret shame that he’ll only share with Kurt.

…

Blaine liked fitting in. He enjoyed the uniform for many reasons. One, he thought the blazer looked stylish. It was also nice knowing what you had to wear every day, one less thing to worry about people judging you for. Plenty of people at his old school picked on him for his bow ties but at Dalton, everyone had neckwear. The standard blue and red striped tie. He liked how neat it was; there was a certain way to wear said uniform.

Everyone was the same here. No typical hierarchy of jocks and cheerleaders. Only the Warblers stood out simply because everyone knew them.

How could you forget a group of boys singing acapella at all hours of the day?

Blaine might joke that they’re teenage rockstars but really they are just a group of talented guys who liked to sing.

The Warblers were the first real friends he ever had.

When he was still attending public school he held tightly to the idea of his soulmate since it seemed hopeless to wish for friendship. Not when he was being harassed for a sexuality he wasn’t sure of yet and being pushed to the ground in the parking lot for it.

But a soulmate was a guarantee. Everyone had one. By the time Blaine reached eighth grade, he knew. All of those middle school bullies had used words Blaine didn’t quite understand until that moment.

He was surrounded in the parking lot after school having missed his bus because someone had stuck gum in his curls during last period. That was the day Blaine started to seriously consider investing in some gel. Maybe that would prevent some bullying. Anyway, he was surrounded, being literally kicked around by a group of soccer players and friends.

Other students had gathered to watch the so-called fight but Blaine thought their chants would only grab the attention of a teacher or so he hoped. No one came quickly. He had enough injuries by the end for his mom to insist on a trip to the ER. A big black eye and sprained his wrist along with plenty of bruising on his limbs.

But he honestly didn’t remember getting hurt beyond the initial pushing to the ground. When the bullying got bad like this he pulled out those daydreams. This time around it wasn’t this blurry image of hand holding, there was a boy. Blaine hadn’t seen his face but his voice was soft and comforting, inviting Blaine in. There was an outstretched hand just out of reach for Blaine to take. Blaine knew then. His soulmate was a boy.

When everything was over and he was being released by the doctor, all he knew was there was some boy built perfectly for Blaine just waiting to be found. Waiting for him.

He hadn’t even been upset by his injuries because he was sitting with these thoughts of ‘how do I come out to my parents?’

Instead of deciding that day, he kept those daydreams close to his heart for the next year and a half. Until the issue of high school came out and Blaine didn’t want to go back to public school. To his surprise, both of his parents took it well. They were more concerned for his safety than his sexuality. Together, they decided on Dalton. A private school with a zero tolerance policy for bullies. That was that.

He still had his doubts at Dalton. Was he really good enough to be a lead soloist let alone go onto Broadway someday? Could he make it out of Ohio? In those moments, Blaine still came back to his soulmate. Someone, no matter what came, Blaine would have by his side.

When he imagined his soulmate, Blaine could never truly figure out what he’d look like. All he saw was that outstretched hand. Usually, people could draw up a picture in their heads based on the music they heard.

For Blaine, the genre of music didn’t help. His soulmate was clearly someone with mixed taste.

Today’s selection was...a musical. Blaine wasn’t familiar with the characters Brad and Janet but he had looked it up at lunch. Some kind of cult classic people went to see in the weeks leading up to Halloween. It was October so it made sense for the soundtrack to be stuck in his soulmate’s head. Blaine wondered if he had gone to see it, wondered who he saw it with.

The Warblers thought he was crazy. Imagining that his soulmate was off with some other person. It was rare to date seriously before meeting a soulmate but Blaine always told them the same story of his parents. Both of them had been in very serious relationships before they met. Hell, his mother had been engaged. Neither of them thought they’d meet their soulmate, which was also fairly rare but had happened.

When they met, they didn’t drop everything to be together. The wedding was put on hold but his father hadn’t broken up with his girlfriend right away. His parents wanted to be together only if they agreed with the universe’s choice.

Blaine knew his dad had been wary of his mother’s music taste. Pam had been deep into her metal phrase in her early twenties. His dad, Robert, was not a fan. He loved classical music. Forever dooming Pam to hum music without lyrics meanwhile Robert was cursed with “nonsense yelling” as he called it. Lucky, both of their music tastes had shifted over the years to have more overlap. Though, Blaine and Cooper had been subjected to dinners with a mixtape of Def Leppard and Bach.

They got together in the end, which was the important part, but what if they hadn’t chosen each other? What if Blaine’s soulmate was deeply in love with someone else and he’d spend the rest of his days loveless and alone?

When he voiced these thoughts aloud, his friends usually told him what a downer he could be, which tended to shake those fears away. If his parents, different as they were, still fell in love it would happen to him too. It was just a matter of when.

…

The next day at lunch, Mercedes was fretting over her soulmate.

“What if he’s super young, Kurt?”

“What makes you think that?” He asked, stabbing his salad.

“He’s got The Backyardigans theme song in his head again,” she sighed. “He got to be like 7. I’m just not comfortable with that.”

“It’s an age gap for sure,” Kurt agreed, but he’s fairly sure Sam Evans was singing that song after PE today, “or maybe he just has younger siblings. Don’t let your only-childness cloud your judgment.”

She hummed in agreement and pushed her tater tots around.

It was sort of a hard way to figure out your soulmate unless they were obvious about what music they had playing in their heads.

Some people, like Mr. Schue, we’re pretty obvious. He had been singing in the auditorium when Ms. Pillsbury found him. It was a pretty clear-cut match. As far as Mercedes was concerned, Kurt is sure she’ll overhear Sam’s humming soon enough.

He doesn’t want to spoil anything for his best friend nor does he want to be wrong. Soulmate meetings only come once in a lifetime.

Well, the first soulmate meeting that is.

There are plenty of people, like his dad, who lose a soulmate too soon and are gifted another one later in life. Kurt was so happy when he introduced Burt and Carole at parent-teacher conferences. They had just been listening to the Wicked soundtrack in the car ride over and Carole Hudson did not strike Kurt as the type of person who knew “I’m Not That Girl” by heart.

“Are you nervous about auditions?” Mercedes asked. “The list goes up today after glee.”

“Not at all like,” he shrugged, “I think Quinn and I did well.”

“Oh no, Kurt, we crushed it,” Quinn said, sitting down with her lunch.

He smiled at her. Quinn went on to compliment Mercedes on her audition, having heard part of it from outside the audition. She would’ve been inside with Kurt to watch but Coach Sue wanted to meet with her head Cheerio about their upcoming competition. From what Quinn had told them via text, Sue was going all out at practice today.

“She doesn’t want us to be late,” Quinn said. “That list better be up right away.”

“We should change before glee,” Kurt suggested.

“Good idea.”

Once Quinn had sat down the rest of the New Directions filed in. With interlocking pinkies, Santana and Brittany wandered over taking the last two seats available.

“Cheerios practice is gonna be hell, hope you’re up for the challenge Hummel,” Santana said.

He shot her a short glare.

“Kurt always understands the assignment, Santana,” Quinn quipped back.

Brittany nodded in agreement smiling at Kurt from across the table. She gave him a small wave half hidden by her lunch tray. In return, Kurt waved back just as shyly.

They had an interesting friendship. Kurt had kissed Brittany before. He was sure it hadn’t phrased Brittany as it had him. After all, she had kissed almost every boy in school. Some kind of record, he thought.

They sort of dated for like a week when Kurt was trying to convince himself he was straight. When he firmly realized he was kidding no one, not even himself, they broke up. Since then, he and Brittany had remained close. They were both Cheerios and in the glee club, it made sense.

He was happy to have Brittany in his life, even if that meant Santana by extension came with her. Santana was fine outside of the public eye. If the Unholy Trinity incited Kurt to their sleepovers, Santana was a different person. She put up a front at McKinley, extremely similar to the one Kurt attempted when he dated Brittany.

Few are privy to why she did this, Quinn and Kurt knew and he was fairly certain Mercedes did as well. She was very perceptive that way. Brittany was Santana’s soulmate. It explained so much about their relationship. Always in sync, completing each other perfectly, a literal better half.

Honestly, it gave Kurt so much hope that everyone’s soulmate was like that. A missing puzzle piece.

He really hoped his soulmate listened to more than just Teenage Dream because the lyrics were slowly creeping into his everyday language.

Usually, Kurt found himself hyper-focused in glee club. He got an energy boost just from walking into the choir room. Like a light switch turning on. His focus wasn’t always on whatever lecture Mr. Schue was pursuing, sometimes he watched his fellow glee clubbers (catching himself up on drama just by sideways glances), or mentally mapping out his next performance.

Today, Kurt wasn’t able to do any of those things. With the soundtrack of Teenage Dream (again) in his head, all he was thinking about was the center of a bulletin board with the cast list for The Rocky Horror Show on it. How far down the list was Riff Raff? How many names came before his?

Someone was snapping in front of his face. Kurt shook himself from his daydream to find Mercedes.

“Boy, wake up!” She said, “cast list is about to go up.”

Either glee club had gotten shorter or Mr. Schue was putting it up early.

…

Blaine didn’t really understand why the Warblers were concerned. Doing an improv performance was not new to them. In fact, Blaine had done three already this school year and he was only a freshman.

The first one he did had been way back in September, he hadn’t even been an official Warbler yet. Warbler Tradition said: all potential freshman recruits were required to perform again after their auditions with the whole group. It was a solid way to see if they fit in well with the other established Warblers. Blaine fondly remembers vibing along with the older Warblers and fellow potentials to a medley of Pink songs. None of the freshmen had solos but it was still a fun time.

At the time it seemed like all of Dalton fit into the choir room and surrounding hallways but in reality it was the entire freshman class. Improv performances weren’t something any middle schooler had seen before but the upperclassmen of Dalton knew the Warblers had plenty of improvs to come for the rest of the school year. The first one was special. Just for the newbies.

Three days after that performance, Blaine had gotten word that he was to be a new Warbler and two months after that he was granted his first solo. Now, he was slowly becoming their go-to soloist for almost every performance for an audience. Blaine had become a vital part of all rehearsals for the most part. He was honored by their commitment to him honestly and he loved to sing however, a week and half of preparations was a tad excessive. Still, he walked his way to rehearsal positive that the council would have at least five points to discuss before they actually started singing.

He walked into the choir room shaking his shake fondly and smiling at the Warblers already present.

The council were always first to arrive. Together. Then it was a mixed bag of who followed. Usually Trent was there, punctual as always, and Blaine took the seat between Trent and Jeff.

The room was mostly full already.

Nick came in shortly after Blaine and sat across from him immediately asking if there had been a pop quiz in Stanton’s class earlier and was rather relieved to find out Jeremy was a filthy liar, who liked to start trouble. Before Jeremy could get on Blaine’s case about being overly sincere, the meeting began.

Wes banged his gavel and welcomed everyone before gesturing for David to read off last meeting’s notes. Once the talking portion of the meeting was over, they pushed the furniture aside to make room.

...

A week later Kurt was happy to have one musical under his belt but thankful the performance run had been short. If you thought the New Directions were dramatic during competition weeks, it was nothing compared to their musical rehearsals.

Now, Mr. Schue was having the brilliant idea to host a boys vs girls competition. Of course, Kurt hadn’t wanted to work with the boys. They were sure to exclude his musical talents and he doubted he could get them to agree to any of his costume suggestions.

This was hardly a challenge. It was bland and they had done it already.

Kurt was sitting in the back of the choir room pouting. Yes, pouting. Full on arms crossed, head down, and bottom lip puffed out. Until, Mr. Schue had an actual brilliant idea, Kurt’s suggestion of course, to spice things up.

The boys did not appreciate Kurt’s six hours of work putting two posters together. Even with the assignment to bring more feminine qualities into their performance, the boys ignored his input. So, when Puckerman suggested Kurt spy on the Warblers, he was thankful for a reason to leave. He packed up his projects and headed home to change.

When Mr. Schue found out who their competition was, Rachel and Kurt did some googling. He had seen the all-boys school uniform and was fairly sure he could replicate it with clothes he already had.

He pulled some looks from his closet. Once satisfied he looked up directions to Westerville.

Dalton was huge. It looked like a museum. How on earth was Kurt going to find their choir room? He hoped there were signs inside or a map.

As he walked down a spiral staircase much too pretty to be in a school, he decided to just ask for directions. He was going to get lost if he kept walking without help.

When the boy he stopped turned around, all Kurt could think was ‘I’d love to put my hands all over you.’ Which was a ridiculous thought to have because he didn’t know this boy and where had that even come from? Oh right, Teenage Dream was still playing in his head. Thanks, Katy.

If only his soulmate knew he was using this song to fantasize about running off into the sunset with another boy.

…

Blaine loved being in the spotlight. Wes would say it was because he didn’t get that kind of attention from his parents but that simply wasn’t true. Well, unless Cooper was around; he always pulled focus when it came to their parents. Older sibling privilege, he assumed.

But he was running late. He stayed behind in class to ask a question which turned into his teacher rambling. Didn’t he know the Warblers had a performance today in the senior commons and Blaine was their lead singer?

He was checking the time when someone stopped him on the stairs.

A beautiful boy. Unlike anyone Blaine had ever seen before. He almost missed his name because he was caught up in memorizing his face.

There was something said about being new, which Blaine doubted since he wasn’t in uniform, and Blaine mentioned a shortcut he knew of.

It wasn’t really a shortcut. More like the long way to the Senior Commons but less crowded. Everyone was making their way to the Warblers and Blaine wanted as much time alone with Kurt as he could get.

He wanted Kurt’s full attention. It was no wonder he instantly wanted to show off. Teenage Dream fit his vocals perfectly and Kurt was an excellent audience. In fact, Blaine was set on serenading him.

He had no way of knowing that exact song had been playing all day long in Kurt Hummel’s mind.

Afterward, Blaine lost himself in a group hug from the Warblers but Kurt’s beaming smile caught his eye. He pulled Wes and David aside, confirming his own suspicions that Kurt was spying on them first before convincing them to invite Kurt for coffee.

The four boys sat at a table. Kurt seemed very nervous now. Blaine wasn’t sure if it was because he had been caught or something else was going on. In the end, Blaine thought it best for just him and Kurt to have a conversation. Not at all because he wanted alone time with him.

This clearly wasn’t the time or place for romance.

Once they were alone the whole tale seemed to flow out of Kurt: the name calling, locker shoving, his biggest bully. Blaine could relate.

Sometimes he felt phantom pains in his right leg from Sadie Hawkins. At first, Kurt scoffed when Blaine began sympathizing. If he were Kurt, he might not believe himself.

Private schoolboy bullied? Blaine sure didn’t look like someone who lacked friends. It was fairly common knowledge that Dalton had a zero tolerance policy for harassment. So, he explained. As brief as he could about his own experience with public school bullies.

Kurt and he seemed to have more in common than a love for music.

He doesn't have any plans to see Kurt again though Blaine has plenty of ideas on how they could get together. Coffee at the Lima Bean. Old musicals were playing at the revival theater. Maybe another high school was putting on a play this weekend. All Blaine needed was a good enough message to ask Kurt out. He drafted plenty but none sent.

After school, Blaine knew Kurt might need an extra push. He was pretty sure classes at McKinley were done for the day.

He sent a single word. Less second-guessing that way.

Courage.

Then, he walked to the library to start writing an essay on Lord of the Flies for English.

However, he found himself unable to concentrate. Usually after a performance, Blaine had the song stuck in his head for at least a day or two afterward. In addition to humming in the weeks of rehearsals, of course. Instead, Blaine found himself thinking about Start Me Up by the Rolling Stones and oddly Livin’ On a Prayer. Both songs he thought better suited his father or Cooper’s tastes. It was a mashup of the two songs like his soulmate was hearing them simultaneously.

When he started thinking about his soulmate, there was a clear picture of someone. It didn’t take long for Blaine to bring up those blue eyes and the soft complexion of Kurt Hummel. Which was crazy thinking. He had no idea if Kurt was his soulmate.

Soulmates tended to be around the same age but just because Kurt was also in high school meant nothing. By that logic anyone at Dalton could be his soulmate too.

During his brief time with Kurt this week, Blaine heard no music from his mouth. In fact, Blaine had done all the singing. Even with half his brain saying he was nuts to think Kurt was his forever, Blaine couldn’t let the thought go.

…

Blaine’s text comes in in the midst of the girls’ performance. A wonderful mashup and excellent costumes. Tina had texted Kurt about the leather jacket idea early this week. He was very proud of how they managed to pull the looks together in such a short time. It was impressive.

Altogether, Kurt was feeling great. The boys had their rehearsal, apparently their performance was turning into an apology. Kurt wasn’t sure what they had done to Coach Beiste but apparently, she was quitting. He and Blaine were texting periodically now. No one knew it but Kurt was surely developing a huge crush on the Warbler boy.

Then, he confronted Karofsky. He didn’t want to feel the same regret Blaine did—no one messes with the Hummels.

It seemed like mere hours but in reality, it was days, Kurt was enrolled at Dalton and saying goodbye to the New Directions.

He was full on having a Vanessa leaving Troy moment here. Kurt Hummel has got to go his own way.

God was he nervous to start at a new school. In the middle of the school year too. Being the new kid was going to be hard but not as difficult as staying at McKinley would be.

When Kurt was greeted by Blaine’s smile outside the office on his first day, it made Kurt relax. At least he already had a friend here.

It isn’t until they’re walking down the hall together—Blaine insisted on escorting Kurt to his first class—that Kurt noticed Blaine was humming.

“Is that High School Musical?” Kurt asked.

“Oh, um, technically it’s the sequel.”

“What about us…” Blaine sang, “what about everything we’ve been through?”

“What about trust…you know I’ve never wanted to hurt you?”

Blaine chucked. “Cheesy but true. Such a good movie.”

“We should watch it sometime,” Kurt suggested.

Instantly, he wanted to take it back. He’s been told he can come on too strong. Especially around cute boys.

“I’d love too!” Blaine said. “I have it on DVD.”

Kurt doesn’t see Blaine again until their one shared class of the day right before lunch. He sits across the room from Blaine during history but next to him at the Warbler’s lunch table.

Most of the group has the same lunch so Kurt is introduced to them before his audition later this afternoon.

“Nervous?” Wes asked, “you shouldn’t be.”

“Yeah, from what Blaine's told us you're a great singer,” Trent added.

“He’s barely heard me sing,” Kurt replied, poking Blaine’s arm.

He only sang one line of a song to the other boy today.

“Well…” Blaine rubs his neck abashedly. “I might’ve watched some New Directions videos on YouTube.”

“Oh, I forgot Rachel uploaded those.” Kurt tunes to the other Warblers then, “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

After lunch, Blaine walks Kurt to class again. “Between you and me, you’re a shoo-in.”

“Really?” The Warblers were such an esteemed group. Not at all like the disorganized New Directions. They had also been a glee club for far longer.

“Really.”

***

Blaine has had High School Musical songs in his head all day. Whoever his soulmate is, at least he’s got good taste in Disney Channel original movies. Then as the Warblers were preparing for Kurt’s audition, the song switched. An Evita song.

His soulmate sure did love musicals. Blaine was rather happy about that. He could already picture them sitting on the couch cuddled under a fluffy blanket with any number of classic musicals laid out before them. Arguing over if it was too soon to rewatch Moulin Rouge and whose turn it was to make popcorn.

They’d be in a big city apartment. Somewhere where no one cared if they were gay. All anyone wanted to know was how they discovered they were soulmates. Their origin story.

From that point, the daydream grew fuzzy. Blaine couldn’t come up with that meet-cute story. It hadn’t happened yet and nothing his brain could come up with would ever match up with his future reality.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the choir room.

The room was buzzing with excitement. It wasn’t every day the Warblers auditioned someone mid-semester. Of course, Kurt had special circumstances but the group was notorious for never breaking tradition.

Blaine tried to focus but it was difficult without Kurt at his side. Lately, he had been distracted whenever Kurt wasn’t around. All Blaine could hear, despite the loud room, was the song in his head.

I had to let it happen

I had to change

Then, Kurt walked in and music started to play. For a split second, Blaine thought he was imagining the words from “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” coming from Kurt’s lips. Surely he hadn’t chosen the same song as Blaine’s soulmate had in their head. He knew it couldn’t be his imagination when Trent leaned over and whispered to Blaine how much he loved this song.

Like lightning striking a tree, Blaine had a realization. Kurt Hummel was his soulmate.

Oh god, what was he going to do?

His skin was burning as if it was burned away like bark. He drooped in his seat desperate for water to put himself out with. To put a stop to the tingling sensation bubbling up under his skin.

All he wanted to do was reach out and touch Kurt. Some part of his brain was able to override that thought. He couldn’t ruin this audition for him. There was plenty of time to spend with Kurt after this, Blaine had all the time in the world to talk with his soulmate.

Soulmate.

Never did he think he would find his soulmate this soon. Gosh, they were only teenagers. They had so much life to live together. This was rare, special, to find your soulmate so quickly in life. Blaine would cherish it, he’d be thankful for this gift for rest of his days.

But how in the hell was he going to tell Kurt? It had to be romantic. Blaine always thought it would be when he finally came face to face with his soulmate, his one true love. There was so much work to be done and so little time to do it. Now that Blaine knew, he didn’t want to spend another day without Kurt knowing too.

He used to dream about running dramatically in slow motion towards each other and embracing just as it started to rain, which of course led to a fabulous first kiss in the sudden storm. But Blaine knew how unlikely that would be.

He’d just have to build a new fantasy, which he thought would be easy to do if Kurt was his so-called Prince Charming. Whatever happened was going to outweigh everything his imagination had come up with thus far.

First and foremost, he’d had to sit through a discussion of this audition, which he was barely able to pay attention to. All he wanted to do was walk up to Kurt, cup his face, and kiss him. After Kurt was finished, the council dismissed him. Blaine knew he’d find Kurt just outside the choir room because they had plans afterward but now he had no idea how he was going to sit through coffee with Kurt and not tell him.

“He’s very good,” Trent said, nudging Blaine.

He nodded in agreement. It seems most of the group concurred, Kurt was a good fit for them.

Kurt Hummel was the perfect fit for Blaine too. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

***

Kurt didn’t consider himself to be a good reader of social cues especially when his own emotions were involved. See, Finn Hudson and Sam Evans. Crushes on straight boys never ended well. With Blaine, he swore things would be different.

They were friends, classmates, and hopefully, soon they’d be fellow Warblers. Kurt was not going to mess this up. Even if Blaine was really cute and friendly and super kind and understanding. There was so much to love about Blaine, Kurt found it hard to find something he didn’t like.

He had found focusing on his dislikes of a person kept his feelings at bay. Like how messy Finn could be really shut down any romance fantasy Kurt had drawn up. Except, Blaine didn’t dye his hair like Sam, he was completely organized (Kurt had seen his dorm room; spotless), he was modest and genuine.

It made sense that everyone at Dalton wanted some of his attention. Blaine embodied Kurt’s idea of a gentleman and then some.

After his audition, Kurt sat outside the choir room waiting for his results. The council would discuss with the full group, release them, and regroup tomorrow with a vote. Kurt was waiting for Blaine to be dismissed because Blaine had promised to buy him a cup of coffee.

Some of the Warblers who were leaving had some pretty nice things to say about Kurt’s performance. Just general praise which soothes some of his initial nerves. Mostly, he just wanted Blaine to walk out with a big smile on his face. That boy couldn’t keep a secret. Kurt would know if he was in or not just by looking at his face.

Kurt was joined on his bench by a boy who introduced himself as Duncan.

“I was super nervous after my audition. I just got in at the beginning of this year so I know what you’re going through.”

Kurt felt his shoulders drop in relief. As much as Blaine tried to assure him the audition would be perfect, Kurt felt like he couldn’t relate much as the star of the glee club. Back at McKinley, Kurt rarely had center stage. Here, Blaine always had everyone’s attention.

“That’s actually great to hear,” Kurt said, with a slight chuckle.

“Seriously, Kurt, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m a little concerned they’ll kick me out just to have your voice,” Duncan teased.

They keep talking about what it’s like to be a new Warbler since Duncan is positive Kurt will be getting good news shortly. He offers up some pointers to get on the council’s good side.

“I loved your song choice by the way, so weird because Evita had been in my head all day.”

It feels like someone’s dropped an ice cube down his back. He sits up quickly.

Oh, Kurt thought, is this it?

“You did?” He must’ve heard wrong. There’s just no way.

“Yeah, I love that musical,” Duncan confirmed.

Could it be this easy? He wondered.

“We should hang out again soon,” Duncan told him, “I’d love to get to know you. Newbie Warblers gotta stick together.”

Kurt gives Duncan his number before the other boy wanders off. Before Kurt can get too deep into any fantasies of his soulmate, wondering if that soulmate has just left him or not, Blaine comes out from the choir room.

“Hey you,” Blaine greeted with a big smile.

“Are you allowed to give me any inclination?”

He shook his head but was still smiling wide which made Kurt feel like good news was in his near future like Duncan had said. Kurt was telling Blaine how long he had practiced the song over the weekend with Rachel and Duncan reassurances when Blaine blurted, “Duncan Samuels?”

“Yeah, we just met.”

Should he tell Blaine about them being soulmates or wait until he was sure?

But Blaine just nodded. Something was clearly bothering his friend. For now, Kurt was going to let it go because he was sure Blaine would come to him if he wanted to talk. He didn’t want to force it out of Blaine.

Kurt couldn’t even get Finn to talk to him during their warm milk chats at night. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull the information out of Blaine if he tried.

“Anyway,” Kurt said, continuing his previous line of thought, “Rachel has this whole stage setup in her dads’ basement.”

“I don’t find that hard to believe based on everything you’ve told me about her.”

After that comment, their coffee date is back on track, Kurt doesn’t bring up his potential soulmate meeting.

***

Duncan Samuels was his lifelong nemesis. As far as Blaine was considered his life began when he figured out Kurt was his soulmate and if Duncan was going to interfere with that they were now enemies. Since their coffee date yesterday, Blaine hasn’t heard a word about Duncan but he also had yet to see Kurt today. They only had one class together after lunch, which Blaine was on his way to now.

Kurt saved him a seat and delivered the news.

“Duncan and I are going for coffee today.”

Those words were devastating.

In normal circumstances, Blaine would’ve asked Kurt why he wasn’t going to rehearsal but of course Kurt wasn’t a Warbler…yet. Blaine knew the Warblers were going to announce Kurt’s membership at the end of day, which meant this was the last rehearsal Kurt wouldn’t attend.

So instead of a calmly said, normal statement, Blaine spent the next minute freaking out.

Duncan was the worst! He was going to steal Kurt away from him before Blaine ever got the chance. Well okay, the rational side of him thought, Kurt isn’t being stolen he’s going willingly.

“That’s nice,” he finally said.

There was no way for Blaine to stop Kurt and honestly no reason to try since Duncan posed no threat to Kurt. He didn’t need a protector. Blaine knew they were soulmates and he’d find a way to tell Kurt later on. At the end of it all, Kurt was his soulmate. He just knew it.

“Are you free when I get out of rehearsal?”

“For you?” Kurt asked, “of course, I’ll probably still be in the cafe.”

“I’ll come find you,” Blaine told him.

Still, all throughout Warbler rehearsal, Blaine’s attention was elsewhere. He needed to get out of here and meet up with Kurt. Wes knew it too because he pulled him aside at one point while David ushered the guys into a new arrangement.

“What’s up with you?” He asked, “I need you focused for competition.”

“I will be,” he vowed.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Blaine looked back at the other boys but they were already harmonizing.

“It’s Kurt.”

Wes smiled. “Don’t worry about him. He’s in, I can’t believe we have a countertenor on our team now. We’re going to wipe the floor at regionals.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Wesley. McKinley already knows what a talent Kurt is, he won’t be a surprise to them,” Blaine reminded him.

“Ah, but they didn’t utilize his talent,” Wes said, “it’ll shock them to see Kurt in the spotlight.”

Wes patted Blaine’s back and guided him back to the group to finish up rehearsal.

Blaine couldn’t help but check his phone again before he tuned back into rehearsal. He knew Kurt was getting coffee and that’s why he wasn’t answering his phone.

One of the best things about Kurt was when you were with him everything else was put aside. Blaine was sure if things got really serious, Kurt would shut his phone off entirely to prove a point. Right now, it was annoying as hell. Blaine needed to see a reassuring text that Kurt wasn’t running off into the sunset with Duncan Samuels.

What if his phone was turned off because the two of them were standing at the altar? Everyone turns their phones off in church.

He really really needed to talk to him. Blaine didn’t want to be the type of soulmate that holds onto that information too long. It’s like he’s lying to himself not being with Kurt.

Once rehearsal was finally over, Blaine rushed over to the on-campus cafe where he knew Kurt would be. He had to be there.

When Blaine pushed his way through the door, he saw Kurt was sitting alone nursing what looked to be a cup of tea. When Blaine approached him he could tell it was Chamomile.

“Can I sit?”

Kurt nodded but didn’t say a word as Blaine hung his bag across the back of the chair and removed his blazer.

He expected a question about the Warblers, perhaps an inquiry about his status to become one but nothing came. Kurt wasn’t even drinking his tea.

“What’s wrong? Did Duncan say something to upset you?”

“I’m fine, Blaine,” Kurt said, “Duncan didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me as usual.”

Blaine didn’t understand.

“Am I that unlovable?”

“What?”

Kurt was the most kind, sincere person he knew and Blaine had only met him a few weeks ago. He was most certainly lovable considering Blaine fell for him in just under 3 weeks

“I can’t really blame him,” Kurt continued, “it’s not his fault we aren’t soulmates.”

“You thought he was your soulmate?”

Maybe telling Kurt wouldn’t be too difficult after all.

“It’s just he made this comment yesterday that made me think…but of course I got too ahead of myself again and really I should know by now,” Kurt mumbled the last bit, “nothing ever goes to plan.”

“You can say that again.”

This cafe wasn’t a romantic candlelit dinner. He didn’t have rose petals to scatter around. There was no champagne to toast. But he had the most important thing.

Blaine reached across the table to grab Kurt’s hand. “Think of a song.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” Blaine said.

Kurt’s face was scrunched up in a “I’m confused but I’ll trust you” kind of way.

As soon as the song hit him, Blaine opened his mouth to sing, “this could be the start of something new…it feels so right to be here with you.”

“How did you—?”

Blaine smiled at him. “Pick another song.”

“Your cares and troubles are gone. They'll be no more from now on.”

His mouth opens slightly.

“Your turn,” Blaine said, “ I want you to sing what comes to mind.”

Wasn’t the best way to prove they were soulmates to test each other?

Blaine wanted Kurt to have his own moment of realization even if he engineered it. He didn’t want their “how-did-you-know” story to be him informing Kurt about their connection. Instead, he wanted to tell people about listening to Kurt’s Warbler audition and thinking how odd it was to know the song he was going to sing before it began. Kurt’s story would start with a laugh because he imagined someone other than Blaine as his soulmate the very same day.

And wasn’t that just so silly of him?

Rather than have Kurt just sing to him, Blaine harmonized with him. This was the proof. He’d sing everything Kurt could come up with and vice versa.

“But baby, can't you see there's nothing else for me to do? I'm hopelessly devoted to you.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said. “We’re….”

He nodded.

Before Blaine even realized it, Kurt was out of his seat leaning towards him, they’re kissing. Kurt’s fingers are curved around his chin and his other hand is tickling the curls at the back of his neck. The tiny wisps of hair that always escape the gel by the late afternoon.

Blaine would happily keep his curls loose if it meant Kurt would keep his hands in his hair always. Especially, if it meant they’d never stop kissing.

Eventually, Kurt has to pull away. They’re still close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“Soulmates,” Blaine whispered.

It had been quiet while they kissed like everything else in the world just stopped. All the sounds of Dalton came rushing back all at once. The students in the halls, coffee orders being called out, and the shuffling of chairs as people came and went.

“When did you know?” Kurt asked, sitting down again.

Blaine pulled his seat around so they were closer and Kurt immediately reached for his hand.

***

3 months later.

Blaine hadn’t been upset to lose to McKinley at Regionals. How could he have been when he got to sing with his soulmate in front of a crowd? Their duet was so in sync and the crowd could tell. He doesn’t think he ever received such a loud applause.

Blaine had wanted to just be in that moment forever—staring into Kurt’s eyes hearing the words in his head just before they were said aloud, gripping his hand before pushing him into the spotlight to soak up the audience’s love.

No, Blaine was happy about Regionals. The Warblers had worked hard on the set; their second place trophy sat on the right corner of the council’s table at meetings now. What Blaine was concerned about was Kurt’s leaving.

His dorm room was empty now, the last suitcase zipped up. Blaine was sitting on his boyfriend’s mattress taking in the last moment that Kurt was a Dalton student.

“I’ll miss you too, you know, a lot,” Kurt said from the doorway.

“I know,” Blaine replied, “it’s just sad.”

Kurt took a seat next to him on the bed.

“I’ll sing to you.”

Blaine smiled. “Promise?”

“Everyday.” Kurt kissed his cheek.

They were going to be okay.

#klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #soulmate au #klaine #my fics

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pyaarii · 5 years ago

Text

of pyhrric victories and car rides | Bruce Wayne

/ Masterlist /

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Summary: A collection of moments from yours and Bruce’s relationship

Warnings: break ins, harassing women, stalking, etc.

“Mr. Wayne, are you with us?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Right then, I do think that the company’s stocks are headed – “

Although he tries not to, Bruce can’t help but lose track of the conversation again, and though he’s not exactly sure who the man he’s talking to is, it’s not particularly what is bothering him at the moment; what’s bothering him is you.

Well, what he thinks is you.

Because not even in his wildest dreams would he imagine that at the Wayne charity gala would he see you conversing with donors in the corner of the ballroom.

Before he has a chance to get a better look at your (supposed) face, a heavy hand is placed on his shoulder and the men he’s been having to entertain conversation with – fall silent as he turns around to see a familiar face.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something gentlemen, but I was wondering if I could borrow Mr. Wayne, here, for a second?”

There’s a scattered murmur of compliance and the man next to Bruce flashes a bachelor-smile before they both walk away.

“I’m sure you’re aware of why I wanted to talk to you, Bruce.”

Bruce has to refrain from smiling, of course he does, for what other reason would the brother of the woman he’s been trying to seek out this whole evening come to talk to him about, except about you?

“I believe I do, but I would’ve preferred it if you had told me before this evening.”

His response elicits a small chuckle from the man beside him and he grabs two flutes of champagne from a waiter passing by before replying,

“Now what would be that fun in that. And, anyways, she told me not to tell you – or really, anyone about this.”

“About what?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s moving to Gotham.”

He passes the second flute to Bruce, who silently took the glass – still reeling from the words he just heard.

“Why is she – “

“Are you done bothering Bruce?”

Another voice interrupts their conversation, and for the first time tonight, Bruce finally gets to see you. You’re dressed in an ebony gown, with pale gold swirls tracing the expanse of the fabric – light and empyrean around you as the warm white glow casts a rosy look on the room as you stand in front of them – holding your own champagne flute, and of the pink liquid remaining, you swirled around the base of the glass.

“Of course, I’ll leave you to it.”

He casts a knowing smile at you before he leaves but not before you roll your eyes at him. Then, a silence befalls between the two of you – because it’s been 5 years and it feels a little too much like walking on eggshells between each other in this moment.

“Hi.”

You’re surprised that your voice is more breathless than you expected, and Bruce finds a small smile making its way onto his lips – matching yours.

“Hello.”

The conversation fizzles out again and you begin to fiddle with your hands, before Bruce clears his throat that you look up at him again.

“I heard that you’re moving to Gotham now?”

It takes a moment for you to comprehend his question, and then you’re nodding you head in confirmation.

“Oh, yeah, I – “ You pause before continuing. “They’re planning a re-opening of the theatre and Alyse Rosovsky – who’s idea it was – asked me to be part of the cast –”.

Of course, sometimes it slipped his mind, but he remembers your fascination with theatre films, pearls, Broadway lights and your mother’s tattered avant-garde dresses that you would convince her to let you wear. Sometimes, he forgets how much you love the sweeping curtains and backstage vanity tables – the ritualistic ideal of appraisal.

So, it wasn’t necessarily a surprise when you had told him – almost five years ago, that you were going to New York to study theatre and it wasn’t a surprise either when he saw you holding a neoteric award in the newspaper – the black and white picture of you on a podium blossomed a similar emotion to what he was feeling right now.

“– of one of the stage plays they’re planning.”

“Uh – oh.” He feels a little embarrassed for losing track of your explanation and all he can offer is a dazed smile.

“It’s been so long since I saw you, Bruce.”

It’s strange how your voice still sounds the same to him – basking in its honeyed twang and soft inflections that he remembers from years ago, and he’s not entirely sure why both of you never kept in touch after your departure but he pushes that sinking feeling away and shares a nostalgic smile with you.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Mhmm, I was wondering if you – “

“Y/n!”

You’re interrupted by a blonde woman; who’s donning a black slip dress and strands of hair are slowly escaping her intricate chignon and her eyebrows are furrowed as she approaches you both.

“Mr. Wayne,” A small nod of acknowledgement is exchanged between them both before she turns around to face you,

“Vistila is here and he’s dealing with the ‘sharks’ alone, so I came here to ask your help.” She begins to chew on her bottom lip as she explains the situation to you.

“Alyse it’s no problem, I – I’ll be there in a second.”

A relieved expression takes over Alyse’s face as she squeezes your shoulder but before she can leave you stop her.

“Oh – before you go, do you happen to have a pen?”

You eye the leather shoulder bag she’s clutching, and she quickly nods her head before pulling out a blue ballpoint pen and rushing off into the crowd.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

You ask as you place your empty flute glass and uncap the pen and ready it in your hand – raising an eyebrow in his direction as what you’re about to clicks in his head and he shakes his head.

“Good.”

You move closer to him and lift his free arm in your hand, pushing back the smooth fabric of the suit jacket and shirt sleeve underneath it, your cold fingers brushing over his warm skin – causes light goose bumps to raise, but you don’t notice as you list of a series of digits and smile at the phone number you’ve written on his arm before pulling down the fabric – covering the numbers and taking steps away from him.

“Call me sometime?” Your voice is cheeky, a rosy flush on your face as Bruce only takes a sip of his drink before you send a wink to his way and disappear into the crowd as well.

And all Bruce is left with is the scent of your perfume and the lingering touch of your fingers.

It was nearly 6 pm when the clatter of dinner platter ware and Alfred’s call for them to come to dinner brought both children into that hall between the drawing room and the dining room – waiting for them was both the Butler and a woman toying with the gold pendant around her neck, her lips pulled into a thin line and sharp brows furrowed together in agitation.

“Where have you two been?”

“Mother, look!”

The little girl pipes up first, her pigtails whipping the air as she runs forward with something clutched tightly in her arms – but the dim lighting prevents the woman for seeing what it really is until the little girl reaches her. A little boy following in her steps, his face was also flushed and clothes askew.

“Look, look, look what we made for Bruce’s mom!”

The woman crouches down to see a pearl necklace in the little girl’s hands – and it clicks in her mind, as this was the reason the little girl had snuck away the faux pearls and string on their way to the manor.

“That’s so lovely, she’s going to love them,” Her voice is silky, and an earnest smile plays at her nude lips as she reaches out to smooth out the stray hairs in the girl’s hair, “But we have to go now darling, okay?”

“Okay! But wait one second.” The little girl turns around to pull the little boy along with her as they huddle away from the adults – who share a bemused look. They whisper with each other before the pearl necklace is carefully passed from the little girl to the boy who holds it with a delicate hold before they break apart from their huddle and the little girl happily wears the coat her mother assists her with.

“You can say goodbye now Y/n.”

The girl waves at the boy – who does the same and she exclaims,

“Mother, can Bruce come to our house so I can show him Jellybean?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Okay! Bye Bruce!”

The little girl is swept away in a flurry of coats and scarves and when they’re out of earshot her mother asks her,

“Now what was that for Y/n?”

“We made Bruce’s mom a present and – and Bruce is gonna give it to her when they’re going to go to the theatre!”

A small smile graced her lips and she pressed a light kiss to her daughter’s hair,

“That’s lovely, dear.”

“We were on a date.”

That silences Betty’s rant while de Vos only lets out a low whistle, which prompts a small snort on your side.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You have to try not to sigh because for the past 15 minutes all Betty has been doing is a rant on last week’s newspaper headline – which is understandable, considering it’s her job.

Ever since you moved here, your parents had insisted in more security measures, their argument being that your 6’3 veteran driver (de Vos), wasn’t enough, leading them to hire Betty – she was barely 5 years older than you but there was purpose gracing her. There was a steely look in her blue eyes – which made them seem greyer than in actuality and she always wore the same gold chain necklace – with a feeble gold coin hanging from the middle.

She had been guarded in the beginning – which had led de Vos to say ‘what’s stuck up your ass’ at her standoffish behaviour at a gala, (to which she gave him a look than caused him to not a single word the rest of the night), but it was after a week when you were at a little café south of the theatre, and you spilled your coffee and (almost) dropped your croissant on the waiter, that she had genuinely laughed. And you had believed that maybe she har started to crumble her resolve a little after that – but it seems less likely now as you watch her frown deepen.

“I – I – “

“Press work was not part of the job description, and maybe a heads-up next time?”

You nod before contemplating your next words, which hang in the air after spoken,

“Well, I guess you should know that I’m meeting him now?”

Before anyone can respond, your phone starts ringing, prompting you to pull it out of your coat pocket, and quickly checking the caller id before answering.

“Hey, Jas.”

“Hi – I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No – I was just going out for dinner.”

“Oh cool, sorry, I just saw the gazette headline and I – “

“Oh.” You start playing with the little buttons on your skirt as you listen to Jasmine and try to pretend that Betty and de Vos aren’t eavesdropping on the conversation.

“- you’re friends with Bruce Wayne?”

Friends? You’re pretty sure Bruce and you are more than just friends.

“I – I guess I am?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, I’ve gotten to meet him about 2 weeks ago?” It’s not a complete lie, considering you only met him – properly after years at the gala but it’s not like your complete history with him is something you’ve wanted to share publicly, especially since it means so much to you.

But you haven’t really had the chance to tell all that to Jasmine – considering you’ve known her for about half a year, the topic of Bruce had somehow never come up, which might be ironic, seeing how much time you’ve spent around her – and how close of a friend she was.

“And you didn’t know him before?”

“I – uh, I kinda did” Your response sounds a little pathetic and she only snorts in response. “It’s just that mine and Bruce’s parents had been really close friends so we just kinda spent a lot of time when we were young.”

She hummed in response,

“Are you going to come to my house for tea this weekend?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it if I could.”

“That’s a nice sentiment for my ego.” Her voice is soft as you hear the rustle of paper in the background and you smile – not that she can see.

“Hey, I’ll call you later, okay?” You rush out, eyeing the little café shop coming into view of the windshield, and hang the line after a soft goodbye is exchanged.

As the car slows to a stop, you grab your bag and before opening the car door, you lean forward so you have both de Vos and Betty’s attention.

“Not a word.”

You try not to smile and have to bite your lips and de Vos does the same before you quietly slip out of the car. Towards your date with Bruce.

You eyed the letters again before placing them back into the bag Betty had brought into the dressing room, before an uneasy feeling settled into your stomach.

“Are you ready?”

Betty’s orotund voice rang across the empty room, prompting you to lift your head out of hands to look at her through the vanity mirror you were currently sitting at. The warm lights from the vanity illuminated the deep frown on her face and simple gold chain around her neck glinted off the light.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

You voice came out more strangled than you hoped, followed by a throaty sob which you poorly tried to disguise as a laugh.

“Just calm down,” she paused as if she wasn’t sure if she should continue or not,

“Listen, I’m taking the letters to the station to have them examined and de Vos will take you back to the apartment and then we’ll figure out what to tell everyone and - “

“God, what the fuck am I going to tell them? ‘Hey mom and dad, there’s a fucking stalker who won’t stop sending me creepy letters and might potentially kill me, but I’ll be fine.’”

You wildly moved your hands around to illustrate your point to her, but she only sighs in response.

“They’ll understand, now come on, de Vos is waiting.”

She made her way to the vanity table before picking up the bag and tapping you on the shoulder as a gesture to get up. At which you release a deep sigh before harshly wiping at your watery eyes and smoothing your hair out before deciding to put on the comically large sunglasses that lay on the table as you collected all your things but before making your way, the wilting amaryllises in the sepia vase caught your eye and a small smile graced your lips, your mind reminiscing but before you can do anything else, Betty calls for you and you hesitantly walk away and grab the coat Betty was holding out for you at the door.

“It’s ten pm.”

She quips after a pointed look at your glasses.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I love it when you’re this annoying, did you know that? It’s my favourite part of the job.” The glasses disguise the eye roll you send in her way, but she knows you well enough to realize what you’re doing.

A beat passes before you speak up.

“Do you think we can stop by Bruce’s house before going back? I just wanted to talk to him.”

“Is there a reason why you can’t call him?” You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes again.

“You don’t think I’ve tried? All of them straight to voice mail.” Your voice is bitter, and Betty can tell so she relents.

“Okay, I’ll let de Vos know.”

“Thank you.” The words come out softer than you expected, and it elicits a soft (and rare) smile and nod from Betty.

…

“Miss Y/n, what brings you here so late?”

Alfred’s usual monotonous voice is laced with (some) surprise as he opens the doors for you to enter.

“I just needed to talk to Bruce about something, and he wasn’t picking up his phone so I thought I could stop by to talk to him… if he’s here?”

You hope he doesn’t notice the nervousness in your voice, as you clasp and then un-clasp your palms, watching him hang the coat in its place and turn to face you.

“Of course, miss, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

He leads the way to the drawing room and before he leaves you there – he hesitantly pauses to face you, face unmoving but you can feel him think.

“What is it Alfred?”

“It’s just, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but have you been crying miss?”

You don’t know why you’re not reacting to his question, but it takes you a painfully long moment to process his question before you respond,

“Oh – uh, yeah, well not really. I mean, I think the allergies? Well – I – I don’t have any allergies like I – I, that’s what I’ve always told everyone, I mean you know - you know how Autumn is around here, I just – “

“It’s fine Miss, I’ll send Master Bruce for you.”

His voice is monotonous again and the uneasy feeling comes back as he slips out of the room – leaving you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

The next few minutes compromised of you pacing the room anxiously, going through the plan Betty and de Vos had told you and thinking about what you were going to tell Bruce. And in your perpetual state of worry, you miss the familiar sound of dress shoes clicking against the hardwood floor and a figure approaching you, until you feel a presence behind you and a hand reaching to grab your arm, that you let out a small cry of shock.

“Are you – “

“Oh my god, Bruce!”

It takes a second for the cuts and bruises littering his face to process in your mind, and as you reach out to take a hold of his cheek, he pulls back,

“Bruce – “

“Why’re you here?”

Your staring at him like a gaping fish – your worries about everything that happened this evening disappear as you frown at his unkempt state.

“I – I – What happened to you?”

You try and reach out again for him, but he grabs hold of your arms so that you can’t move to touch him, and you find yourself looking at the bags under his eyes, the shadows around his nose and your hearts aches – because he looks so tired.

“Bruce, I’m serious, what – “

“Why’re you here – “

You both speak at the same time, drowning each other out and you try to start again – but Bruce beats you to it,

“Y/n, what are you doing here?”

“I – Bruce, what the fuck happened to you?”

Your staring at his face – and his jaw only clenches in response and you search for any other response in his eyes – but they feel too steely under the dim glow of the light.

“Nothing, just an accident.”

“Bullshit.” You don’t know why you’re being so defensive and pressing the matter even though the rational part of your brain is telling you to stop, you don’t.

“Y/n, it’s nothing.”

“Well, I know it’s nothing, Bruce.”

That’s not wrong because you do truly know it’s not nothing; and the rational part of your part is now screaming at you to stop – and your thudding heartbeat is deafening in the silence of the room. Bruce only looks at you in response and somehow his lack of response edges you to continue on.

“Just tell me, I – I care about you.”

“Well, I never said that you needed to.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re only running on four cups of coffee, a granola bar and it’s almost the middle of the night and today you found out that there’s an obsessive, psychopathic stalker after you that you feel something snap.

You take a step back – lips drawn into a thin line and eyes trailing the tiles on the floor and make your way out of the room with all your things tightly clutched between your hands – you try to blink away the tears blurring your eyes but when that doesn’t work you quicken your pace – your boots clicking against the floor wood and keys frantically jiggling in your hands.

“Hey – “

You hear Betty’s voice as you exit the front doors, but you make a beeline for the car – dismissing her presence and prompting her to follow you,

“What happened?”

You don’t respond and she trails helplessly after you, face contorted into confusion and concern – which she mirrors with de Vos as you both near the car, you slamming the backdoor closed, leaving her to stand next to de Vos’ window, both of them quiet and sharing silent looks.

The ride starts of in an uncomfortable silence – no words exchanged and the only sound that was heard was the ignition starting and the occasional sound of you sniffling in the back.

De Vos can’t see much of your face through the rear-view mirror due to the darkness and shadows falling across your face every time a streetlamp passes by – but when he catches your eyes in the mirror as you harshly rub at the tear-stained cheeks, he has to say something,

“Kid – “

“Please don’t,” your voice is small, and the words come out more softly than intended and Betty only shares a pleading look to de Vos to continue.

“We’re just worried about you,” He sounds a little apprehensive, his usually gruff voice more clear and mellow now, “You can tell us anything, ya know, we’re here to protect you.”

When there’s still no response from you, Betty clears her throat and begins speaking,

“Look, I knew he wouldn’t be happy about this situation, but you should – “

“I didn’t tell him,” Your voice is strangled and abrupt, throwing Betty of track and she looks back at you,

“W-what – “

“I didn’t tell him anything about the letters.”

“Then why – “

“I don’t fucking know, okay? I don’t fucking know why he’s suddenly acting like he hates me and telling me that he doesn’t want me to be with him, okay?”

The last word is spoken more softly and comes out much less harsh and the car plunges into silence again – but you still feel like you can’t breathe, the words dawning a painful realization over you.

“Actually, can we go to Jasmine’s tonight?”

The words slip out before you can think them over and Betty nods her head after a moment and the rest of the car ride is full of an awkward silence that no one tries to fight against.

…

“Y/n?”

Jasmine opens her door after a fourth ring, her dark curls untamed and bouncing everywhere, and her eyes full of sleep.

“Hey,”

“What’re doing here? Do you know what time it is? Wait – why are you crying?”

She sobers up almost instantly, after glancing at your red, puffy face and your arms wrapped around your body tightly – behind you Betty moves forward to say something but you pipe up,

“Can I stay over tonight?” Your voice is feeble, and you can’t help but berate yourself for sounding so pathetic.

“O – of course, yeah, come in,” She moves, allowing the dim hallways lights to illuminate the figures on her front porch.

She moves to wrap an arm across your shoulders, pulling you closer to her so that the scent of her familiar agarwood perfume fills your senses.

“There’s something I need to tell you Jasmine.”

“Thank you, Betty!”

You exclaim, voice giddy and slightly slurred as you embrace her from the back of her seat, and fail miserably, which results in you erupting into giggles in the backseat of the car – as Jasmine tries to placate you

“Right. Just hurry up.”

She sighs as you and Jasmine make your way out of the car. Both of you walking in relative silence minus the occasionally stumbles and giggles from you as you walk towards the building, and it’s Anael who greets you at the darkly lit front desk, after hazily waving him ‘hi’, the elevator ride passes by as you ramble about Anael to Jasmine as she listens with a bemused look on her face.

“Crap, where are my keys,” You rummage through your bag noisily till the jingling keys are in your grasp and you drunkenly try to unlock the front door – that is until Jas coerces the key out of your hand and opens it herself and then you’re greeted with your apartment.

“Finally!” You exclaim, spinning around until you collapse on the beige couch in the middle of the room, your bag hitting the coffee table in the centre and you take in the room, something seems a little of place but your drunk mind can’t comprehend anything else so you watch as Jas places her bag on the marble counter top all the way across the room, in the dimly lit kitchen and she disappears into the hallway as you hear her say,

“I’m just gonna pee really quickly, and then we’ll look for your bag, okay?”

You hum in response and close your eyes as the silence settles around you and the only noise are the distant cars and faint sirens.

That is until your hear a thud and heavy footsteps approaching.

“Jas? Didn’t know you could pee so quickly?”

There’s no response.

You promptly push yourself up from the couch and the person you see walking towards you isn’t Jasmine and you feel yourself freeze in your place.

The man standing in front is wearing a dark jacket and in his hands there’s an envelope you can barely make out properly and the world momentarily stops as you lock with him. They’re steely and grey and your heart rate picks up.

Your mind fails to form a coherent word and all you can do is gape as he makes his way near you.

“God, I’ve been waiting to meet you for so long,” His voice is rough and the small chuckle he lets out rumbles through the air – and you can feel the goose bumps on your skin rise as he towers over your place on the couch. “You know you’re not an easy person to find.”

“How did you get in here?”

The words tumble out of your mouth but it’s hard to process anything when your heartbeat is deafening in your ears.

He chuckles before replying, “You don’t need to know princess, but people here are a lot more gullible than I thought,” he pauses before adding in, “Told ‘em, I was here for some flower arrangements and it wasn’t a lie, look,”

He draws your gaze to the little cream envelope in his hands and takes your hand – but your body doesn’t react fast enough as he grips your wrist tight – it doesn’t feel so tight but you can see his knuckles turning white as he holds your wrist and the warmth from his fingers on your cold skin makes you numb but all you do is watch as he places the withered orange lily from the envelope in the hand he held,

“Sorry ‘s a little withered, but I’ve been waiting for a while and didn’t have the time to get a new one for you, hope ‘s okay?”

You don’t respond and he notices it.

He reaches out to graze his free hand underneath your chin and you reflexively flinch under his touch so he grabs your jaw – roughly pulling your face to face him and you want to scream, yell, shout; do anything but your voice dissolves into nothing every time you try.

“I said, is it fine?” It takes a moment – but you nod your head ever so lightly and it suffices for him, so he loosens his hold on your jaw – only a little for you breathe properly again.

“Are you always this stubborn, Y/n?” The way his mouth forms your name makes you sick, it makes you upset because he shouldn’t be able to say it like that – with a wide smile on his face, twisting the vowels on his tongue in whichever way he pleases as you squirm under his grasp.

“Even with him?” His eyes darken and so does his grip on you, “Don’t worry, I got all his things out of your room, I’ll get rid of them.”

“No.” You voice is barely above a whisper as you shake your head, “Please let me go.”

“I’ve waited so long to be here with you, I’m not leaving now Y/n.” His grip is suffocating, and he doesn’t relent as you try to squirm out of his hold, but he only chuckles.

“You can call me by my name, you know?” You don’t say anything. “Do you not remember it? I wrote my initials on the letters, I hoped you would figure it out.”

The memory of the letters makes you sick again as he reaches out to tuck the stray hairs behind your ear and you recoil from his touch, so he tries to placate you by continuing to talk.

“I sent them because I wanted to tell you how much I – “, His words are cut short off by the distant sound of thundering footsteps and you hear him swear underneath his breath, before letting go of his hold on you.

“Well, I guess I gotta introduce myself to all you friends now, huh?”

Before anything else can be said, the front door is burst open as quickly as the man in front of you pulls you up and into his chest – you back against his chest and his steely grip locked onto your arms but this time, you feel a cold blade on the base of your neck – freezing you in place.

“Stop!”

A blur of dark uniforms surrounds but you can’t see much as your mind blurs – from the alcohol you’ve consumed or the nausea building up in you, you’re not entirely sure. You can’t hear much because of the pounding in your chest and before you can comprehend the scene around you, the arms holding you in a suffocating grip – disappear. A gasp escapes from your lips as your knees give out and you fall to the floor, your mind blanking.

“Y/n, can you hear me?”

A muffled voice registers in your head as you slowly blink your eyes open. The warm white lights feel more harsh than usual and there’s an ache in your left eye.

“I – “

“Is she awake? Are you awake Y/n?”

Betty’s voice is full of panic and maybe you would’ve cracked a joke about it if you didn’t feel a growing sting on your head as you slowly regained consciousness.

“I – “

“I��ll let de Vos know, and – and, where’s Gordon,”

Betty leaves your side before you can say anything and another person – which you assume is a medic, through your hazy eyes, you can barely make out his face, let alone what he’s trying to tell you.

“I’m fine – “

“No, no you’re not, Y/n.” Betty has reappeared, this time, her glabellar lines are more deep-set and her voice firmer. She’s about to say something else, but the medic stops her this time, and diverts your gaze to his face.

“You’ve been concussed, and I just want to ask you a few questions. First, can you tell me your name?”

“It’s Y/n.” The light from the lamp next to the loveseat your splayed on is bright as you squint at the man in front of you.

“Great, now, do you know where you are and what day it is?”

“I – I’m in my house, and…” You looked out towards the French windows and door, the bleak night visible through the white, lace curtains. “It’s Saturday night, the – uh, 17th of October.”

“Okay, can you tell me the address?”

“Uh – it’s 356 Victoria street.”

He nods, and the asks,

“Now, do you know what happened?”

You really wished that you could say no to his question, but it’s all vividly clear in your mind. His face. His eyes. His hands. Him.

“Yeah.” You voice is croaky, and you shift your gaze to your hands in your lap.

“Okay, that’s great,” He turns around to face Betty, “She’s A&O4, just make sure she’s not moving and get her some water for the headache she’s probably going through right now.”

Betty nods her head before making her way towards the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and the medic besides you leaves, and you finally lift your head up to see the amount of people currently in your apartment. There’s police offers standing at the front door, some of them standing around the windows and others scattered around the living room and kitchen.

Your eyes drift around the scene and am uneasy feeling settles in your stomach as you take in your appearance in the windows. Your hair is a mess, and the spaghetti straps of your black dress and falling of your shoulders, but it’s your face – a bruise blooming near your left eye, that causes you to release a shaky breath, the shades of purple and blue are nauseous and you bring your hand up to light graze the wound, but it stings at the slightest touch from your shaking fingers.

“Y/n.”

Betty comes back but just as she holds out the glass of water, something clicks in your mind.

“Betty. Where’s Jasmine?”

You swing your legs of the loveseat and attempt to stand up, but she stops you.

“Y/n, stop, stop, listen. She’s okay.” She places the cold glass between your hands before continuing.

“Uh – he just locked her in the bathroom.”

“Well, why didn’t I hear her?”

“He also knocked her unconscious.”

“What? Where is she?”

“She’s in the bedroom, don’t worry, she’s just resting there, the medic checked up on her, she’s perfectly fine – just a bit shaken up like you.”

The conversation fizzles out as you stare at the ice cubes slowly melting into the water – the cold from the glass numbing your fingers but you can’t bring yourself to worry about it.

“I’m so sorry, Betty” You whisper, hoping she doesn’t hear you – but she does, and you try your hardest to blink away the tears forming in the corner of your eye.

“Y/n. please don’t say that.” She crouches down. “You never could’ve thought of this happening.”

“I know, I know but still – “

“Listen, it’s okay, we got him.”

That piques your interest as you raise your head to meet her hazel eyes.

“He tried to make a run for it from the open windows, but we got him.”

“How did you know – “, your voice is unsure and thick.

“I tried calling Jasmine, but she didn’t pick up, so I went to talk to Anael at the desk and he mentioned something about flower arrangements and a man, and it clicked in my head.”

Before you can ask her anything else, your moment in interrupted by a clearing of a throat and both you and Betty turn around to see Gordon standing in the middle of the room.

“Y/n, I just wanted to ask questions – “

“I’m sorry Gordon, but we’ll have to do that tomorrow, if that’s alright?”

Betty cuts him off and Gordon only nods and smiles sympathetically at both of you before moving to converse with the other detectives. You clear your throat before asking,

“Uh – Betty, can I please go outside?”

“Y/n, you know what he – “

“Please.”

Betty mulls it over as you look at her with pleading eyes and she nods before extending a hand for you to help stand up. It takes a moment but as soon as you’re on your feet, you feel your legs wobble and you regret wearing heels tonight but you wrap your arms around your body and Betty guides you out of the front door, and the emptiness of the beige hallway and the starchy air causes you to properly breathe as you move towards a corner not swarmed with people – the window that faces the streets is the same. The distant sirens and cars sound the same, but it all feels so different.

Emerging footsteps rounding the corner of the hallway pull you out of your train of thoughts and you turn around to see -

“Bruce?” Your voice is feeble and his head snaps towards you – standing at the end of the hallway, dishevelled and you feel small under his gaze as he walks towards you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You should be surprised that that’s the first thing he says to you but you’re too focused on him that you don’t process the question. Somehow, the bags under his eyes are more prominent than Wednesday, he looks gaunter and his hair is almost as dishevelled as yours but the cuts and bruises on his face have faded now.

“Y/n.”

“Bruce I – “

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Bruce, I fucking tried, okay.” Your voice is snappy, and you’re surprised you have the energy for this.

“Remember the night I came to your house, and you fucking said you didn’t want me there? I came to tell you that I’ve been receiving letters from an unknown stalker and that I was fucking scared! But, no! I – “

You feel tears pool in your eyes, and you have to stop yourself from breaking down again. You cast your eyes down to the linoleum floors and there’s no response from Bruce or there isn’t a response until a voice calls out your name and you turn to see Jasmine standing at the entrance of the apartment.

“Jasmine!”

A wave of relief rolls over you as you quickly make your way past Bruce, towards Jasmine, whom you engulf in an embrace as soon as you reach her and let the familiar scent of warm agarwood overtake your senses.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jas.”

She’s taken aback at first but then pulls apart to reassure you,

“Y/n, please don’t say that. It’s okay, I’m okay, you’re okay.” She draws circles on your shoulder blades as she whispers, “We’re both here.”

You want to keep on apologizing, thanking and basking her presence but it’s cut short by de Vos rounding near the hallway and exclaiming your name – his Jersey accent boisterous.

“God damn it, kid, thought I was gonna have to punch some fucker’s face today.” In complete de Vos fashion, the man is still wearing his coat and gloves and his hair is gelled back and his enormous figure fills the door frame he’s leaning against and you follow the curve of his hooked nose and watch the deep-set lines of his forehead crease before wrapping your arms around him.

“It’s always good to keep you on your toes, de Vos.” Your voice is croaky still and you don’t know how you managed to crake a joke all of a sudden but the weight in your chest feels a little lighter now that you’re not stuck in the apartment anymore and surrounded by fewer police officers.

“Okay, if you’re ready to go now then we can head out – I’ve asked Gordon to arrange for a safe house for you to stay in for the night as we work out the safety details – “

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Bruce’s low voice causes the little circle (you, Jasmine, Betty and de Vos) have formed – to turn around and see his figure approaching yours.

“Bruce – “

“Oraine, I’m sure you’re aware of how safe Wayne Manor is, Y/n can stay there for the night.”

The conversation falls quiet as Betty silently assesses the proposition before nodding and you find yourself interjecting,

“Betty – “

“No, Y/n, he’s right,” She cuts you off and steps closer. “This time, please trust me.”

You can’t argue with her now – not while you feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on you, so you just nod and train your eyes back to the floor.

The rest of the trip down to the car is silent – besides from the uncomfortable weight that nobody addresses until you’re outside the building and the crisp air causes you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and the October breeze causes you to wrap your arms around your torso tighter split into cars.

“Right, me and de Vos we’ll go in that car, you and Bruce in his and Jasmine – “

“I’ll come with you guys, Betty.”

Before you can protest Jasmine leaving you alone with Bruce, they’ve all made their way to the car near the curb and you’re left with no option but to begrudgingly follow Bruce into his car – which had been haphazardly parked, almost climbing onto the sidewalk.

Neither of you say a word as you climb into the passenger seat and he buckles into the driver’s seat and you both drive in complete silence – except for your anxiety ridden heartbeat thudding in your chest. You watch the streetlamps pass by the dark shadows, the apricot orange light falls solemnly on the gravel roads and it invokes a sense of déjà vu in you, to last Wednesday and a humourless laugh almost escapes your lips but you manage to keep the silence – and it’s still stifling.

By the time, you reach the Manor, it’s almost 2:30 am on the digital clock in the car and Bruce stops the car and neither one of you makes a move to get out. Instead, Bruce puts his hand into his breast pocket and pulls out an envelope. It’s the same cream colour as the ones you received in the dressing room and the one, he gave to you tonight.

“Bruce?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you hesitantly take the envelope – your fingers shaking as you open envelope – the seal was already broken and your fingertips against the hoarse paper is the only sound you can hear – and you watch the moonlight frame shadows on Bruce’s face as he looks at you.

“What is this.”

A beat passes before he speaks.

“That night, uh, before you came to my house, Alfred gave me this letter that he found, and I read it and it said – “

“That ‘this is a warning to stay away from her’”, you completed his sentence, reading off the letter. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You know I’ve been asking you the same thing for the past couple of days.” His voice is oddly strained, and you pretend you didn’t hear what he said.

“You shouldn’t have told me to leave that night,” You don’t look at him when you say this, head looking out towards the window and the peak of sunlight edging off the horizon and you wait for him to say something.

“I know.” There’s a slight tone of bitterness in his voice but you don’t dwell it for long because his hands come out to guide your face towards his – his cold fingers resting gently under your chin, and a chill goes down your spine as you match his gaze.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t say anything, but you don’t make a move away from him either. “You know that I never want anything terrible happening to you and I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

A beat passes.

“I didn’t mean anything I said that day and I just didn’t know what to tell you.”

“Just like you don’t know how to tell me you’re Batman?”

You bite your lips in anticipation as Bruce’s eyes grow wide – his hold on your face disappearing and it takes him a second to process your confession.

“Y – You know?”

“Well, at least you’re not denying it.” You try to lighten the mood, but his face is still shocked. “Remember when I came over to your house for my 17th birthday? I heard you and Alfred talking about how you should be more careful on patrols.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you take your hand in yours and draw small circles on it before continuing.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to do anything stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“Like stop talking to me or I don’t know, erase my memory?”

“I can’t do that, you know.”

“Yeah, well I was scared and that’s why I kinda stopped talking to you after that visit.”

You intertwine his pinkie finger with yours and lift your joint hands above the console and he looks at you with a confused look.

“No more secrets after this,” You squeeze your hand. “Promise?”

He moves to press a light kiss against your temple before whispering

“Promise.”

Currently facing the large manor windows out-looking the gardens and entrance, you watch rain pour down copiously – making the view almost incomprehensible and a small frown makes it way on your face as you fidget around with the gold locket around your neck.

“Are you alright, miss?”

Alfred’s monotonous voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you look at him in confusion before he speaks up again.

“Master Bruce is in the study,” He studies you for a moment. “I though you would like to know.”

“Oh – yes, thank you.”

With a small nod in your direction, he turns around and you wait for the footsteps to fade away before you start to move away – on your way, you stop by the gold accented hanging mirror and adjust invisible creases in your dress – which was a soft pink, and off-the shoulder, before padding through the silent halls.

“Alfred says that you ‘seem sad’?”

Bruce doesn’t even lift his head when he questions you as you enter the study and watch the unnerving amount of bookshelves and sharp woodwork surround his hunched body over piles of papers in the corner of the room and you only roll your eyes as you make your way to the large, velvet armchair he was sitting at.

“Does he now?” You mutter under your breath – slightly embarrassed at the prospect of Alfred telling Bruce about your sadness over something so trivial.

“Well, are you sad?”

“I don’t know Bruce, am I?”

He doesn’t say anything but raises his eyebrow in response – at which you motion for him to move so you can make yourself comfortable in his lap – confined by the oak table in front of you and his arms wrap themselves around you as you burrow your head in his neck, enveloping yourself in the scent of his sandalwood cologne and body warmth.

“What happened?”

You incoherently mumble into his neck, which prompts him to nudge you and you slowly lift your head out and look at him with slightly red eyes and a pouty face.

“Love – “

“I really wanted to go out to the lakes today.” You hope he doesn’t hear you, but he does, and you can see his eyes light up in humour and he barely contains a smile as you shake your head.

“I had it all planned!” You start to move your hands as well now, making exuberant gestures to accentuate your point. “I was gonna bring these picnic blankets, and this wicker basket and I wore this dress and – and I made mini cherry pies and this fucking stupid rain just ruined your surprise.”

You finish off your rant by burrowing your head again and leaving Bruce with a small smile on his lips as he tries to get you to life your head, but you just shake your head and a small chuckle escapes Bruce’s lips and you let out a small whine.

“It’s not funny!”

“Certainly not.”

You raise your head to stare at him unamused as you watch him follow your movements before he asks,

“Are you going to be upset this whole evening?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, what would cheer you up?” His voice is bemused as you contemplate his words in your mind before scanning the expanse of the room before something clicks in your mind.

“Can you play me the piano?”, your voice is soft and barely above a whisper, and Bruce comprehends your request, playing the piano? It seems simple enough and Bruce is a little confused.

“Y/n, I don’t really – “

“Please,” You move your hands to play with the buttons on his shirt. “Remember, when we were kids, and we had those piano lessons and I was so fucking bad. Like really bad,”

Bruce smiles a little as you laugh at the memory.

“And Mr. Lebedev was a terrible teacher and I hated him, and you used to try and teach me, but I was so bad.”

“So?”

You don’t stop the eye roll before responding.

“So, can you play the piano for me because I can’t – and I’ll feel less bad if you do.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, before nodding his head and trying to stand up to leave but you stop him, motioning him to pick you up.

“If you can bench-press a thousand pounds, then honey, you can lift me up.”

There’s a satisfied smile on your lips as you picks you up with a roll of the eyes before walking across the room, towards the grand piano set in the room, facing the large windows.

“What do you want me to play?” He asks as you both sit on the leather bench,

“Anything you want.” You shrug in response as he concentrates on the piano, deep in thought before moving his fingers – shakily – over the keys, and a delicate sound fills the air as his fingers glide expertly over the piano and you hold in your breath without realising as he plays his mother’s song.

You can remember it quite clearly because every time, she would ask Bruce to play a piece, she would always ask for this one.

You don’t want to say anything to disrupt his concentration, so you only closed you eyes and moving to softly rest you head on his shoulder, the intricate melody tangent to the patter of rain against the window and it feels a little ephemeral, and you feel yourself melt a little sitting there – wrapped up in the quite atmosphere.

le fin

how was it? part 2?

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagines #dc #batman #batman x reader #batman imagines #dc fanfic #alfred pennyworth #gotham #fanfic #robert pattinson

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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.6]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Chapter 06: From The Beyond

Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace.

[Mary B. Shelley, Frankenstein]

Thinking back on it later, the events during Garland Moon were probably what set the hare running toward its demise. Not that any of you could have known that. Not the students who joyfully spend their days in cherished halls where daylight passes through coloured glass; not Byleth with her gift to correct past mistakes with a flick of her wrist and change the course of time; not you with your foresight to see what dangers await in the future and prepare a different path for those you care for to walk safely.

Thinking back on it later, everything that followed surely ascribed to and served Fate, and not even Sylvain could charm her with his silver tongue and golden wit, for Fate’s lover is Time and she does not look kindly upon those who enslave him.

Maybe that is why things turned out the way they did for Byleth and you.

But that future is still far away and every single one of you still believes the goddess has Fate tightly leashed to her side, her benevolence endless and spreading to every corner in Fódlan.

That is why you don’t think too much about it when one day, Seteth disturbs your seminar, a deep frown settled in his features as you explain how to turn an ambush to your advantage to the students.

“Apologies for the disturbance, Herald. Lady Rhea asks to see Ashe.”

The boy gives a pitiful squeal but is up on his feet nonetheless. “Me? Why?”

“You will see. Please come.” Seteth holds the classroom’s door open.

You nod, a little worried about the frightened glance Ashe sends your way like he hopes you can actually say no and decline Rhea’s command. An encouraging smile is everything you can give him on his way before the door shuts behind him. Its sound wakes everyone else from their slumber and it takes a few minutes to reclaim order and their attention. It certainly does help that the Blue Lion House isn’t as chaotic as a certain other, not to name any names.

Said house proves again to be more difficult to teach. Or tame. You didn’t have the courage to ask why they thought it was a good idea to see whose shoe would leave the darkest stain on Claude’s bedroom’s ceiling. Even days after their mischief students kept talking about how they have never seen Seteth this furious.

“Herald, please,” Hilda cries, tragically draped over the back of her chair, a maiden in bittersweet agony over her loss of free time. “It was all Claude’s fault.”

“Liars never prosper,” Claude calls from the far back of the room. He’s hunched over his papers, working vigorously on Seteth’s punishment. He ordered them to write hundred times I shall not throw footwear against any ceiling in the monastery. They’ve been at it for about twenty minutes and Claude’s quill hasn’t stopped its furious scratching against parchment at all.

“I won’t mess with Seteth,” you tell them and lean dangerously far back on your chair to place your feet on the teacher’s desk. “And you deserve it. Or do they not teach you proper manners in your noble homes?”

“Well, it’s not like anyone taught us not to do it,” Hilda chirps. You throw a glare her way and she quickly dugs her head and continues writing. Quills scratch on paper for about seven seconds before Hilda stops again.

“Herald,” she says. “What do you think about Lady Catherine’s Thunderbrand?”

You look up from your book titled Noticeable War Generals. Smile gone from her face, Hilda looks up at you with sharp curiosity. It’s eerily silent now, and a quick glance towards Claude shows he is listening as well.

Catherine’s Thunderbrand. Its sight is still burned into the back of your closed eyes: Golden ivory forged into a grotesque sword, a blood red Crest Stone in its middle that seemed to pulsate—as if it breathed. As if it was a living thing with a heart. You had simply stared at it in awe and thought What a mesmerising weapon.

“It’s … fascinating,” you manage. “A Hero’s Relic. There are more than just Thunderbrand, right?”

“Ten exist,” Claude calls from the back. “Bestowed by the goddess upon ten heroes, they are passed down to their descendants. House Riegan and House Goneril have one in their possession as well.”

“Then why don’t you use it?” You certainly wouldn’t miss a chance to own and wield a mighty weapon like that.

“Wield that?”Hilda shudders in disgust. “No thank you. It looks so weird, pulsating and moving like an insect.”

“And we’re way too inexperienced to use it in a real battle.” Claude puts his quill between his nose and upper lip and tries to hold it there. “They’re locked away anyway and hidden from those who might misuse their power.”

Claude has a point. Nonetheless, you’d gladly take a look at them. Maybe even hold one … Did the Herald own one as well? A special weapon only forged for the Herald. A slight shudder runs down your spine at the thought of using it in battle.

Ten minutes later, Claude jumps to his feet. He hurries towards you, slams his parchments on the table and leaves just as fast. “Bye Herald!”

“No way!” Hilda pales. “How is he so fast?”

You wonder as well and take a look at his papers. Instead of writing what Seteth has told them, Claude simply left poor drawings of their crime and promised with one sentence he wouldn’t do it again.

And we of House Riegan never break our promises, reads the last line.

You groan. Now it’s your turn to think about a good explanation to Seteth’s questions why you haven’t paid more attention.

Month three passed within the blink of an eye. Garland Moon brought the sweet smell of white roses to Garreg Mach, a tradition much anticipated by the students. Everywhere you went, garlands and gifts made of white roses were given to each other as a sign of friendship or budding love. Some found their way to your desk, though your admirers preferred to stay anonymous whereas Byleth was busy to stow them somewhere—not a day passed without her receiving something or a group of giggling students following her around.

“I really don’t know what to do with all those flowers,” she told you one day during a tea session, a deep frown on her face. “They wilt. Then I throw them away. It’s a waste.”

“Your students love it,” you replied but were glad not to be in her place.

Another good deed Garland Moon brought with it is longer days and shorter nights. Students lounged outside in their summer uniforms after class, enjoying those last warm days before raining season arrived with fierce gusts and heavy pouring, forcing them back inside where they spent their free time inside the library or the dining hall, playing little games to kill time.

For a change of pace, Byleth and Jeralt decided they’d hold a grilled fish dinner on every last day of each week and most of the invited either didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell them once every week was once every week too much.

Everything happened too fast after that. Rhea informed the teacher’s faculty and her Knights of Lord Lonato Gaspard’s planned rebellion against the church. With that, the mystery of why Seteth had demanded to speak with Ashe was solved; it also explained why he spent so much time inside the chapel, praying and wondering himself about his adoptive father’s reasoning.

“There is no question about it,” Rhea says in her cool, demanding voice once every teacher and Knight of Seiros gathered inside the War Room to discuss the matter. “We will send a troop to meet them halfway in Kingdom Territory. They will pay for mocking our goddess.”

“Allow me to lead the Knights, Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. Even now, you can’t take your eyes off Thunderbrand strapped on her back. “I know Gaspard and what he’s capable of.”

“We did not forget what you’ve done back when—” Seteth starts. Catherine silences him with one look, leaving no doubt she doesn’t wish to speak of it.

“And that is exactly why I have to go.”

Rhea nodded. “So be it. I know I leave this mission in your capable hands.”

“But why is he leading this rebellion?” you wonder. “I thought the Kingdom is strongly devoted to Seiros’ teachings.”

“Every flock has its black sheep,” Rhea says, sounding sad. “We will get our answers once we defeat and capture them.”

“What about the surrounding villages and those who support Gaspard’s rebellion but don’t fight?” Byleth asked. Until now, you haven’t really thought of those not directly involved in it, but she does make a good point.

Rhea squared her shoulders. “What about them?”

“They’re not directly involved but might try to get in our way.” Byleth glanced at the strategic map laid out before her. There is a way through the forest for your units to approach Lonato’s stronghold. Surrounding villages are marked with a red pin. They surround the forest in a loose circle, making an intrusion possible, though sending Knights of Seiros out to watch them and stop them could be quite easy—

“Everyone who supports this foolish rebellion should receive the rightful punishment,” Rhea says, her voice so cold it freezes your thoughts of how to make the villagers stay out of this. Your head snaps up as you stare at her. Byleth raises an eyebrow but remains silent just like everyone else. Something about that makes you shudder.

“But they’re civilians, right? If we can avoid having them interfere—”

“By joining Lonato Gaspard’s rebellion they pledge guilty to his cause.” Rhea looks up at you, scorn flashing briefly in her eyes. “I will not have them simply go if it opens the possibility for revenge one day.”

If you squinted really hard, there was reason behind her words. Still, your stomach turned at the thought of endangering civilians even though it could be prevented. Without any protests, that was the plan for the operation.

You sat this one out. There was much to prepare for the upcoming Rite of Rebirth, a ceremony when the Church of Seiros and its believers unite to pray for the return of the goddess. Even though you wouldn’t call yourself a believer—many find it strange that you remember the way of war but not the way of the Church as if you lived somewhere without Seiros’ teachings—your presence was of outmost importance as well. Though after you heard how the mission went, you really wished you had joined the Blue Lions fighting against Gaspard instead of sitting around and deciding which ceremonial robes fit better.

Loud voices drift through the closed door of a classroom, voices you immediately recognise belonging to Dimitri and Byleth.

“Are you insane?” You flinch back even though a heavy wooden door separates you from what is undoubtedly Dimitri’s wrath. “Those were civilians.”

A reply is lost, too quiet for you to hear, but whatever Byleth said, it wasn’t the right thing. A second later, Dimitri storms through the doors. The distress in his features stops you from asking what is wrong, a flash of betrayal lurking in his eyes seals your mouth shut. You look after him until he disappears around the corner, only slowly turning towards Byleth. She is propping herself up on the table, learning on her strong arms and staring at the opposite wall, her mouth a grim line—solid rock that stands against the raging waves summoned by Dimitri, her grip on the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Everything okay?” An unnecessary question answered by a simple shake of her head. You lean your hips against the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Byleth is silent. Only slowly, like a tight knot finally coming lose, the tension in her shoulders dissipates and she takes a long, deep breath.

“Dimitri told me about their mission. How they dealt with Lord Lonato’s revolt.” She finally steps away from the table and kneads the muscles in her shoulders. You imagine they’re hard like a rock. “They faced simple peasants who defended their Lord. Peasants who didn’t even know how to wield a sword without cutting their own thumbs off.”

“And Rhea made quite clear how to deal with them,” you finish, summoning unwanted imaginations about a gruesome butchery in your mind. Byleth nods.

“Dimitri asked for my advice,” she continues, her gaze drifting towards the door as if said young man might return like a bad haunting if his name is simply muttered. “If there was anything they could have done different. I told him there wasn’t.” She tears her eyes away from the door and fixes them on you. “I told him that is the way of war.”

She is right, a part of you insists. Such facts cannot be changed and claiming anything different is foolish, naive. Yet, something stirs, a tiny tiny voice, a feeling, that challenges that thought. A feeling you didn’t expect to be part of you.

“I don’t know about the details,” you say, shuffling from left to right, “but maybe it was avoidable. Lord Lonato must have known how his subjects felt about it. He didn’t need to involve them.”

“I think they joined on their own. The students gave them a chance to lay down their weapons.”

“Still—”

“Still they decided to follow their foolish Lord,” a voice from the door joins, cold and imperious, chilling you to the bone. Rhea enters the War Room, her expression void of any warmth or kindness. “There is no place for doubt. We must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians.”

“And you think to have the students punish them is right?” Byleth asks, earning a sharp glare from Rhea. She quickly, but somewhat begrudgingly adds, “Your Grace.”

“I have heard that some students struggled with completing the task,” Rhea acknowledges, doing her best to show how unaffected she is by Byleth’s criticism. “I pray they learnt a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to point their blades towards the heavens.”

An icy shudder crawls up your spine, cold fingers tighten around your throat to keep you silent—a leash forged of obedience and intimidation, the mistress standing before you. It would be wise to keep your mouth shut, not draw unnecessary attention; keep your head low and nothing can slice it from your shoulders. But the words, burning hot on your tongue, demand freedom.

“Fearing the Church isn’t the same as respecting it.”

Something sharp flashes in Rhea’s eyes. “If fear is the only way to control them, then so be it. They are traitors to the holy teachings.”

“They are people. People with families.”

“People who would be wise to remember it was the progenitor god who gave them these lands and their life,” Rhea answers, growing impatient. She notices something in the way you look at her, for she takes a moment to collect herself by taking a deep breath. “I do not enjoy seeing those who wronged our holy teachings punished, Herald,” she continues, now much calmer. “But punish them we must before they hurt those who are dear to us.” Upon her last words, her eyes dart to Byleth, looking at her with so much fondness and care, a sting of jealousy in your chest forces you to avert your gaze to the ground. It isn’t the first time you notice Rhea’s palpable interest in Byleth’s wellbeing though no answer comes to mind why it is like that. If Byleth noticed the same, she doesn’t show it.

After that, the incident is quickly forgotten, making room for the new incident occupying everyone’s mind: an assassination plot on Rhea on the day of the Rite of Rebirth found in Lonato’s possession. You aren’t the only one wondering why he’d carry something like that around where it’s easy to find. Multiple theories go around, one more farfetched than the other. One particular makes sense, its source none other than sharp witted Claude who thinks this plot is a simple distraction for something much bigger.

“If security is focused on the Rite of Rebirth inside the Goddess’ Tower, pretty much anyone can simply stroll around the monastery and do who knows what,” he told you on the day Byleth and her class set out to discover what important places might become a target. Garreg Mach hides many secrets and treasures. Some of them even you are not allowed to see like relics passed down from archbishop to archbishop, guarded by the elite of the Knights of Seiros, tall and bulky men and women with grim mouths and determined eyes rooting them in place day and night in front of locked doors only Rhea knows what they hide.

With every passing day, tension hangs in the air like a thick blanket waiting to smother you all. But it isn’t simply the anticipation for whatever the Western Church has planned. It is also the holy ceremony of the Rite of Rebirth, one you’ve practised under the stern eyes of Seteth who doesn’t settle for anything less than perfect. Every word, every step is engraved in your mind.

On the day of the Rite of Rebirth the sun relentlessly blazes down at the monastery. Your ceremonial robes are heavy and woven from thick jacquard fabric lined with fine golden patterns that depict the Herald’s Crest on the back. You’ve barely finished preparing everything inside the round chamber inside the Goddess’ Tower but perspiration glues your hair to your forehead.

A whole feast is prepared; food offerings and gifts from the townsfolk and priests served on golden and silver plates on long tables covered with white table clothes. In the middle Seteth prepared a small platform for Rhea to stand and speak in honour of the goddess that she may return to Fódlan and show its people her infinite grace. In short, you’d do anything to join the students who are securing the locations lacking in defence right now instead of standing around and waving at pilgrims. The only joy lies in Flayn’s bright presence and her never ending optimism. She’s a sweet girl and has been looking forward to the ceremony since the beginning of Blue Sea Moon. Looking upon her, it is hard not to catch her excitement and joy when the ceremony finally begins.

Because of certain circumstances you couldn’t quite follow, the holy relic used for the ceremony, the Chalice of Beginnings, has been missing for a long time. Because of that, a mock chalice was prepared by the cardinals, a handful of high authority men and women who make it no secret they can’t quite decide if they like or dislike you and your position.

“You must excuse them,” one of the cardinals says after a group of them simply shook their heads at you happily scooping tons of food on a plate. His dark hair falls to his shoulders and unlike the other cardinals, his brown eyes are filled with kindness. “They simply think in old patterns and value their old traditions. You are quite young, Herald. They don’t know how to handle that.”

“But you do?” you wonder and notice too late how unfriendly that sounds. But he simply laughs.

“I do frequent with young folk, yes,” he says. “They are my flock and I will do anything to protect them.”

“That again, Aelfric?” Catherine joins you and slaps his shoulder just when he was about to drink from his cup. You pretend the pastries on your plate are far more interesting than watching him choke on wine. “You’re way too good for them, you know?”

“Who is ‘them?’” you ask but Catherine just sways her hand as if he wants to get rid of a nasty fly.

“Unimportant. You did a good job carrying the chalice to the podium.”

“I did almost trip over these.” You pluck at the heavy robes, already looking forward to getting out of them.

Catherine laughs but it is short lived. Out of nowhere, a knight hurriedly approaches and leans over to her, muttering, “They are after the tomb of Saint Seiros.”

Glass shatters as her grip tightens around the fragile stem but without so much as noticing it she storms towards Rhea, fury blazing in her eyes. Something happened. Something far more exciting than playing a believer in front of everyone, so you follow her to listen in more.

“Those dastards from the Western Church infiltrated the Holy Mausoleum,” she says. Rhea pales. “I will take some knights and go there at once.”

“Go and be swift, Catherine.” Rhea’s words are barely a puff of breath, those news shaking her but she remains stoic in front of everyone to prevent panic. Her voice drops dangerously low. “Punish those heathens.”

Catherine’s head dips in a slight bow. “I will, Your Grace.”

“I want to help too.”

Both turn around at your voice. Catherine narrows her eyes to sharp slits, but it is Rhea who says, “No. I need you here for the ceremony, Herald.”

“Please, let me,” you beg. Something inside you demands to follow, demands to see what is inside the Holy Mausoleum that causes so much bloodshed. “I can’t explain, but I need to be there.”

Rhea presses her lips into a thin line. Before she reopens her mouth to decline your wish, you whirl around and leave the ceremony room, Catherine in hot pursuit. You manage halfway down the hallway before she reaches you and grabs your arm hard.

“Even though you are the Herald, I won’t allow you to show this disrespect towards Her Grace,” she snarls. “If she tells you to stay, you listen.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” you say, trying to free your arm from her bone breaking grip. “But something calls me to this place and I need to follow it.”

Catherine isn’t pleased but she knows better than do you any real harm. With a crude nod, she allows you to follow. Several knights wait for you and together you make your way through the warm evening air towards the Holy Mausoleum that lies behind the chapel.

You enter right before chaos erupts. At the end of the hall, its ceiling so high up it’s barely visible in the dark, Byleth stands tall and rises a sword that flashes in a bright red light. A throb goes through your body and brings you to your knees. It feels like an arrow drove into your chest, the stinging pain unlike anything you’ve felt before—no, it’s a pain you haven’t felt since the Crest appeared on your eye for the first time. And then that thrumming energy within you exploded, a sharp crimson that drenched every corner of your right vision, rushing through your veins.

“Kill them!” an enemy mage commands, fury fuelling him to a last desperate attack. With his remaining companions, they summon a giant fire spell you’ve only read about in books, a combination of spells into a group flame that covers a large area—the pre-stage to a much more fatal blaze that can scorch the land. Blaze or no, the effect watching the giant fire ball curling and sparking until it grows large enough to wipe out anything in its way is the same. Fear paralyses your body. Move, your mind screams, but you can’t. Your muscles have locked up; a high whine of terror fills your head and fizzes in your blood like poison, yet you do not understand where this fear of fire comes from.

“Take cover!” Catherine roars but it is too late. The blast hits the ground right before you, dispersing your small group of reinforcements like wind scattering leaves in all directions. A loud crack beneath you makes your heart skip a beat, a rumble shakes the hall and before you can fully comprehend what is happening, the ground gives way.

The last thing you hear is Byleth shouting, not Herald, but your name before you plunge into darkness.

Wake up.

You have to wake up.

This darkness is terrifying, so utterly black and choking, curling around you like a tight fist. Like someone is holding you in their dirty, tainted clutches, smelling of death and horror. Wake up, you tell yourself, more urgent now, your mind struggling to escape from claws digging into your consciousness, their goal unknown but you don’t want to stay here to find out what they are after. What they want to take from you.

Wake up, this time another voice, the voice, echoing like a sweet bell’s chime, the flicker of light in a darkness so black it hums. You have to wake up.

Your eyes snap open, the sudden white ceiling hurting like a sudden flash of light. Once you’re used to the brightness, you realise this isn’t a room, this is … this is your consciousness—no walls, no windows. It’s just a space, and yet you can clearly determine borders. Somewhere is an exit you’re free to use, nothing holds you captive. It’s your safe place. Your haven. Which doesn’t explain how you’ve gotten here.

All you know is it feels safe. It feels like a warm embrace, the feeling of hope, watching a budding flower embraced by soft, fragile hands—asteritrope, your mind provides out of nowhere, the flower always turning its head towards the Blue Star.

It is like breaking a spell. First, everything is simply white, empty, a second later, you stand in a vast field of asteritropes, an ocean of purple, gently swaying flowers at your feet. Everything smells of sweet innocence, of honey dipped fingers and bittersweet regret. It is a familiar scent, one your body remembers and reacts to with a shudder so strong it rattles deep in your bones; a chill so cold it freezes you on the spot, the slightest movement threatening to shatter you entirely.

What is this grief, this sadness? Is it your own or have you fallen into a sea of tears wept by someone else? Your chest is heavy with a burden, a pulling towards the unknown that is yet so familiar. It is homesickness towards a place you have never been but long to visit.

The flowers shaped like little stars stretch beyond what you think are the edges of this place. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up anytime soon, relishing in this peace and quiet.

A peace and quiet that lasts only a moment until you notice it. Not it, him. In the middle of the field, a boy sits, bent over something that demands his complete attention. Dark curls fall against pale skin, his brows pulled tightly together as his fingers work something in his lap. He is wearing a simple white robe, though it is unlike any of the religious wear you've seen on the priests and nuns; it seem ... too old for that. Only after you approach, you see he is folding purple flowers and green steams into a crown.

“Hello?” you say, only now entertaining the idea you might have died and this is the afterlife, the first point before returning to the goddess’ side. It is a strangely tranquil thought. “Can you hear me?”

The boy’s head snaps up, his eyes wide as he momentarily forgets his work, and you take a step back, struck by how bright his steel grey eyes are. They roam over you, up and down, back up again, as he slowly raises to his feet.

“You’re here,” he says, awestruck. “You’re finally here. It is so nice to meet you after all this time.”

His voice is like a punch to your gut. You recognise it immediately, the voice who pulled you back from the darkness.

“You—” Nothing makes sense. “Who are you? What are you?”

“There is nothing to fear,” he says, offering you his hand. The tips of his fingers are purple from handling delicate petals. The crown lies at his bare feet, forgotten. He looks strangely vulnerable.

You take another step back, worry a steady, hard pulse against your neck. The air catches in your lungs. You feel like the ground is opening beneath your feet. “Are you … the goddess? A god?”

The boy blinks, then throws his head back and bursts out laughing, the sound like sweet bells chiming in the wind. “You people love to call everything you do not understand god.”

“Then what are you?” It comes out as a breath, and for a brief second you think it’s fear that seizes your body, but no. You should be afraid and yet instead of frenzy panic there is a calm spreading inside you as if you belong here. You can’t say if it’s the boy’s presence or the familiar scent of wildflowers.

The boy leans his head to the side, his smile as vibrant as early sunlight casting away leftover shadows from a dark night. “Hmmm … the End, perhaps? Or why not just … a friend?”

“The end? My end?”

“No, the end is never simply the end,” he says, shaking his head.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“It may be a rebirth,” he continues. “Or the passing into a new era. Into a new dawn.”

“A new dawn,” you mumble. The realisation makes your knees weak. “Don’t tell me—” You suck in a sharp breath, unable to belief where your thoughts are hurling towards in lightning speed. You kneel onto the soft flowerbed, careful not to crush any flowers. “Why are we here … do you know me by chance?”

“I … cannot say for sure,” he starts slowly, uncertainty turning his features even younger. “I have been watching you since you awoke four moons ago. On that day, I as well awoke from a deep slumber. But I do not know why it is you that I am bound to.”

“Bound to?” Your head spins. “What do you mean?”

“You must have felt it by now, have you not? I am here because of this,” he says, and lifts his hand to point at your right eye. You flinch back as if he smacked you right across your face.

“So you are him,” you whisper, a shudder ripping through your body. “You’re the first Herald. You are Seiros’ Champion.”

The boy smiles.

45 notes · View notes

saviorinsilk · 5 years ago

Text

Again

Ship: Wilhemina Venable x Fem!Reader

Description: Wilhemina Venable is your College English Professor and on a particular night you learn your lesson for speaking out in class. This is an AU!

Words: 1869

Warnings: Punishment, professor x student, strap on sex, spanking, domination and discipline.

A/N: You guys wanted more of Venable spanking reader so here you sluts go!

Tears clouded your vision of the textbook that was laying open on the desk in front of you. Your body jerked forward when yet another harsh slap rang loudly through the Victorian styled office. Ms. Venable had delivered another brutal hit on your already red, welt covered ass. You didn't make any noise, you wouldn't dare. Your professor had taught you better than that. But oh how you wished you could vocally express yourself.

"Again Miss Y/L/N." Ms. Venable spoke from behind you, her bruising grip loosening up so she could ghost her hand up your lower back and back down. She caressed the sensitive skin of your burning red ass in slow circles as she pushed your dress that was already hiked up, even higher and out of her way.

You supported yourself on one of your shaky elbows as you wiped your eyes with your free hand, the words on the page in front of you now clearer.

"First Person; In the subjective case, the singular form of the first person is "I," and the plural form is "we." "I" and "we" are in the subjective case because either one can be used as the subject of a sentence." Your voice was small, the half-hour of canning you had already endured because of your slip up in Ms. Venable's English lecture, having already caused you to sink deep into your submissive headspace. You braced yourself for the impending attack, making it easier to hold back the whimper that dared to escape.

Ms. Venable's delicate but deadly cane collided with your ass for what felt like the hundredth time, your weak legs beginning to shake as your full ass bounced with the force of the hit.

You took that as your cue to continue and once again began reading over the next paragraph on the page she had been making you repeat, this time your voice shaking as she hit you once, twice and three times.

"Second Person; You use the second-person point of view to address the reader, as I just did. T-The second person uses the pronouns "you," "your," and "yours." We use these t-three pronouns when addressing one, or more than one, person." Your voice was beginning to falter and you wished you had just kept your mouth shut and hadn't made that stupid snippy remark in class.

"Actually Ms. V, wouldn't you want to use first person?" You regretted opening your mouth the moment the classroom fell silent. You knew you had fucked up and everyone else did as well, giving you sympathetic looks as Ms. Venable slowly made her way over to your seat, her cane clicking loudly against the tile floor as she did. She didn't stop until she was standing directly in front of your desk at the front of the class, her piercing dark gaze locked on you. You couldn't bring yourself to meet her eyes as she spoke.

"If you are going to try and correct me Miss Y/L/N, at least do it right."

She snapped back, the class straining not to erupt in laughter, fearing her wrath. A hand shot up at the other side of the room but Ms. Venable took a moment before she nodded at the girl.

"I believe the correct answer is actually second person Ms.Venable." Stupid Casey. You hated Casey. She was such a kiss ass. Always offering to help Ms. Venable after class, purposely being the last one (other than you of course) to leave the class so she could steal a few extra moments with your professor. You hated how jealous the blonde, skinny College girl made you; but you couldn't help it. Even the knowledge that Casey thought of Ms. Venable in that way made your blood boil. And Ms Venable knew it too.

"Very right Casey. Glad to know some of you are paying attention. As for you Miss Y/L/N, we will discuss your behaviour after class."

There had been nothing you had been able to do but clench you're fists and get through the rest of class.

"You will be in my office by 11:30pm sharp." Was all she said before directing her attention back to her computer.

She didn't need to ask. Only You and Ms. Venable knew the truth. That this was exactly what you had wanted. When you didn't move she glared at you, making you blush and quickly pick up your books and throw your bag over your shoulder. Your plan was progressing perfectly and her furious gaze only made you squeeze your thighs together harder, biting your lip the way you knew drove your secret lover crazy.

Her office was connected to the small apartment she lived in on campus. It was a 5-minute walk from your dorm, one you had gotten quite accustomed too.

You still remember the first night you spent in her office. Ms. Venable had offered to tutor you through the writing project she had assigned. She had sat across her desk from you and for the first time you had witnessed her smile, telling you that your outline looked perfect. It was something that didn't often happen from the tough grader. That had been the first night. A tutoring session gone sexual.

Today had been no different, except you knew what was awaiting you and it wasn't praise. She barely had spoken to you before she had bent you over her desk, slamming the textbook down in front of you and making you go to page 62, paragraph 23, demanding you begin reading.

Ms. Venable had seemed to have found a tad of mercy in her cold heart, as she lowered her cane, instead gently tracing the welts and light bruises that had already begun to form from the assault from her cane.

You took the chance to catch your breath, squeezing your eyes shut, demanding that the salty tears that dared to spill down onto the pages below to stay put.

That's when you heard it, the light sound of her skirt dropping, the delicate lavender fabric pooling at her feet before the woman stepped out of it and slid it out of her way. The sound elicited both excitement and fear in you. It made your stomach twist and the warmth that had built up in your core was becoming painful.

That's when you felt it, smooth and rock hard against your ass. She had been wearing her strap the whole evening and by weight of it, you knew it was your favourite one.

Ms. Venable leaned down over you, the dominance she radiated causing you to press your thighs together, desperate to quench the painful arousal that the dark woman had caused. Her strap pressed again your wet cunt as she snatched your long hair that was already pulled up in a ponytail (convenient for her) in her fist. You couldn't help the high pitched squeak that slipped past your lips as she yanked your head back. You could feel Ms. Venable's hot breath against the shell of your ear as she used her foot to kick your legs wider apart; granting her access to the part of you that only belonged to her.

"You enjoy being a brat? Embarrassing me in front of all my students?" She sarcastically asked, slapping your cunt roughly with her impossibly large cock. You bit your lip to keep your moans locked inside, drawing blood as Ms. Venable delivered a few more slaps to your aching cunt. You shook your head frantically, crying out as you opened your mouth to answer her.

"No Ms! I'm a bad girl! I'm sorry!" You whimper as she pulled your earlobe into her mouth.

She hit you with her hand harder than you were expecting and simultaneously slide her large, thick cock into you. The impossible stretch you felt as Ms. Venable buried herself completely inside of your dripping, warm and throbbing cunt, made you moan deeply, fresh tears pricking your eyes. You arched your back painfully and dropped your head to the wooden desk, smashing against it loud enough to cause Ms.Venable's predatory expression to falter for a split second. The concern faded quickly though when she felt you began to grind your hips back, desperate for your professor to give you what you needed.

She moaned in pleasure as she watched your tight hole stretch perfectly around her cock, like you were made for it. Made to serve her.

Ms. Venable's hand came down on your right ass cheek and then the left, her dark eyes blown black with lust. She could tell you were close, noticing the way your whimpers became more desperate, the textbook falling flat on the desk, your head resting on top it.

"Ah, ah, ah don't be a greedy little slut. You better not cum until you're finished." Ms. Venable warned you in a calm tone as she stayed still inside of you, as torturous as it was for her, the stimulation of the base of the strap had begun to make her clit throb but she knew you wouldn't last if she didn't.

Ms. Venable may have been a cruel Mistress and a strict teacher but she knew how sensitive you were after a spanking. How the pain lit your body up like a live wire. Plus, after how good you had been for her, she truly didn't want to have to punish you for cumming without permission.

"Third Person; The third person is the most common point of view used in fiction writing and is the traditional form for academic writing. Authors of novels and composers of papers use "he," "she," or "it" when referring to a person, place, thing, or idea." You practically screamed the last sentence, bucking your hips back roughly, trying to get Ms. Venable as deep inside of you as you possibly could. You were sweating, crying and shaking like a pathetic mess, exactly how Professor Venable liked you.

"PLEASE! Fucking hell! Please, Ms. Venable! I won't forget again!" You sobbed, becoming frantic for something, anything that would soothe the burning and twisting sensation in your lower abdomens

Ms. Venable chuckled to herself, proud of the effect she had on you. If she were honest, she was glad you had finished up as she couldn't stand the intensely of her own arousal another second longer.

"Good girl. Such a smart slut. Now cum for me" You barely had time to register her words before Ms. Venable began thrusting into your roughly, a sure-fire way to have you cumming around her cock.

When your orgasm does snap in your belly Ms.Venable pulled you up, your back crashing into her chest. Your body went ridge, fire washing over you and Ms. Venable held onto you tightly, supporting your weight as she fucked you through your orgasm. "Thank y-you Miss!" You barely got the words out as your body shook with the aftershock of your orgasm.

Ms.Venable smirked wickedly as she shoved you back down on your elbows, cock pulled from your cunt with a sharp spank on your ass cheek. When she finally spoke again, you froze, hearing the three words you dreaded the most.

"Again Miss Y/L/N."

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starlightxsvt · 5 years ago

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Pink Dress || Joshua Hong au

Pairing: bad boy!Joshua x female reader

Genre: Fluff, slice of life, lil angst, suggestive, spice

Warnings: cursing, bad boy joshua coming for y'all

"What were you thinking when you wore this dress?" Joshua's dark eyes pierce into yours and you feel a little weak in the knees. As you fiddle with the hem of your dress, you squeak out a reply, "The weather was hot, you know."

It really was hot. The day started with you deciding to stay in the shelter of your home to avoid the blazing sun outside and finish your papers for the final. However, your plans changed with a call from Joshua.

He wanted to hang out with you in the library as he had a couple of books to pick up from there. You, being completely wrapped around Joshua's finger said yes without a second delay and promised the boy you'd meet him by 1 o'clock.

You rushed to pick an outfit, wanting to look pretty in front of Joshua. The male was the 'bad boy' of your campus; or so the rumors floating around suggested. It was your first year and like any other person with eyesight, you developed a crush on him. Which you kept to yourself until Joshua took a weird interest in you. He'd visit you during lunch, help you with your biology project, drop you home in his bike and even saved you from bullies a couple times.

It all made your heart swoon and turn your brain into mush. Soon enough, he's dragging you into corners and stealing kisses and touches with dirty, lustful words that fogs up your brain. That's when you fully realized, you were done for.

You have offered him your heart on a plate and now it was his to break. You try to subside the growing feelings for him in your heart but they only threaten to spill out. Hence, you thought it was necessary to look pretty in front of him.

You look lovely in pink, he'd said once when you wore pink to class. Remembering that and the awful weather outside, you go with a pink sundress with spaghetti straps and a low back,the hem reaching your mid thigh. It was a recent purchase and you were more than happy to see it's perfect fit.

You realized as you were halfway towards the library that the universe was not on your side. Out if nowhere, the sky is casted with thick clouds like they show in the horror movies and it starts raining cats and dogs. The campus library was about 10 minutes walk from your house but you make it in about 5, cursing yourself for not checking the weather forecast.

You see Joshua standing in front of the library building and rush over to him, drenched.

He quickly pulls you inside and his eyes darken as he scans you. That's how you end up with a fuming Joshua who looked very displeased with your choice of outfit.

"I can fucking see your bra, Y/n."

Your eyes widen as you quickly cover your chest with your backpack. Joshua sighs, frustrated. "Do you really think this outfit is appropriate for the library? Or were you trying to get me worked up? If so, then great, it worked."

"What? No!" You protest, a blush covering your cheeks.

Joshua takes off his leather jacket and puts it on you, ushering you into the library. After you take a seat, he hands you his handkerchief, motioning you to wipe your hair. As you do so, he disappears into the quietness of the library and returns a while later with a couple books in his hands.

"Are you here for these?" You ask.He nods, taking a seat beside you. You rub you hands together, feeling chilly.

"Cold?" He asks softly.

"A little."

"I'll drop you home once it stops raining. I shouldn't have called you out."

"No!" You reply, scared he regrets calling you. "I wanted to hang out with you too. I should've checked the weather."

"Forget it." He whispers, his eyes raking over you once again, making you squirm. "You look... sexy."

A blush blooms on your cheek, "Thank you. I-I wore it for y-you."

His pupils dilate slightly as a smirk kisses his lips, "Oh sweetheart, what am I gonna do with you?"

Make me your girlfriend, maybe.

He tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear before leaning in to press his lips against yours. You kiss him with the same eagerness until you remember you are in public. You slightly push him away, not meeting his eyes as you chew your bottom lip.

His hand rests on your thigh as his fingers draw soft patters on your skin. He takes in your features, a feeling of adoration and desire settling in his heart.

"If I asked you to come to my house now, would you agree?"

You swallow, meeting his eyes. He never asked you to his home before. "Y-yes."

"Shit, when will this fucking rain stop." He rakes his hand through his soft locks impatiently.

You bite your lip, "You know, I'm already soaked. Why don't w-we, uhm, leave already?"

Joshua meets your eyes, a bit surprised. You yourself can't believe the words came out of you as you look down into you lap, embarrassed by your eagerness.

"Are you sure?" He says already standing up. His face engulfed in a crooked smile and his eyes intense and darker than the clouds outside, his mind wandering to the filthy things he wants to do with you.

"Y-yes," You reached for his outstretched hand. You knew you were only making way for your heart to get broken but the boy in front of you is worth the heartbreak.

A/N: I can't believe I've wrote this in one sitting. Anyway, I've always had a thing for bad boy Joshua in a bike and so I had to write this. As always, feedbacks are greatly appreciated! 💖

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ffwriterbts · 4 years ago

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Lunar- BTS Werewolf AU Part 5

AN: As I’ve said before, if slowburn BTS werewolf AUs that have springlings of angst, smut, and fluff, this is the story for you! Other than that, please leave a like or comment so I know you’re enjoying the story!! The sections should start getting longer as I keep updating :)

Also! Let me know if you want to be on a tag list for this story!

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: General angst; mental health issues; soulmate themes if you squint: seriously if you aren’t into angst don’t read this bc :)))) it’s angsty

Posted: 16 Jan 2021

Tag List: @happynightmareprincess

Masterlist

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When YN woke up, swaddled in the softness of Jimin’s sweater, with Yoongi’s hoodie balled up in her arms, the teddy that Hobi got her resting next to her head, the light was streaming through the curtains. The scents of the three boys swirled around her in a way that was so familiar, so calming, that she almost forgot that she wasn’t still with them.

Sighing, she rolled over, opening her eyes properly for the first time. A deep sort of disappointment settled into an ever-growing pit in her stomach as her eyes flitted across her own bedroom for the first time in months.

Sadness hits her like a wave, slamming into her with an unknown, unrelenting force that left her gasping for air.

Wimpers fell from her lips as she curled into herself, not wanting to get up. All YN really wanted to do was to do was seek out the same comfort she had been getting when she was with them.

YN buries her face in Yoongi’s hoodie, willing herself not to cry anymore. Rationally, she knew she shouldn’t feel so bad. She knew she shouldn’t be so hard on herself, shouldn’t let the pit of hurt and anger in her chest rule her actions.

But honestly, YN wasn’t thinking rationally. She wasn’t removing herself from her feelings like she had done for the entirety of her life. She wasn’t putting the reminders of the boys she had called housemates and friends for the past two months out of sight.

Instead, YN just squeezed her eyes closed, ignoring the gaping hole in her chest and breathing in the scent of the boys that swirled around her.

It was because of this deep pain that YN took almost two hours to rouse herself out of bed. It would have taken even longer, but eventually nature calls and hunger gnaws at you so much you have to eat something, even if you don’t really want to.

YN trudged her way to the bathroom, then to the kitchen. The small teddy that Hoseok had gotten her was held tightly to her chest as she stumbled around her house, the ever-so-soft material of Jimin’s sweater feeling almost scratchy against her sensitive skin.

She was cold. In fact the whole house was absolutely freezing, but she couldn’t bring herself to wrap up in a blanket or put on real pants. Looking through the kitchen, she quickly realized that she didn’t have much in the way of food she could eat without much hassle.

Shivering, YN ran a hand through her hair, grabbing a small bag of some snack food she had never seen before and stumbling her way to the study she found so much comfort in. Absently, she opened the snack, nibbling on it and tasting nothing.

Silently, YN thanked herself for setting up her laptop in its usual spot the day before. She knew the only thing that she’d be able to do for a while would be to write something terribly sad and angsty.

And that’s exactly what she did. She nibbled on the snack, which she eventually realized was one of the things that Jin and Yoongi had brought to her home on the day of the attack, typing away furiously as she tried to express the emotions that were swirling around inside of her.

She didn’t remember grabbing a bottle of water, but there was one on her desk when she withdrew from her typing enough to realize she was thirsty. She chugged it like she had never had water before in her life, staring vacantly at the computer screen. The words she had been writing for god knows how long swirled before her eyes as she realized just how tired she actually was.

She stood with a groan, her back feeling more stiff than it had in months. YN pulled the sleeves of the sweater down over her hands, picking up the teddy from its place next to her computer and clutching it to her chest again. She went straight back to her room, shivering as she slid her feet across the cold floors, longing for the warmth of another body to sedate the chill that seemed to have settled in her bones.

She felt like she was floating now, the same hole bleeding in her chest as the pain turns to a sort of uncomfortable numbness. Her whole body felt like it had just frozen in place with no room for emotions, good or bad.

Snidely, she thought about the way the boys would come to her with worry etched on their beautiful faces if they had been close enough to her that they could feel her emotions. As strange as it was to get used to in the beginning, having seven other people who could instantly tell when you’re having a bad day, YN actually really enjoyed feeling known like that.

She liked that they would ask her what was wrong and actually listen. She liked that they would shake their heads at her when they realized she just had forgotten to eat lunch and was grumpy because of that. She liked that each of them would approach her negative emotions differently, having their own ways to distract her and make her feel better. Whether it was because her injuries were particularly bad or because she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they were there to cheer her up in their own special ways.

They were bitter, the memories swirling around her head. YN buried herself under the blankets of her bed, cold settling in her bones as she held Yoongi’s hoodie to her cheek.

She thought of how Jin would sigh at her, shaking his head and telling her to go get Yoongi, the three of them were going to try out this new recipe that was too complicated for just one person to make. He never expected her to talk to him, but was always a sympathetic ear when she decided to open up.

She thought of how Yoongi had found her one too many times, sitting on the couch in his studio long after everyone else had gone to bed, typing away on her computer like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. He’d never say much then, instead clearing his throat and suggesting they both go to bed, closing the laptop with one hand and helping her up with the other. He’d give her a soft, gummy smile and open the doors for her, easily lifting her off her feet if she was having pain or trouble with her ankle. What she wouldn’t give now, to be carried to her room by Yoongi and told to get some sleep for once by the man who never seemed to sleep at night.

She thought about her energetic discussions with Namjoon about topics she really cared about, and how he would seat himself across from her in the library when she’d been reading for a little too long, drawing her out of her reprieve with discussion. His eyes would crinkle slightly at the sides, gleaming as his dimple was on full display at her becoming more and more passionate, forgetting whatever had been on her mind before, even if just for a few minutes.

She thought of how, whenever Hobi would notice her getting restless, he would ask her questions about what kind of music he should try dancing to next, or about what kind of interesting dances he should rope Jimin and Jungkook into doing with him. He would give that sunshine smile to her as she gave him ideas, making her feel like she really mattered.

She thought of how Jimin would try to curl his much bigger body into her lap, careful not to put too much pressure on her bad leg, just in case. He would snuggle her, usually half smothering her with praise and questions until she was laughing again. He would always plant a kiss on her forehead before he got up again, chattering away about how she “just needed some Jimin cuddles” with the biggest smile on his face.

She thought of how Taehyung would pick her up every time he caught her hobbling from room to room, chastising her in a half-joking, half-serious way for walking when they all knew she wasn’t supposed to be. Every time, her ears would get hot as she mumbled an excuse about not wanting to bother anyone or not really being in pain, even though it sent shots of agony up her leg every time she tried to walk until just two weeks before she left the house. Taehyung would just shake his head, his voice reverberating through her chest as he told her that he was her “trusty steed” and that he took his duties very seriously.

And she thought of Jungkook, the one she was closest in age to, who was still awkward around emotions. He would offer her up some of whatever snack he was having, and insist that they go play another round of whatever game he had decided was his favorite for the time being. He never asked what was wrong, or why she didn’t feel good, instead he quietly tried to take her mind off of it, which she appreciated.

YN cried herself to sleep again that night.

~~~~~~

The week passed torturously slow. YN was in a depressive spiral, freezing cold despite the warmth of her home, swaddled in blankets and clutching onto the things that she had been left like they were her saving graces. The boys felt disjointed, like they had a part of them ripped away and it made everything more difficult to do for them.

As much as it had pained them, they kept true to Namjoon’s plan and didn’t go anywhere near YN for the entirety of the week, trying to be sure that YN was what she seemed to be. If their week was any indication, they had found a lost Omega.

Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook had spent most of the week trying (and failing) to convince Namjoon to let them be the ones to patrol over where YN lived. Namjoon was able to see right through this though, telling them to stay away from there and that he would be the only one that goes over into that part of their territory until the week is up.

Begrudgingly, they listen. Though not without trying to convince Hoseok to do their dirty work for them, which he refused.

When it came to the week being done, they had their answer. YN had to either be one of the lost or she was able to pack bond, for whatever reason. Once Namjoon was fully sure that they needed YN with them, in one way or another, he rounded up the boys.

“You all know that it’s been a week since YN left us. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that this week has been absolutely torture.” Namjoon starts, pacing back and forth in the living room, looking at the boys before him.

“Right Joon, what have you decided?” None of them pay attention to who it was that said it, but they were all looking at Namjoon anxiously.

“We need her here. With us. She’s started the pack bond, even though we all know she couldn’t have meant to.” Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, pausing his pacing to stand in the middle of the room, turning to the six other men he called his family.

“Hyung, what are we going to actually do?” It’s Jimin who speaks up this time, shifting nervously in his seat.

“Tomorrow morning, be ready to drive over to hers. It’s almost an hour, because we will have to go around the forest completely, but we need to explain to her what’s going on and let her make the choice for herself as to what to do.” Namjoon takes a deep breath. “Jin can drive the one car, and Yoongi can drive the other, since they have both taken the drive before. But whatever happens tomorrow, we have to respect YN and her decisions.”

They all agreed, excitement building as they chattered amongst each other.

“One of you needs to come and help me gather some snacks to take with us in the morning, I know you guys will just be absolutely starving if we don’t have something for the ride.” Jin stands and smiles fondly at the three youngest, who smile sheepishly back at him. Everyone in the room knew that the comment was directed at them, especially Jungkook.

It was Jungkook who followed the elder into the kitchen, excitedly packing what seemed like enough snack foods to feed twenty people, thought they both knew that between the seven of them, they’d all be gone or close to it by the end of the next day.

~~~~~~

When YN woke up the morning the pack was coming to see her, something compelled her to get out of bed without the two or three hour upset lounging session she had been growing used to.

For the first time since returning to her home, she put on a pot of coffee and found some cereal that she wouldn’t mind eating dry. YN sat at her kitchen counter, wearing Yoongi’s hoodie like a dress, sipping coffee that was far too hot and way too bitter for her liking, crunching on cereal.

YN was completely zoned out, doing these things without thinking about what she was really doing. One hand was alternating between bringing the half empty coffee cup to her mouth or grabbing a few pieces of cereal at a time, the other clutching that teddy bear to her chest like it would fill the gaping void.

It was because of this autopilot mode that YN didn’t hear the knocking at her door until it was fairly loud. Confused and not thinking at all, she went and opened the door paying absolutely no attention to the fact that she hadn’t gotten dressed for the day yet and she was not dressed appropriately to be seeing anyone just yet.

She is met with the sight of Namjoon’s smiling face looking down on her, his deep and polite voice asking her if they could come in as the other boys stood behind him, clearly impatient.

“Y-yeah of course” YN’s voice is rough from not having spoken for almost a whole week, other than to let sobs fall from her lips. She shakes her head as she moves to the side, letting the pack into her home.

It felt strange, seeing the object of all of her emotions in the last week right there in her home, milling around the place in a curious fashion.

It is right then when she becomes fully aware of the fact that, not only is she clutching onto the teddy that Hobi got her, but she’s also not wearing any pants. Sure, Yoongi’s hoodie might as well have been a dress on her much smaller frame, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel exposed as the seven men made their way into her home.

As comfortable as she was with them, she could never forget just how large they were in comparison to her. Or the strength that was so carefully hidden in their lithe bodies.

“Ehm- make yourselves at home. I’m going to get changed.” YN turns on her heel, ears hot as she hurries to her room, embarrassment rolling off of her in waves.

The boys, so used to being naked or close to it with each other because of the changes and the nature of their relationships with each other, honestly didn’t register anything weird with her appearance. They shot confused glances at each other as they watched YN retreat, but shrugged it off once they realized they could see her legs.

YN returned after a couple minutes. She had left the teddy bear in her room, and thrown a pair of leggings and Taehyung’s beanie on, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. She couldn’t help the immense feeling of comfort at the knowledge the boys, her boys, were in her home again.

“Ah YN!” Hoseok is the first one to notice that YN had returned, giving her his sunshine smile. YN gives a little wave, standing awkwardly in the entrance to her living room and kitchen. She’s unsure of why they’re there, or what was expected of her, making her feel almost like a stranger in her own home.

It doesn’t take more than twenty seconds for Taehyung and Jimin to have her seated between them on the couch, each of them practically smothering her in cuddles from either side. YN is giggling before long, feeling like she was finally coming home. The two boys were being almost too loud as they exclaimed how much they had missed her.

“YN!” Jin shouts from the kitchen, expecting to find at least a little bit of something in her fridge that he could whip up for lunch for all of them. He had a feeling that they would be there for quite a while.“Why is your kitchen empty? Do you not eat when we don’t feed you?”

YN feels her ears get hot again as she mumbles something about not having been hungry as Jin just scolds her more. As much as she hated the scolding, she couldn’t deny that she had missed Jin’s semi-parental attitude towards her. From their spots on either side of her, Taehyung and Jimin joke about how they’ll protect YN from the “fierce scolding” of Jin.

“Alright, enough Hyung. Boys.” Namjoon speaks, bringing the attention to him. “We are here for a reason, after all. YN, would it be alright if I talked to you? Privately?”

YN is quickly agreeing, trying her best to get up from her spot squished between Taehyung and Jimin without injuring herself.

“Would you like to talk in the study?” YN asks when she finally manages to escape, turning and walking towards it once Namjoon nods. For whatever reason, she doesn’t question the fact that Namjoon wants to speak to her alone.

They walk in silence until they get there, YN taking her customary seat at the desk and Namjoon takes one across from her after closing the door.

“What do we have to talk about that couldn’t be said in the other room? Is it bad?” YN speaks first, her voice hoarse as she avoids eye contact, fiddling with the end of the hoodie.

“Well, YN, it’s not necessarily bad, but it’s going to be a lot for you to process and understand, so we figured it would be easier for you if I were the only one here when I explain everything.” Namjoon answers smoothly, doing his best to assuage the fears he was sure YN had.

YN makes a motion for Namjoon to continue, looking anywhere but his face. Her ears were hot as it dawned on her just how put together the boys were, even though she was a complete mess. She didn’t like feeling like the only one that was affected, but to her, it was clear she was the only one feeling anything.

“Do you remember my first visit, when you were still on bedrest?” Namjoon gives YN a second to respond, continuing when he hears her give a soft hum in acknowledgement.

“Well, I told you then that you smell like an Omega, which is true. What I didn’t know then was if you were able to pack bond or not. Turns out that you most definitely can, and are probably one of the lost Omegas.” Namjoon pauses, watching YN intently as he waits for her to process what he had told her.

“Wha-” YN begins, brow furrowed as she mulls over what Namjoon had said. She knew what pack bonding was, what it meant. She knew that it was a connection far deeper than anything a regular human could experience. It was a family, a partnership, a lover, a best friend. It was special.

“Is that why I feel so bad?” YN asks the question in a voice that is much softer than anything Namjoon had heard come from her before, and it breaks his heart.

“Now I can’t be sure beca-” Namjoon starts, pushing the glasses he had decided to wear up his nose as he begins an explanation that YN can just tell isn’t going to really tell her anything. She loved Namjoon, she really did, but he had a specific way of sugar coating things that left people without a grasp of the full picture.

“Joonie, please.” YN interrupts, wrapping her arms around herself as her head turns to the floor. The familiar name tugs even more at Namjoon’s heart, a lump forming in his throat as he sees just how much YN is really hurting. “Don’t sugar coat it. Did something happen? To make me feel so horrible?”

“We bonded. Or started to.”

“O-oh”

“Yeah.”

The room falls silent for what seems like way too long, neither person wanting to be the one to break the heavy silence.

“What does- what does this mean? For- For me?” YN finally speaks, thoughts racing. She internally cringed at the fact she kept tripping over her words.

She was grateful, in that moment, that it had been easy for her to pick up on the methods there were to keep the boys out of her head.

“First off we want you to come and live with us, permanently. We will care for you just like we did when you were hurt, but you won’t have to say goodbye. We will be there for you, no matter what. You’ll always be safe, always be cared for, always be taken care of. Omegas are always the most protected members of the pack, they’re the most vulnerable.” Namjoon’s voice is warm, almost too happy. YN can tell there's a catch.

“But?”

“But you won’t be able to live outside of the house that we inhabit. You’ll be a target for any other pack that wants to hurt us or find our weak spots, so you won’t be able to go anywhere without one of us, except for in the house.” Namjoon shrugs his shoulders as if what he said wasn’t incredibly shocking and wouldn’t greatly influence her decision to join them or not.

“I- What?” YN shakes her head. “You mean to tell me that I have to choose between feeling like someone ran me over a million times with a cement truck and stomped a hole in my chest, or always being targeted for murder?”

Namjoon doesn’t say anything, giving YN more time to try to process what was going on.

“And if I say yes, I won’t ever be able to go and do anything by myself? Or I might be killed?” YN’s voice is shaky as she speaks, and again, Namjoon doesn’t say anything.

“Can you give me a minute? Alone?” YN turns the chair back around and stares at her closed laptop.

“Of course. Yell if you need one of us, yeah?” Namjoon stands and walks out of the door, a sad smile gracing his face as he softly shuts the door behind him. He honestly couldn’t tell what YN was going to do, and as he walked away, he realized he hadn’t even mentioned the fact that they’d always be able to read her thoughts, even if she didn’t want them to.

He took off the glasses he had been wearing, running a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose as he walks back into the living room area. Even though he’s expecting to be bombarded with questions, the boys don’t say anything as Namjoon moves into the kitchen, seeking the comfort of Jin without a second thought.

YN sat at her desk for a while, mulling everything over. She had always considered herself to be very independent, enjoying the ability to do things for herself, but she couldn’t shake how wonderful it felt to be taken care of. Sure, it wasn’t at all what she was used to, but she couldn’t deny that it made her feel loved.

Wanted.

Special.

And YN liked that, if she was being honest with herself.

But she also couldn’t imagine giving up her freedom. Giving up her walks alone in the woods, or her solo trips to town, or her trips to the city to go see this or that. The fact is, YN likes her time alone, away from everyone else. In the mansion, the only place she could go to get away would be her own room, which felt like she was a sad teenager again, hiding from her parents.

However much she wanted to just burst out with a yes as soon as Namjoon had mentioned staying with them permanently, she felt like she needed another perspective when it came to what her life would become in that home.

She didn’t want to make a mistake that would haunt her for the rest of her life, after all.

As much as it felt like the right thing to do, she didn’t want to intrude on what was already an established group, just because she didn’t feel good.

Especially not when they clearly weren’t half as affected as she was. Sure, YN had always known she felt things a little deeper than other people seemed to when it came to her friendships, but she didn’t realize just how fucked her emotions were until the seven men she had spent a full seven days crying over came back into her life, completely fine.

Deciding that she needed another opinion, she stood, quietly opening the door and heading towards the noise of the men in the other room. Purposefully, she stayed quiet and to the side, not wanting them to focus their attention on her just yet. She couldn’t deal with their attention being fully on her, not then.

“Yoongi?” YN’s voice is soft, sad. She was standing behind him when she spoke, causing the man to jump, twirling around to see what she needed. Sure, he had noticed when she entered the room, but he was not expecting her to be right beside him.

With a cough, he asked what she needed.

“Could I talk with you in the study? Please?” YN looks up at him with those big, innocent eyes of hers as she spoke in that same sad, soft tone. Needless to say, she could have asked for anything in that way and Yoongi would have lit the world on fire to get it for her.

Instead, he nods, motioning for YN to lead the way. She scurries back to the study, hoping that Yoongi will have some insights that will help her solidify if it’s the right choice or not.

Truthfully, she couldn’t think of anything else she wanted more than to go back to the way things were before this horrible week, but she also had to be sure.

YN takes a seat on the couch this time, watching with those same sad eyes as Yoongi closes the door. He sits down next to her, opening his arms as YN settles herself into his embrace.

If Yoongi was being honest with himself, he didn’t really understand why the youngest three liked physical affection so much until that first night YN had curled up beside him, sharing her blanket with him as she slowly ended up closer and closer to him. She claimed that she was “just cold” and that her burying her nose in Yoongi’s shoulder for half the night had nothing to do with the terrifying movie that Jungkook and Taehyung had decided was going to be the selection for that week’s movie night, but they could all see right through her.

After that first night, Yoongi would always open his arms to YN whenever they were seated next to each other, like now. Though usually it was more positive than it was in this moment.

Yoongi internally felt awkward as he heard YN sniffle sofly in his arms, though he couldn’t deny he wanted to hurt whoever had made her upset. Sure, he knew that it wasn’t rational, but he had always been protective of those he cared about, and YN was most definitely not an exception to that rule.

“It’s alright YN, I know this is a lot for you.” Yoongi speaks for the first time, his deep voice comforting YN in a way she had been sorely missing.

YN doesn’t speak for a long time. Instead she cries, burying herself in Yoongi’s arms. She had missed having him so close, having his scent to help calm her down.

“YN, darling, tell me what’s been going on, hm?” Yoongi moves YN off of him slightly, running a hand over her cheek to wipe away a stray tear.

“Are you sure you wanna hear?” YN’s voice is shaky, strained. The amount of unashurededness in her voice makes Yoongi’s heart break, and a sort of gross protectiveness come out in him that he hadn’t felt since the younger members of the pack had joined. As much as those three got on his nerves, he felt the same sort of protective love for them as he did for YN.

“Of course I want to hear. I’m always here to listen to you.” Yoongi’s voice is soft, careful. YN glances up, tears brimming in her eyes. When she sees Yoongi’s attention fully on her, his eyes searching her face to try to make sure he wasn’t overstepping and that she was as comfortable as she could be given the circumstances, those same tears spilled.

She takes a deep, steadying breath, leaning back away from Yoongi so she can properly look at him.

“It was horrible Yoongs. I felt like- like someone had ripped out my heart. Like there was a gaping hole where my stomach used to be. Like- like you didn’t want me. Didn’t care. ” YN shivered, eyes trained on her hands as she fiddled with the end of one of her sleeves, willing herself not to cry any more than she already had.

Yoongi notices this small nervous habit and takes her small hands into his much larger ones, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles in a way he hoped was soothing to her.

“I felt alone. I’ve never felt alone like that before Yoongi. Never!” YN sniffles, shaking her head. “I couldn’t eat, I either slept for too long or not long enough, and I was cold. It was so so cold. I didn’t feel like I’d ever be warm again.”

Her voice fades out now, sniffles coming more and more frequently. Yoongi took the pause in her speaking to pull her back into his arms again, instinctually knowing that she just needed to be held and reminded that he was there and that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Once YN had calmed down again, Yoongi held her at arm's length again, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the last tears from her cheeks again.

“YN, look at me.” His voice is soft, caring. He doesn’t speak again until YN fully turns to look at his face.

“I never want you to feel like that again. I’ll be here for you, we will be. What I felt this past week-” Yoongi pauses to shake his head, “-I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not someone so fragile as you.”

YN can feel her ears get hot, wanting to say that she wasn’t fragile, that she could handle things. She wanted to tell him about all the terrible things she had gone through before, about how much she had dealt with all on her own, but she didn’t. The words died in her throat, because by their standards, by his standards, she really was.

“Do you understand what we are asking, by wanting you to come live with us? To be part of the pack?” Yoongi asks now, shifting the attention slightly.

“Sort of.” YN shrugs. Her fingers are back to fiddling with her sleeve and are quickly captured by Yoongi’s again.

“What are you concerned about? Hm?” He gives her that signature gummy smile of his, eyes crinkling at the edge when he notices how YN finally cracks a smile.

“I don’t want to lose my freedom. I can do things by myself, I don’t really need to be taken care of, really! I don’t want to become a burden on any of you. Or cause issues. Or put myself somewhere I’m not really needed.” She takes her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it absently as she watches Yoongi for his reaction. If there’s one thing she could trust, it would be Yoongi’s lack of ability to make anything something other than exactly what it was.

“I’m not going to lie to you, you know that. I don’t see the point in it. The way things were before you came back here, that’s about how they’ll be if you choose to come with us. There are only two things that will change.” Yoongi pauses, looking to make sure YN is paying attention properly.

“First, you will end up presenting fully as an Omega. When it comes closer to the time for that to happen, Jimin will have to be the one to explain it to you, seeing as he’s the one who has felt things as close to what you’ll go through. Second, you won’t be able to shield your thoughts from us anymore. If we want to read you, we will be able to. It’s not something we are looking to do, but the emotional state of Omegas affects the rest of the pack greatly, and that’s the way we have evolved to deal with it.”

YN swallows thickly, mind racing. She wasn’t going to lie, she had some, well, unsavory thoughts about the men that she had come to know so well. She really didn’t want all of those thoughts being common knowledge, especially not to the people they were about.

“You- You’re sure I won’t be able to shield?” YN’s voice feels sticky in her throat as she gets the words out.

“One hundred pre-cent darling, every thought that passes through that pretty brain of yours will be able to be accessed by us, if we want to read you. As our only Omega, your thoughts and feelings, your emotions, they will greatly affect all of us. We already feel what the others do, but with you, it’ll be ten times as intense. We need to be able to read you so that way we can always know what’s going on, what you want and what you need, without you having to explain it to us.”

“Oh”

“We already feel like we need to protect you, like you are our lovely little Omega. Once you’re fully ingrained into our pack, it’ll just be more intense.”

They fall silent, once Yoongi finishes speaking this time. He smiles absently at YN as she plays with his fingers, obviously deep in thought.

He had missed having her around more than he thought, if that was even possible.

“I’ll do it.” YN’s voice is so soft, Yoongi almost misses it.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi wants to make sure YN has really thought about everything before she says a definitive yes, even when he wanted nothing more than to squeeze the small girl into the tightest hug he could.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want to live with you. With all of you. I want to be your Omega just as much as I want you to be my pack.” YN tries to swallow the lump in her throat, willing herself not to trip over her words.

“I’ve never been more sure of something in my life.”

~~~~~~

The next two weeks were hectic, to say the least. Once YN had confirmed that she was going to be making the move from her own home to the mansion with the pack, there was a flurry of activity.

First, they had to decide who was going to stay with YN while she packed all of the things she would be needing. Like the big bad adults they are, the pack played a huge game of rock-paper-scissors for the privilege, with Hoseok and Jimin being the ones to end up winning.

After that game, the rest of the boys stayed around to help with whatever they could right then, but left in the late afternoon.

From then on, it was time for YN to go through and pack up everything she could to make sure she had enough stuff for living somewhere new.

She started with packing up things she didn’t want the boys to see, like her underthings and personal journals, before moving on to things that they could more easily help with.

Jimin was not a very big help, deciding that he wanted to cuddle one (or both) of the other people in the house instead of helping to pack and carry the boxes (and whining when he didn’t get his way). Both YN and Hobi found it to be adorable though, neither of them really minding the workload.

It was mostly deciding what YN would need for her everyday life, and what things she could leave in the home, just in case someone in her family decided to drop by unannounced. YN couldn’t offer up a real explanation for them, not without reliving years of trauma, so neither Jimin nor Hobi decided to push the issue when she fiercely insisted that they leave enough to make sure nobody would question that someone lived there.

Hobi would cock up an eyebrow when he felt the small prickles of fear from YN whenever he would go to put one too many of something in a box. He thought it was just plain weird that YN was so insistent on this one very specific thing, making sure to remember everything that she was doing so he could discuss it with both Jimin and the rest of the pack when he got the chance.

Jimin, whenever he felt the well of emotion swell up in YN, would do his best to distract her, telling her about this or asking her about that or pretending he needed a hug from her before he could do any more work. He would let angelic giggles fall from his lips as he drew the girl into his arms, picking her up and swinging her around until she felt happy again.

Neither boy pushed. They knew that YN would open up to them in time, and they didn’t try to pry into her mind either, even with the barrier that she had learned to keep up getting weaker by the day.

Every few days, the rest of the boys would show up and help with whatever they could for the day, be it moving boxes or sorting things or arranging this or that so it would look like someone was still living there. They all did their best to make sure that the transition between the house that YN had so many memories in and their own was a smooth one.

It was during this transition time that the boys fully realized two things they hadn’t really thought of before. On the lighter note, YN had an absolutely horrible sleep schedule and completely disregarded the sun’s appearances in the sky. The second, much darker, thing that they realized was that YN had hidden trauma.

What that trauma was? They couldn’t tell you, but they realized as she was packing that she was afraid of something. Again, she had very carefully hidden whatever it was she was so scared of, to the point that none of the boys knew what in the world she held such a deep terror for.

They decided among themselves not to bring it up though, deciding that YN would have to talk about it on her own. Even though they could feel her thoughts and emotions more and more with each passing day, they didn’t want to break the trust that they had built with her on the cusp of such an important move.

~~~~~~

And this is how things were when YN finally moved everything into the mansion. She had gotten everything settled into its rightful places fairly quickly, finding a system that would work well for her.

She settled into the routine of being in the house incredibly quickly, feeling almost as if she had never really left at all. It was hard to believe that just three weeks earlier she thought she was saying goodbye to this place forever.

In the mornings, or whenever YN decided to get out of bed, she would sleepily head down to the kitchen and grab one of the cold brews that always seemed to be in the fridge. She had always liked cold coffee more than hot coffee, so she was grateful to whoever kept the fridge stocked with her favorite flavor of cold brew.

From there, YN would carefully sip on her drink as she made her way around the mansion, looking for either Jin or Jimin. Both of them tended to stay in the house a lot, as neither of them had any sort of external job and neither of them went on patrol, if it could be helped. Whichever one of them she found first, she would either follow around until she was fully awake, or sit and watch as they did whatever they were doing at the time. YN would then go and find the one she hadn’t found the first time, repeating the process until she was satisfied that she was fully awake and ready to face the day.

At this point, YN would make her way back to the kitchen, stocking up on snacks and grabbing more coffee before making her way to one of the desks in the library. She’d spend the next few hours planning and doing research, hunched over the desk as she furiously types whatever it is that she needs to for the time, only taking small pauses to sip more of her drink or shove more of whatever snack she had grabbed into her mouth.

It’s only when the call of nature becomes too much to ignore that YN will stand and stretch out her spine, feeling stiff as she tries to pack up her things. Yes, she had found out early on that there were a couple maids that came in a few days a week, but YN couldn’t imagine leaving any sort of a mess for them if it could be helped and would clean everything she could whenever she got done with anything. Habits die hard, after all.

It always seemed to happen that one of the others would be getting home around this time, so YN would make her way into the surprisingly lush living room and curl up in some blankets and watch whatever happened to be on TV until someone caught her attention.

Usually, it would be Jungkook and Taehyung who returned first. YN didn’t quite understand why or what it was that they actually did, but they spent their days patrolling in the vast forest around the house. Jungkook had tried to explain it to her a few times, but she just never really understood what was going on.

When the two youngest would get to the home, it was a 50/50 shot as to if they would transform from their wolf form to their human one, or if they’d hang out around the house as wolves. Either way, they would find a way to sit on either side of YN and just relax with her for a while. Sometimes they would talk about what they had been doing or cool things they had seen, and other times they just wanted to get some affection from their favorite Omega.

Eventually, Hoseok would appear and steal Jungkook to either work out or dance with, and Jin would come in to steal YN so they could spend their time cooking the evening meal together. Every single day, without fail, Taehyung would grumble about how “the Hyungs took the fun ones” before going off to try and find Yoongi. And everyday, without fail, Yoongi would be found in his infamous Genius Lab, annoyed to high heaven that Taehyung had come in to “bother” him, even though they both enjoyed the interruption.

They always tried to eat together as a whole group, crowded around the table laughing and talking about anything and everything. As much as they would bicker and argue, none of them could deny the love and happiness they found in each other.

After their meal, they would break off into groups and do this or that. Sometimes they would go as a whole group to have a movie night, video game tournament, karaoke night, or something else that they could enjoy as a whole group (with the loser having to tidy up the kitchen and dining room). Other times, YN would make her way into the kitchen and start cleaning while the others broke away to do whatever it was they had planned for the evening. Whenever YN took it upon herself to clean up whatever mess was made, Hoseok would always come and help her, smiling and laughing with her as they got the place tidied up.

It was at this point that YN would slip away with her laptop under her arm, a water in one hand and her charger in the other, heading to the Genius Lab to work on her stories. Despite everything else, she still had deadlines to meet and a need to be alone sometimes, and she knew that Yoongi wouldn’t go back to the ever-so-private room until he was done doing rounds with Namjoon for the evening.

This gave YN about two and a half hours or so completely to herself, where she could be alone with her thoughts and feelings. She could feel the world she had built for her characters without the worry that anyone or anything would be there to interrupt her, could get deep into what the characters were doing and saying and feeling without worrying about what they boys would think of her and the world she had made. Honestly, it was incredibly freeing for her to be able to have that time and space where she was completely alone with her thoughts.

And when Yoongi did make his way back to his favorite room in their home, he fell into the habit of bringing an extra bottle of water with him for YN. The two would settle into a comfortable silence once Yoongi had settled in, both of them finding peace in the fact that the other person was in the room. Every so often, YN would ask Yoongi a question about this or that, or Yoongi would ask YN to give her opinion on a section of music, but most of the time the only sounds in the room were the soft taps of the keyboard and the even softer breathing of both bodies.

Eventually, one of them would end up looking at the time and mutter something about going to bed, which the other would ignore for at least another hour or two, when their eyes were heavy. YN would fall asleep on the couch without meaning to every couple days, which gave Yoongi the ultimate symbol to get them both to bed.

Yoongi would sweetly clean up the studio, making sure everything was off and where it needed to be and packing up whatever YN had brought with her, before he bent and picked her up, carrying her up to her room and tucking her in before making his way to his own room.

It was a simple, domestic sort of life that they all led, and they couldn’t of been happier with the way things were turning out.

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aphrodites-law · 5 years ago

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A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (12/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11]

A few minutes before closing time the next day, Clarke was waiting at the end of the counter for surprise customers. Gaia was already wrapping her scarf around her neck and Wells was pulling out ingredients for the next day. He had stayed much later today, going over resumes for their interviews tomorrow, but also reorganizing the kitchen.

After giving Gustus a call to offer him the job, Wells had realized that things would get crowded quite quickly. Gustus was a big man and the kitchen was on the smaller side, but it was workable with a different layout. Clarke thanked her lucky stars for her best friend's ability to adapt to situations, as she herself disliked big changes. Regardless of the possible growing pains ahead, it was an exciting time for the café.

Right after Gaia left with a tired wave, Wells found Clarke absentmindedly drawing the branches of the weeping fig. The last customers had left as well and the sun had already set. The mugs were clean, the plates drying, and the day's crumbs swept from the floor. It hadn't rained at all today; a small mercy given that Clarke couldn't stop thinking about her date with Lexa. She wasn't sure where they were headed, but heavy rain might've halted Lexa's plans and she didn't have the patience to wait another day.

Wells peeked at her drawing pad and sighed. "God, she's a beauty," he said dreamily.

Clarke snorted. His fondness for their Ficus was a running joke between them. "Weirdo."

Wells gave her a tired grin as he buttoned up his wool peacoat. He always looked so sharp in winter wear, whereas Clarke always felt like a bulky bear. She'd dressed up a little today - fitted dark pants and a knitted sweater with a nice scoop neck. Her boots were clean and if her hair's curls had loosened over the day, she had still clearly made an effort to look presentable.

“So, you had your vision," said Wells.

Clarke dropped her pencil. "Wh- I- what?"

"It was a few weeks ago, wasn't it? When you came in looking like you hadn’t slept a wink."

Shame gripped her. "Wells, I-"

“You’re looking more crimson than cranberry juice,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to bring it up," she said. She'd always felt guilty for keeping it from him, but it wasn't the easiest topic either. "Did Raven tell you?"

"Nah, she even deflected when I wondered aloud. You just started acting weird whenever someone mentioned visions. You hate lying, so I figured you didn't want to be asked if you'd had one."

Clarke closed her notepad. She should have known he'd catch on. "I didn't mean to be secretive. You know I would've told you the minute it happened, it just wasn't… family friendly."

"Yeah, I figured. It's good though? I mean, you're happy, right?"

It was a surprising question, though it shouldn't have been. Clarke hadn't really thought about it. It wasn't something she asked herself or even expected. For so long happiness had just revolved around the café. Finding the right name; the right building; the right theme. She'd judged her days based on their achieved goals and for a while it had been a thrill. And it still was - her work made her proud and it made her happy too - but it wasn't everything. She'd come to face that recently, and though the wake up call had been… unconventional, certainly, she was grateful for it.

"I am. I'm seeing her, actually. The woman from my vision. You'd recognize her - she's a regular."

Wells nodded as if he'd already put two and two together. “At Octavia and Lincoln's party I saw you talking to her. Then it clicked she wrote that article on Finn - I remembered checking her profile on the Gazette when it dropped."

"Yeah, she works there. She's writing a piece on the visions actually."

"So it's getting serious?" He asked hesitantly.

And really, Clarke couldn't fault his curiosity. She'd been so wrapped up in Lexa that she'd neglected their relationship and now he was unsure if he should gently prod or wait.

“It’s new and we’re taking things slow, but yeah, I'm hoping it'll work out. I really like her."

Wells looked over her shoulder toward the entrance and smiled. "Seems like she really likes you too."

Clarke turned around and saw that Lexa had parked her car and was just crossing the street toward the café.

"Are you coming in tomorrow?" He asked her.

Clarke whipped around, her cheeks flushed. "What? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno, you tell me." He laughed as he checked for his keys in his pocket. "Gaia and Harper have the early shift, in case you forgot. We just have those three interviews in the afternoon, but you already know that."

"I do know," she replied with a frown. "There's no reason I wouldn't be here earlier. I'm always here. What are you saying?"

He shrugged, entirely too proud of himself, and walked toward the back exit. "No one will fault you if you take a break. Enjoy your date!"

"I will! And I'll see you in the morning!" Clarke replied stubbornly.

"I'm sure you will!" he retorted, still snickering, before closing the door behind him.

A hand touched Clarke's shoulder and she startled.

"Sorry," Lexa said with a gentle smile. She'd put on her black coat today, the top buttons undone to reveal her sweater - a reddish brown this time, perfect for the fall. Her hair was down and her eyeliner perhaps more pronounced than usual. Clarke wondered if she'd applied it in her car. She looked beautiful.

"Hi, baby," she softened, forgetting all about Well's teasing. He didn't know what he was talking about. Tonight was just going to be a nice date. Some food, wine - whatever Lexa had planned. They were still going slow. Clarke didn't have any expectations other than enjoying their time together. She liked their pace. It was… frustrating at times, sure, but it was working. They had both opened up to each other.

"Hi," Lexa whispered before she inched forward so that she could kiss her over the counter. Clarke sighed into it, having imagined such sweetness all day long.

"Am I too early?" Lexa asked. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

Clarke brushed her thumb over Lexa's jaw. "No, I'm done. I just need to grab my coat and close up."

"Was that Wells who went out back?"

"Yes, he was being ridiculous."

"I thought he usually left earlier?"

"He does, but he's been rearranging the kitchen. I think he's worried Gustus will find it too small."

"Gus has an entire farm and acres of land at his disposal, but he sleeps in his shed because it's warm," Lexa said. "He won't mind."

Clarke beamed, delighted to hear it. "I'm going to give you Wells' number and you're going to text him just that. "

While Clarke left to grab her coat, Lexa worried her lip. "Oh but he doesn't really know me…"

"He will."

Clarke came out from the back with her coat and scarf on. She pulled out her set of keys. "He's my best friend and you're my-" she stopped herself. "I think you'd get along great. He loves theater, devours literature, and he already thinks you're amazing for taking Finn down. So don't worry about it."

"Well, that reminds me: Collins went ahead with suing the Gazette."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

They made their way to the front, where Lexa opened the door for Clarke. "No. It'll never stand, but he aims to waste our time and money."

"Waste of time and money - that's been his motto since birth."

Lexa wrinkled her nose. "Let's talk about something else."

"Please. So where's my carriage?"

Lexa laughed.

* * *

Lexa may not have found a pumpkin to turn into a carriage after all, but her car smelled like apples and she drove so smoothly Clarke could've closed her eyes and imagined they weren't moving at all. She had never thought 'great driver' would do it for her, but here she was eyeing Lexa's hands on the steering wheel and feeling hot.

"How's the writing going?" Clarke asked, clearing her throat when her voice started off slightly rough.

Lexa took a left, which would've surprised Clarke if she'd paid any attention to the road. But all she could think about was Lexa's razor-sharp focus and how she yearned to be the reason for it.

"Good, I finished a first draft. My writing partner is looking at it for now. I need it out of my sight for a few days."

"Partner, huh?"

Lexa smiled as she kept her eyes on the road. "Echo. She wrote most of the FC&B article."

"Did you write for other newspapers before?"

Lexa nodded. "Two. I've been lucky, professionally. Smaller papers have always been more interesting to me, so I stayed away from national ones. I was able to climb the ladder a lot faster than some of my old classmates."

"The Gazette must've been a change of pace. New city, new job - I don't think I could handle it."

"When they hired me I was so happy to be working I just threw myself into it," Lexa admitted. "I got the idea on the Mountain Men soon after, just from reading old archives about them. That kept me busy, so I didn't have time to worry about fitting in. It was nice. Exciting. It felt like falling in love with my job again. Then one day Echo invited me to grab drinks with other colleagues and… I realized things had fallen into place already."

"Costial is pretty magical like that," Clarke said with a smile. She loved it when Lexa talked about her time here. Sometimes it was easy to forget she hadn't even been here a year yet. Clarke remembered her first year in the city - how she'd felt like she'd always belonged here. How she couldn't wait to build her life here. And college had been fun, and sometimes she walked by the campus just for the nostalgia of it, but it was the years after that had really shaped her life into what it was today. There had been many tears and failures before the café, but she'd never once thought of leaving. She hoped Lexa felt the same.

One glance outside the window and Clarke finally had an idea where they were headed. They were quite far from the center of the city now, just a few miles away from Busy Moose Park and its lake on the outskirts. Lexa took the road that led to the park, but she didn't make the turn Clarke had expected and instead continued straight.

"Are we going to the factory?" Clarke asked.

The chocolate factory and its surroundings were certainly a sight to behold, and popular with teens because of its smells and aesthetic quality, but there wasn't much to do unless you brought a picnic. Which was unlikely to be comfortable anyway in this cold.

"Not quite," Lexa answered with a secretive smile.

A few minutes later she finally pulled over into a small parking lot, checking for Clarke's reaction as soon as they got out of the car.

“I know I said I’d take you somewhere more upscale, but I thought you might really like this place."

Because the factory was just a ways down the road and it was windy tonight, the bold smell of chocolate permeated the air. They had stopped in front of a rustic restaurant surrounded by a garden. Small lights glowed softly against the brick walls, complimented by the dancing shadows from a few lanterns. There was a patio with beams covered in twining vines, the plants and wisteria also covering the top like a ceiling. Powerful heaters kept the biting cold at bay, no doubt, making the entire place look like a winter fairytale.

It was the kind of romantic setting Clarke would have made fun of in front of friends while secretly hoping to experience it one day.

“How the hell have I never been here before?” She asked in astonishment.

With a hand on her back, Lexa led her toward the entrance.

“Did you know Icicle? Italian restaurant?”

“Yeah, that rings a bell.”

“This is it. The owner retired and her son took over - revamped the whole place from top to bottom and gave it a mountain lodge theme. He figured they should capitalize on the location more, especially the constant sweetness in the air. It just reopened a few weeks ago. Featured in the Gazette and everything.”

“Oh, that might’ve been when I was a bit angry at you," Clarke remembered and gave Lexa a teasing grin. "Deleted the app like it was some kind of statement."

Lexa scrunched up her nose, not too eager to remember that time. The hostess seated them inside at a secluded table for two. The light was dimmed and there was a candle between them; and even two squares of chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

After they took off their coats and sat, Lexa bit her lip. “It's not too much, is it?"

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous." Clarke reached for her hand. "You're always surprising me."

A waiter gave them a menu and a basket of bread. They looked like mini baguettes and Clarke was temped to steal one for Wells.

“God, I almost forgot about this smell," she said, taking a deep breath. The chocolate from the factory still wafted faintly in the air, and mixed with the smell of food it had Clarke already salivating for dinner. "In college we used to hang out by the lake a lot. If the wind was on our side we’d always get a whiff from the factory. Not even edibles could beat that.”

Lexa arched a brow. “Edibles, huh?”

“Please, I know you’ve dabbled," Clarke scoffed.

“What makes you think that?”

“You have the vibe.”

“The pothead vibe? I thought I was unreadable.”

“Oh you have that vibe too," Clarke laughed. "But then there’s the tattoos, the plants, the way you write about nature. You’re curious, open minded, andyou went to a liberal arts college. You must’ve tried it at least once. I think that’s how you approach most things: don’t knock ‘till you try it. Am I close?”

Lexa looked away, slightly flummoxed. “It sounds like I’m more of an open book then.”

"Maybe that's a good thing…" Clarke offered with a hopeful smile, thumb caressing the back of her hand.

"Maybe it is," Lexa agreed.

They both picked the apricot glazed chicken with roasted potatoes, pairing it with a white wine. Throughout dinner Clarke felt such pleasant warmth, both because of the wine and Lexa's steady gaze on her. She was relaxed and unfairly charming; a great listener by all accounts, but also coming out of her shell when it came to her own past. Clarke knew it wasn't easy for her, which made it all the more special.

"In retrospect I should've figured politics weren’t for me when I started screaming at my television every time the news came on."

Clarke grinned, knowing the sentiment all too well. "Good thing you don't work for a newspaper or anything…"

Swallowing the last of her wine, Lexa gave her a playful smirk. "Local news. I can take the city hall drama. I actually enjoy it with my morning pastry."

"That I can believe. You always look so deep in thought when you read. Harper dropped a cup once and you didn't even flinch."

"Really?" Lexa asked. "Is there anything else I do that I should know about?"

The waiter stopped by with their desserts: molten chocolate cake for Lexa and a slice of pear tart for Clarke.

"It's not like I stare or anything," Clarke clarified as she grabbed her spoon. "Your seat just happens to be in my vicinity."

"Mm." Lexa smirked. "I guess I just pop up sometimes…" she trailed off, her tone heavy with implication.

She did this occasionally, but more boldly recently. Alluding to Clarke's vision seemed to greatly entertain Lexa.

"Ha, you're funny," Clarke deadpanned.

"Did I also crack jokes while I was kissing you - and I quote - everywhere?" Lexa goaded.

Clarke shrugged as she chewed on her tart. "Actually you were a lot more suave than you are now. Pity."

Lexa laughed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Please, you're very proud of yourself. And it's not fair all I have to go on is your distaste for coffee." Clarke remembered how frantic she had been after her vision, her mind firing questions every second. “Did you know I went to a vision reader right after?”

It had been an impulse and she'd regretted it, but she figured Lexa was familiar with them.

"Really?" Lexa asked, surprised.

“Yeah, the one by the market. Becca’s Reading or something. I bailed at the last minute.”

“I actually haven’t spoken to one. I was toying with the idea, but it might be an entirely different article.”

Clarke grimaced. “They’re just opportunistic money grabbers.”

Lexa offered a spoonful of her cake, which Clarke took before plopping a bit of pear on top of it. The warm chocolate melted the pear in her mouth and she sighed at the taste. Lexa smiled.

“It’s a different point of view. Besides, listening to so many stories might’ve given them some valuable insight even if they opened a shop for the wrong reasons. If my job’s taught me anything it’s to not judge a book by its cover.”

"Hmm you're good at it - your job. And I'm not just saying that because you're wining and dining me."

Lexa looked bashful. "You know, I remember when you yelled at me to get over myself."

"Not our finest moment…"

"No," Lexa agreed. "But it was needed. Before that there was so much I wanted to tell you, but… couldn't."

"I know." Clarke remembered that feeling as well. After the vision she'd look at Lexa and be so certain there was so much left unsaid between them, yet neither of them knew where to start, or if it was reciprocated. "I should've let you interview me - just ripped off the Band-Aid. It would've explained a lot."

"I would've never made it past the first question," Lexa said. "Can you share what you saw, Clarke?"

Clarke smiled cheekily around a mouthful of her tart. "Well, I would hope that kind of confession would score me a date at least."

"Oh I would have asked you out on the spot," Lexa replied with a smirk.

Clarke gasped. "How very unprofessional of you."

"If you hadn't noticed, my professionalism hangs by a thread whenever I'm near you."

Clarke let out a small laugh. "Well, that's one thing I'm glad for."

* * *

After their dinner, Lexa suggested they walk in the park before it closed. It was cold but their coats were thick and the wind was minimal. Clarke had no desire to part just yet, and so took Lexa's hand in hers as soon as they left the car by the park's entrance.

They had a little less than thirty minutes before it closed, but enjoyed every second as they strolled by the lake. The half-moon was reflected on the quiet surface, and though there were a few other people, Clarke felt like they had just stepped into a world of their own.

Clarke nudged Lexa toward one of the Beech trees, its autumn leaves still clinging bravely to its thick branches. They settled beneath it, lying down on the soft ground where leaves piled atop the grass. Between the branches they could see some stars, and Clarke wondered if maybe the park could close and leave them be. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.

She heard some rustling and then saw Lexa look down at her, her face framed by her wavy hair and the stars above. She took Clarke's breath away.

"You're so beautiful," Lexa murmured, struck by a similar thought it seemed. "You have the kindest eyes and the warmest smile. It's the first thing I ever noticed about you."

Clarke reached up to kiss her, parting only when she felt Lexa's hand on her stomach. Even atop her coat and thick clothing, she could feel its warmth.

"I think you're drunk on wine and chocolate."

"Then you'll be relived to hear I'm a very sincere drunk."

Clarke giggled, which made Lexa's smile stretch in such a fond way. She pressed closer to her, the tip of her nose brushing against her neck. She kissed the small spot, as if to apologize for her cold nose.

"I wonder so much about you, Clarke."

Clarke hummed. "What do you wonder about?"

“I’ve spoken with a lot of people. Heard the visions about reuniting with loved ones, getting over addictions, graduating. There’s been some romance of course,” Lexa said. “Aden’s first kiss, though he couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face. Echo celebrating a wedding anniversary with her husband. But so few - even online in anonymous circles - so few like yours.”

Now Clarke felt warm again, mostly from the blush on her cheeks. “I don’t believe that.”

Lexa lifted her head from her shoulder. “Have you personally heard of any?”

“Raven saw Wells naked.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Okay, so I'm a pervert, what can I say?”

“No,” Lexa replied, tickled by Clarke's little huff. “You’re a mystery. You intrigue me.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Well I’ve had a bit of a dry spell. I had flings, but… I didn't allow myself anything more. The café was taking up all my thoughts and for a while it worked for me. Then the days got long again, and lonelier… Raven said it was probably just my body wanting me to snap out of it.”

“And what do you think?”

Clarke did wonder about it then, or at least differently than she had in the past. It wasn't so long ago she'd asked these questions herself. She'd been so frustrated she couldn't discuss them with the person she'd shared it with, and here she was, lying right next to her in a bed of leaves.

She touched Lexa's hand on her stomach, lacing and unlacing their fingers, gently playing with them as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Have you never fantasized about a stranger?" She asked quietly, catching Lexa's eyes. "Someone who knows nothing about you and yet knows exactly how to make your body soar?"

“That’s not what you saw though, is it?” Lexa murmured. “I wasn’t a stranger in your bed. I knew you and you knew me."

Clarke felt her heart beat faster. She wanted so badly to kiss Lexa again; to feel her body against hers like the night on her couch.

"Lex…"

Their lips were just a hair's breadth apart now. To anyone else, they would've looked like they were kissing.

"How was it different, Clarke?"

Clarke swallowed, trying to find the words. “How? The way you handled me - needy and possessive, but tender and attentive too. Like you were in charge of my pleasure and you had to remind me."

She saw Lexa swallow and so continued, eager to share everything this time: "You said my name and it almost sounded like a prayer - like you couldn’t believe we were together. I never heard my name like that before. I never thought I could make someone feel lucky."

"God, Clarke, you have no idea." Lexa exhaled before closing the gap and kissing her. It wasn't like any other kiss they'd shared tonight. It felt like a promise, almost. Lexa tasted so sweet on her tongue and Clarke could only wonder if all of her was just as heavenly.

She cupped the back of her neck and felt herself throb with desire, her mind filled with both the reality of Lexa and the last of her vision.

"I can even remember the smell of us," Clarke sighed between kisses. "How sticky my skin felt, like we'd been in bed for hours."

"Clarke - fuck."

Clarke pushed Lexa on her back and cupped her cheeks, claiming her lips quite quickly again. She licked into her mouth and moaned at the silky feel of Lexa's tongue.

"Sometimes I'd try to picture us again but you'd disappear," Clarke continued, eyes closing when Lexa started kissing down her neck. "I wasn't sure if it was you anymore. But then you'd come back. I'd feel your hands, your mouth on me… lower, and lower…"

Lexa let out a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose before falling back on the ground, the leaves rustling beneath her. Something in the way she set her jaw made Clarke frown.

"Baby…" she said, tracing a finger over her cheekbone.

"Did you call her that?" Lexa asked without thinking.

Clarke retracted her hand and paused. A grin spread on her face. “What? Are you jealous… of yourself?”

Lexa glared petulantly. “No.”

“You are."

Lexa remained quiet, so after a moment Clarke poked her arm. “Well what about yours?”

"Mine?"

"I wasn't even in it - how do you think that makes me feel?"

Lexa shook her head. "You were in it."

"You said you were just standing in a random kitchen making coffee."

"Yes."

"So?"

They heard the echo of a bicycle's bell on the pathway and turned to the sound, but the couple soon rode away. Clarke looked at Lexa again, finding her staring at the sky.

“What are you keeping from me?”

A small smile grew on Lexa's face - but she remained tightlipped.

"How was I there?" Clarke asked again, deeply curious.

"The doodles," Lexa simply replied.

Clarke remembered that she'd found that to be a strange detail before. She didn't put up her doodles on walls and she didn't frame them. These had to be important. Something that made her identity unmistakable in Lexa's eyes. Sure it could be that her style was recognizable, but Lexa made it sound as if it was something else.

“Lex…"

She lifted Lexa's chin to catch her gaze.

“If I tell you, I worry it might not happen," Lexa admitted.

Clarke bit her lip, finally understanding. It was almost like saying a wish out loud - fearing it might not come true if you broke that single rule.

“You want it to happen?” She asked instead.

A breeze passed as Lexa looked at her intently, leaving no room for doubt. “Yes.”

There was no waver in her voice. Not even an ounce of hesitation. The sheer confidence set Clarke alight. She’d forgotten how it felt to feel so wanted. Whatever it was in that frame… Lexa clearly hoped for it in their future. The fact that she wanted it with her, and no one else, made her desire swell.

She leaned down and kissed her right against the grass and by the slumbering tree, forgetting all about the doodles. Lexa believed it was her - that was all that mattered. After weeks of being unsure of where they stood, if her feelings were even shared, she didn't need anything more.

Lexa wound her arm around her waist, her mouth still as hungry against Clarke's. When they pulled away, she pressed their foreheads together.

“I wish I could see us like you did," she murmured wistfully.

"What would it change?"

“Maybe… maybe if I knew I was good enough for you… If I was sure that I wouldn’t- that I wouldn’t hurt you-"

Clarke shook her head. "Don’t fill your head with thoughts like that. Let's just be here, together, and worry about the rest when it comes. I know it's hard for you, but this - us - right now… it's good, isn't it?"

Lexa nodded. "It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Relieved, Clarke tucked her head beneath Lexa's chin. "Then just be with me. You can be happy, baby. You have a right to it. Don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise."

Eventually they made their way back to Lexa's car, neither of them interested in picking up their leisurely pace.

"I'm sorry we ended up walking so much," Lexa said.

"You fed me beforehand, so it's forgiven."

Lexa smiled. "Good to know."

Before they reached the parking lot, Clarke decided to ask what had been on her mind: "I know you said Costial feels like home to you; that you found your place here, but… do you see your future here? Because this is it for me. And I'm… I like you, Lex. I like you a lot. I don't want to be an interlude. I don't think I could take it."

"Clarke," Lexa stepped closer to her. "You're not an interlude, you're - God, you've been in every act of my life here. I don't want to go anywhere. I- I want to be with you. That's what I know for certain. Is that alright for now?"

"It is."

Lexa kissed her softly and then smirked. "I may not have had erotic visions of myself entwined with a hot local, but I still want to stay here."

Clarke shoved her playfully. "I don't even like you anymore."

They laughed the whole way to the car.

* * *

It seemed like a tradition already; Lexa walking her to her door while Clarke racked her mind for a way to linger. When they finally arrived she leaned against her door and sighed.

"Tonight was amazing."

Lexa hummed. "I'm glad."

"I'm definitely taking you out this weekend," Clarke said.

"You are?" Lexa asked, tilting her head to kiss her again.

Clarke closed the gap as she wrapped her arms around her neck. The kiss was slow; amatory, but as always it could not go on for too long before hands wandered.

"I hope you have sweet dreams," Lexa said, her eyes hooded and her lips slightly redder.

"Oh I will."

Lexa glanced at her mouth. "If I pay you a visit again maybe you could keep a journal close by. I'd love some notes on my performance."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Remind me why I ever told you?"

"What? That we lasted hours?" Lexa husked.

Right. Clarke narrowed her eyes and let her hands slowly drag down Lexa's arms. Now, Clarke wasn't innocent. She knew fully what made her look good, even when her coat was buttoned up. She had let Lexa tease her and goad her about the vision all night, and she had kept her retort to herself. But no more.

She pressed her body closer to Lexa's, unmistakably provocative with the way their breasts touched.

“Make fun all you want, Lexa, but remember this: I’ve seen all of you while you haven’t seen an inch of me.” She felt Lexa’s hand tighten on her waist. “I’ve felt your body against mine. Your mouth on my thighs. I’ve felt your tongue inside me.” She glanced down at Lexa's lips and then back up, proud of the gobsmacked look on her face. “So you can tease me. You can push my buttons. I can take it. But you? You only have your imagination." She stepped back and gave her sultriest smile, "And trust me, it’s got nothing on reality.”

She turned around and quickly unlocked her door, then looked over her shoulder. "Thanks for the date, baby."

As soon as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, Clarke knew she'd just played a dirty hand. But Lexa had teased her at all night and all was fair in lust.

With a wicked grin, too pleased by the night's events, Clarke took off her coat and slipped out of her shoes and socks. And because she just couldn't resist one last look, she walked to her window and waited. Finally she saw Lexa walk out of the building. She seemed unfocused, going right and then left, forgetting where she'd parked.

But then she stopped and turned around.

Clarke's smile fell. Just watching Lexa like this, seeing the effect she had on her… it changed something. She had closed the door in the spur of the moment - because they were good at testing each other. Because she had thought tonight should end there, on another game of theirs.

But she didn’t want to play anymore.

And maybe Lexa realized it too. She looked up and found her apartment's window.

Their eyes met.

Clarke reached out for the curtain, gripping it so tight her knuckles went white. She couldn't look away from those eyes in the moonlight if she tried. Even if the ground started shaking beneath their feet.

"Lexa-" she started before stopping herself. It had to be Lexa's decision. Clarke had already made hers. She couldn't call out to her. Not for this. Lexa had to choose.

Clarke held her breath, unsure she'd even be able to leave this spot if Lexa did walk away after all. Until-

Lexa bolted back toward the building.

Clarke watched her disappear from view and then heard her intercom. She rushed toward it and pressed the buzzer, her heart in her throat. Still barefoot, she pulled the door open and waited. Footsteps thundered up the flights of stairs, closer and closer.

Tonight had not ended. Not yet.

#clarke x lexa #clexa #clexa fic #f: a bit of clarity #w

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