#it's all sunshine now but all these piece are set up to start moving

[ariadne-mouse]

re: Cleo & the Granddaughter - personally I'm only idly interested in the shipping angle at the moment (though the seeds are there and the show can certainly convince me) but what I do find intriguing about it is, whether romance or friendship, there is a fraught future already baked in. The Granddaughter is on a very specific personal journey to become a Mother, to gain incredible amounts of knowledge about the Cosmos in an eyeblink and live a life of detached service; even if there was a possibility of some romance remaining after that (give us the Mothers cultural lore, Third Person-), the Granddaughter would be irrevocably changed as a person. If they do catch feelings for Cleo, they will have to grapple with the choice of leaving that behind upon Realization. Who knows, maybe a friendship/romance and the trials within will be what precipitates Realization itself. Meanwhile Cleo would be in a position to grapple with falling for someone who is essentially marrying a life of service, and watch them change. Or, even more fraught, if the Granddaughter's journey/Realization are compromised by their connection, that is a whole new can of interpersonal consequence worms. So I am very excited by all that.

[honeyedmiller]

Sweet Thing | Joel Miller

pairing: jackson!joel x sunshine!f!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

warnings: jackson!joel, smut (unprotected piv), sweet pet names, sex in a semi-public spot, sort of getting caught, no specified ages mentioned. no use of y/n.

word count: 863

synopsis: the most unlikely pair in jackson just can’t get enough of each other.

divider by @saradika-graphics

“J-Joel,” You whimper, gripping onto his impossibly huge biceps. The fabric of his flannel felt scratchy underneath your desperate touch, and the scrape of the wiry hair on his jaw set your skin on fire.

His teeth nipped at your ear as the heavy drag of his cock came to a nearly unbearable halt; the deep timbre of his voice, even when it’d dwindled down to a mere whisper, sent shivers down your spine.

“Gotta be quiet, sweet thing. Can’t have anyone catchin’ us now, can we?” You bite your lip as he starts to move his hips again, slowly thrusting into you once more.

The squelching sound was so obscene that if your moans and whines didn’t give you away, your arousal would.

It was ironic that you two had found solace in each other. Jackson’s token ray of sunshine and the ever brooding Joel Miller: the most unlikely match there was. It was never meant to happen, but it just… did.

Being around Joel was easy. The man had such a soft spot for you. You’d been nothing but kind and gentle with him when everyone else was afraid. You carried a sparkle in your eye every time you laid your eyes on him, and that’s when he knew. He knew he had to have you.

If the residents of Jackson found out the both of you had been sneaking around the past few months, they’d all lose their minds. There’s no way they’d be able to puzzle together the pieces of your so-called ‘relationship’ with him, but you suspected at least Ellie had a hunch. The girl was smart and had been onto you two for as long as this had gone on.

You couldn’t help yourself, though. Being with a man that only reserved his soft side for you and his fortuitous daughter had you falling faster than you could keep up with, and at first, it truly terrified you.

You succumbed to his pure charm and good looks, though, which is how you ended up here—fucking in a broom closet in the Tipsy Bison because you chose to wear the pretty dress you found on patrol one day that Joel loved oh so much.

The slow drag of his heavy cock had you muffedly crying out his name, the feeling of it too much and not enough all at once. The man was all-consuming, invading every single sense that you had. It was intoxicating and purely addictive, and you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of him.

“Fuck, baby. Pussy was fuck’n made for me. Y’feel so goddamn good.” Joel’s words are slightly slurred behind his clenched teeth, trying to control his own sounds of pure bliss.

“Joel—” You cry again as he picks up his pace, and he has to cover your mouth with his hand because you cannot control yourself. He made you feel good in a way that nobody else ever has.

“I know baby, I know. Hush up now n’ take what I’m givin’ ya like the good girl I know y’are.” He coos, kissing your temple as he begins to thrust into you skillfully, tilting his body up so his cock hits your g-spot every single time.

Your eyebrows threaded together as your legs started to shake, your impending orgasm licking a flame up your spine as it threatened to spill over. Just like a match to a matchbox, Joel kept dragging and dragging and dragging until you lit aflame. The devastatingly delicious euphoria that ran through your body was truly unmatched as you convulsed around him, cries now muffled by his lips on yours.

His thrusts became sporadic, pulling out of you before grabbing a rag from a shelf to come onto. Not his finest moment, but he didn’t want to ruin that pretty dress of yours or leave any evidence of your intimate endeavors.

Joel cages you in between his arms as his hands rest on either side of your head against the wall behind you. He buries his face in your neck, catching his breath as he leaves tiny pecks along your pulse point. You mindlessly wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, gently dragging your fingertips against his hot skin while he took some time to recollect himself.

You giggle softly into his ear, kissing his neck once.

“That was fun.” You say, and Joel’s face moves to be in front of yours again. A rare smile curls onto his lips as he rests his forehead against yours, rubbing his nose against your own.

“My sweet girl.” He whispers with a chuckle laced into his words, kissing you once more before tucking his cock back into his jeans. He bends down to pull your panties back up and pulls your dress down past your hips, straightening you out so you don’t look completely fucked out.

Joel turns the knob to the closet, opening the door slowly.

“We gotta stop doing that in public places though, or else we’ll get caught.” You huff.

“Too late.” Tommy’s voice snaps both of your heads in his direction, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as Joel’s burns bright red.

Shit.

tags: @party-hearses ; @ilovepedro ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @nostalxgic ; @cool-iguana ; @amanitacowboy

[7seas-of-ryy]

I Need You | Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Author’s Note: I can't thank you guys enough for reading my writing. I'm looking forward to your thoughts on this part <3

Summary: You were saved but you still have so many questions. Trying to sort everything out might be harder than it seems.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Talks of torture, self hatred, angst, let me know if I need to add any others :)

"I've healed her as much as I can. Now she needs rest." you heard Madja speak

Darkness.

"I failed her, Rhys" you heard Cassian cry softly

Darkness.

"Thank you for saving her" you heard Feyre gently speak

Darkness.

"I forgot about her, then let Elain convince me to stay for longer. Let her convince me that y/n would be ok waiting a little bit longer for me." Azriel yelled

Well, that explains why he didn't show up.

"She's awake" Rhys stated

Both of the Illyrian males hurried over to you.

"Hey sunshine, how are you feeling" Your High Lord and good friend smiled softly down at you

"I'm fine" you whispered, voice hoarse from all the screaming you had been doing

Rhys hesitated, clearly knowing you were not fine. He didn't want to push you but he couldn't leave you alone after everything that just happened.

"Cassian told me most of what happened but there are certain parts he can't fill in. I don't want you to have to relive it but it might help us figure out why you were their target" he spoke so softly, as if speaking too loud would break you

Once he asked to see, it all hit you. The questions about Nyx, so many questions about him, you started to panic. Tears filled your eyes. He needed to know, he needed to understand that you didn't tell your torturers anything. You started hyperventilating, panicking, you had to let him know you were strong enough to withstand the pain.

"Rhys I promise I never broke. I never told them anything. No matter how much they hurt me, I swear. They asked so many times but I never broke, I swear I promise I was strong-" your sobs cut you off and Rhys bent down and pulled you into a tight hug.

"Shh I know. You did so well, please don't worry about any of that" he spoke into your neck, his own tears now pouring down his face.

You couldn't control yourself. Still terrified of saying, doing the wrong thing. You were shaking and crying hysterically. You knew they needed to see what you were tortured over so you sent the thought out hoping Rhys would understand what you were doing. He knew immediately, standing up and giving you a small nod.

You showed him everything, still shaking and crying. Azriel reached out for you and you let him. You needed anything, anyone to anchor you. He wrapped his arms around you and you cried in his chest.

Azriel looked at Rhys and saw the pained look on his face as the scene was happening in his head. Once he saw it all, he ran out of the room muttering something about a sleep tonic. The shadowsinger held you even tighter as if he could put all the pieces of you back together.

"I'm so sorry, you needed me and I wasn't there. I'm so sorry, so so sorry...." He kept repeating. You wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, to help take away the guilt he was feeling but all you could think about was Cass repeating that same thing in the dungeon.

Just like that, the terror built up inside you. Your mind tricking you into thinking you were back in the chains being tortured. You started kicking and screaming, Azriel holding you down so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

"Rhys, you got that sleep tonic? Anytime now!" He shouted hoping his friend was coming

Moments later, Rhys winnowed in the room with Madja. Once she assessed the situation, she looked grim.

"Sleep tonics will not work, this is too severe. Move, boy." Madja spoke, pushing the spymaster away and setting her hands on you.

You started to settle and slowly fell asleep.

"This won't last long. I can only fix the physical pain or symptoms. Her mind tricked her body into thinking she was being tortured again. I eased that pain but it will take a lot more to ease the pain inside her," the healer looked at them with sorrow, "I'm sorry but this is as much as I can do for her."

Azriel immediately sat in the chair next to your bed, holding your hand with both of his. Rhys patted him on the back and left to try and figure more out.

You slept for 2 straight days, with Az never leaving your side. He couldn't believe he let this happen. You were his best friend, and more than that he had always been in love with you. After everything with Mor, he couldn't risk getting hurt again or losing you so he pushed his feelings away. It was the most painful thing he had done and once Elain came along he thought it would be easier to keep himself wrapped up in her.

He deeply regretted that now. You would hate him now. He forgot about you, left you there alone. He wouldn't be surprised if you never spoke to him again.

Lucien slowly entered the room, "How is she?" he asked Azriel

"Not great but she'll get there... thank you," his voice broke, "I haven't gotten a chance to tell you yet, thank you for saving her"

Lucien nodded at the male, a solemn look upon his face, "She didn't deserve any of this. I knew you and Elain had been spending time together and it pissed me off. She's my mate, but I knew she wanted you and not me, so I suffered in silence because I thought I deserved it..." he paused, "Y/n has always been kind to me. Accepted me the moment she saw me with Feyre. Offered her company when she knew Elain was away with you so I wouldn't have to be alone. She did not deserve any of this. She did not deserve to be pushed aside and forgotten."

Azriel stared at him, stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it not knowing what to say, opened it again, "...I-"

"Do not hurt her again." Lucien stated, cutting him off and walked out of the room with one last look at you.

His shadows swirled around him, covering his neck to comfort him. They had been all over you for the most part. Wrapped around your arms and legs or nuzzled in your hair. After a while they whispered to him, she's waking up.

Your eyes slowly opened and the male at your side quickly stood to grab you some water. He helped you sit up in the bed against the wall and you both sat in silence for a while. You could tell he hadn't been sleeping, the bags under his eyes were the worst they had ever been.

"Sunshine" Az said, and it made you flinch.

You felt like your soul was the darkest its ever been. You weren't sunshine, you were storms and pain. You felt disgusted with yourself, hated yourself for being caught so easily. For allowing Cassian to be taken and have to witness everything. You hated yourself for causing everyone so much trouble and pain. You wished you died in that dungeon.

Cassian, Rhys, and Feyre all walked in. Feyre had a kind, hesitant smile, Rhys looked relieved that you were awake and not freaking out, and Cassian wouldn't even look at you. You assumed he was probably upset with you for dragging him into this and getting him tortured.

"Do you know why they picked me?" you asked quickly, so you wouldn't have to keep seeing their sad looks

"We're still not entirely sure. We know they were trying to find out things about Nyx but they could have taken any one of us for that." Feyre stated

"Maybe they thought I was the weakest and easiest to get answers out of?" you guessed.

"No, it felt very personal towards you y/n. It was like he hated you, don't get me wrong, he enjoyed beating me up but he was ecstatic to hurt you" Cassian spoke, still avoiding eye contact

"How did Lucien even find us?" you asked

"All he said was that Eris sent him a location and told him he needed to get there right away but that no one could see him there. Once he got there, he heard your screams and ran to save you. We've been trying to contact Eris but he hasn't responded." Rhys spoke

"I'm going to find whoever did this, and I'm going to slowly tear them to shreds" Azriel growled softly, still holding your hand.

"I don't understand what I did wrong-" you voice wavered and there it was. The look everyone was giving you made you feel sick. They knew you were broken now, you couldn't hide it anymore. You coughed to try and cover up the weakness in your voice.

"But we'll figure it out and I'll be ok. We'll all be ok. Now, I'm starving so I would love to join you guys for a meal tonight." You tried to smile at them. You needed them to think you were fine, that you were strong. They didn't need a weak link in their group. The last thing you wanted to do was eat but you figured that might convince them you were all good.

The four of them stared at you as if you grew a third eye on your head.

"Maybe you should take it easy, I can bring some food to you" Azriel suggested.

"Yeah that would be easier" the rest of them agreed.

"C'mon guys seriously, I'm fine. Give me a couple minutes to get dressed and I'll head down. I can try to help figure out what this is all about before we eat." you said weakly

"No. You are staying up here and resting. If you are hungry, one of us will get you food." Rhys commanded in a tone that left no room for negotiation.

"Is that an order from my High Lord or an order from my boss" you asked harshly

"It's an order from your friend." he softly stated, "let us know if you need anything"

The three of them left but Az stayed at your side. You didn't want to be alone but you also didn't want anyone to see you fall apart, which was about to happen any minute.

"Az, can you give me some time alone? I just need to think" you felt bad but you needed to be strong

Azriel gave you a sad smile, nodded, and headed for the door. The second it clicked shut, your facade fell apart. You began softly crying, you laid there all night like that until you finally cried yourself to sleep.

You didn't see the lone shadow in the corner of your room watching over you, and you didn't know Azriel slept outside your room on the floor all night long just in case you needed him.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

@darkbloodsly @xtreme-shipper @rcarbo1 @shamelessdonutkryptonite @anna-reader-blog

@favsrachz @julesvanslutta @kitsunetori @i-am-infinite @cat-or-kitten

@tele86 @popcornlauncher @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @anxious-cactus @amara-moonlight

@whosmys @vanserrasimp @whoevenfrickenknows @secondratecomplaint @fightmedraco

@watermelomsuger @lillilwil @kaitttttttt @andreperez11

[vaultdwellerbarbie]

some invisible string

scott (twisters) x f!reader (7.1k wc)

summary when a piece of debris hits you during a chase, you're left with absolutely no memory of your friends - including the one who you were engaged to, and he certainly was a ray of sunshine.

content warnings injuries, inaccurate depictions of retrograde amnesia for the plot, he's mean to everyone but one person trope, amnesia au, angst with a happy ending, one reference to sex

if there's no love in oklahoma then how come i'm so in love with the entire cast? suspicious. i had a lot of fun writing this request! i have a lot of fun writing all of my requests tbf. and no, i'm not interested in naming my fanfictions after anything other than taylor swift songs at the current moment (i swear maybe someday). divider credits to saradika! :-)

Something wasn’t right, you knew that from the moment you stepped outside of the van to set a scanner up. 

Everything had felt off the entire day. The doppler that you were keeping track of had been cutting in and out, but you had been assured by your fiancee Scott that it was nothing to worry about. The rain had come in and out in short bursts, it wasn’t totally unusual, but it was definitely strange how things were happening. But, there were still a lot of people who were out and about, unafraid of the storm and hoping to see a show. 

Once you had taken your seat beside Scott, you knew better than to express that you were worried about this. The two of you had been having conversations about moving forward with your relationship now that you were engaged. Neither of you were getting ready to settle in the countryside, but you also knew that getting married was a big step. It was a big step in general to promise yourself to someone else for the rest of your life, but it was also a big step toward a future that included more than just being married and continuing to do what you were already doing. 

If you started expressing cold feet in the field, it was going to bring about a whole other conversation that you weren’t quite ready to have. In your heart, though, you could tell that there was something wrong. The air was thicker, more humid, than it typically was. Beyond that, there was a nagging feeling in the back of your head that was telling you that you needed to turn around, that something was going to go wrong even though you weren’t quite sure what it was yet. 

You were quieter than usual, tenser. Scott picked up on that and took your hand into his, letting you lean into him. He could be incredibly rude sometimes, and you knew that when you first met him. In fact, you were quite certain that he was going to be your mortal enemy by the time that you were fully used to working with everyone at Storm Par. But, to your surprise, it took you very little time to grow fond of his icy demeanor. He would have shouted from the hills for the first few weeks he knew you that he couldn’t stand you, and he certainly detested how nice you were to him despite his rather unkind words. 

But you continued to show compassion to him, you continued to care for him if something went wrong, you continued to be a strong asset to the team, and he couldn’t help the feelings that developed. People on the team didn’t really understand why you both were so enamored with each other. You had absolutely nothing in common other than where you worked, and yet something about it just worked. It made no sense how you fell in love with each other despite everything, but you did, and they were all excited to be invited to the wedding where they could finally (hopefully) see him express any emotion other than anger since the rest of the range of emotions was typically reserved for your eyes only. 

When you stepped out of the vehicle to place the scanner, you could feel how heavy the air was. The tornado was impossibly loud, and wider than most of the ones that you had seen before. The wind speed was impressive, though you couldn’t quite tell what it was just yet. Once the scanner was placed, you got back in the car. But it was quickly knocked out, a simple switch had flipped off, a button that needed to be pressed on the object to turn it back on.

“I’m going to go turn it back on.”

“It’s too dangerous, just drive.”

“I’ll be alright.” Scott got out of the car before you could argue back, and you fully intended to wait for him while he was outside. 

Fate had a different plan for you.

He was too distracted to notice, as he started walking back, that there was something flying right at him. Stepping out of the car, you hastily pulled him out of the way, but ended up right in the debris path before either of you could totally process what had just happened. 

Scott was in shock for a moment, yelling something that you couldn’t quite make out as you fell to the ground. Your head was throbbing, your eyesight jumbled up by black dots and blurry figures. It sounded like you were underwater with a train headed right toward you, Scott’s voice unintelligible as he kneeled in front of you. The last thing you felt was how quickly he picked you up to bring you into the car before your world went completely dark. 

The sound of a beeping machine beside you faded in as you blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the dark room that you were being kept in. There were dim, warm lights behind you, and the television was very quietly playing some news station. It took you just a few moments to realize that you were in a hospital, but you couldn’t quite tell how you had arrived there. Pressing the button beside you, you tried to sit up but felt a pounding sensation in your head. 

A nurse came in after a moment, turning on the lights and immediately dimming them when she noticed how it made you hiss. 

“We’ve been waitin’ for you to wake up.” She had a thick Southern accent, it didn’t sound like the regional accents that you were typically used to, but maybe she was just from out of town. “What do you remember? Do you know how you get here?”

“I’m thinking it has something to do with this pain in my head.” 

“Right. Do you know where that came from? Just take a moment to think about it, don’t rush yourself.” 

“Can you tell me where I am? Might job my memory.” 

“Texas, hon.” Texas, made sense with her accent, but it didn’t make sense. You didn’t understand why you were in Texas. “Just tell me anything you remember.”

“I remember… uh…” 

For the next few moments, you explained to her various things about yourself. Where you were born, where you lived. Eventually, when she told you how you hurt your head, you recalled that you were a storm chaser. Things were starting to make a bit more sense, but what made no sense was the way that she informed you that you had gotten injured because you had pushed your fiance out of the way from flying debris. She gave you your phone, letting you scroll through it as you looked at pictures with yourself and your finance and your co-workers. You couldn’t really remember much of what you were looking at, barely recalling a majority of the chases that you had taken photos of. But, you would be lying if you didn’t understand why you had gotten engaged to the man in the photos. He was absolutely stunning, you just wished that you could remember anything about him.

It was late at the time, two in the morning, so she left you to your own devices while you scrolled through your phone. Text message after text message to put a name to the faces that you were looking at and remember what your relationship with these people was like. Even though you were nervous to see your friends and fiance in the morning after them knowing if you were okay, and nervous that you were going to have to explain to them what had happened, you were hopeful that your memory was going to come back to you at some point.

By the time you had woken up, you did remember a little bit. You got bits and pieces of chases that you had, and you were informed by the nurses that your tests all came back with the same result - you had retrograde amnesia, which you knew. But, since you were getting some memories back, it was likely that you would be able to recover within the coming months. For the time being, it was important that you rested and tried your best to form new relationships with old friends. 

As you finished up getting dressed, you were paid a visit from Javi and a few others at Storm Par who were ready to take you back with them. Notably, though, your fiance hadn’t been waiting with open arms to welcome you back into society after a week.

“How come the guy I’m marrying didn’t come to see me?”

“He said he was too busy working.”

“Too busy to see his fiance?”

“What do you remember about Scott?” Javi asked, a nervous expression covering his face as you glanced down at your hands. “Oh.” 

“That ‘oh’ sounded bad.”

“No! I mean, you want to marry him so I’m sure you’ll still love him!”

If any assumptions about you had ever been misplaced, that one probably took the cake for the worst one. The moment you saw Scott, his appearance gave your heart a familiar yet simultaneously unfamiliar flutter, but his demeanor made you recoil in disgust. He was being plainly rude to his coworkers, which you found absurd. Had he no respect for the people who he was working with? 

“Hey, Scott? Your fiance’s here.” 

His face immediately softened, standing from where he had been previously scolding a young employee who he quickly shooed away. Just as he moved to cradle your face in his hands you moved away from him, your eyes firm.

“Are you always that mean to people who work for you?”

“He messed up, he needed to be dealt with.” 

“I’m sure there were other ways of dealing with things.” 

“That’s Scott’s only way of dealing with things.” Another man interjected, and you took a step away from him. As handsome as he was, you weren’t quite sure that you were still in love with that personality of his. 

“Listen, I know things are strange right now, but you two are still sharing a bed - hotel is booked.”

“Great.”

“Baby-”

“Don’t.” 

Some part of you felt guilty seeing the hurt in his eyes for the rest of the day as you avoided him. He clearly loved you, for whatever that was worth. If he didn’t love you, he wouldn’t have wanted to marry you to begin with. But that love was coming from someone who seemed to be one of the most uptight, rude, degrading people who you had ever met. Even when he briefly tried to put on a nice face for you after being scolded by someone else, he quickly went back to his ways if someone did even one small thing that he disagreed with. The man was incorrigible, and you just weren’t sure that you were willing to marry someone like that anymore even if you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

“He’s so fucking hot.” You complained, nursing a lukewarm Ginger Ale that you’d paid two dollars for from a vending machine.

“Well, he is your fiance.”

“But he’s the worst! He’s so mean!”

“Yeah.” 

“Did I seriously just agree to marry that man just because he’s hot? I’m sure there are many tall, hot, men with perfect arms and- all I’m saying is-”

“You agreed to marry him for more than just his looks, I promise. But it’s not my place to make you fall in love with him again, that’s on him.” 

Pushing away from the wall, you finally bit the bullet and joined scott in your shared room. The sight of him with damp hair, wearing nothing but a low-hanging pair of sweatpants made your breath catch in your throat, but you quickly brushed past him and looked through your bag to find something to wear before heading into the shower. Immediately, you noticed that he had left your toiletries out for you already, knowing that it must have been something that you were going to need. But, he also left a white t-shirt for you, his shirt. 

As you undressed, you considered locking the door to the bathroom. Part of your brain was screaming at you that you didn’t know this man and that all you had seen from him thus far was him being rather rude to the people that he worked with. The larger part of your brain, the part of your brain telling you to leave the door unlocked, reminded you that you knew this man enough to want to marry him. Even if he had been rude thus far, that was enough to get you to continue into the shower without locking the door. You had trusted him before, even though you weren’t sure why, so you could - at the very least - not be even more hurtful than you already had been and let him hear the click of the lock of the door. 

The shower itself did very little to relieve you. Your entire role in this company until further notice was reading numbers and sometimes getting in a car. Tomorrow, you were going to be in the car for a while because Storm Par was going to be heading to a town about three hours away. That meant that you were going to be in the car with Scott all day, and you weren’t too sure that was good for either of you. It wasn’t good for you because you didn’t like his personality whatsoever, and it wasn’t good for him because you knew in your heart that he loved you, but you knew that your dismissal of him was going to hurt his feelings. Even so, he really hadn’t proven to you so far that he had much feeling in his soul that even existed to be hurt in the first place. 

Once you were out of the shower, you were truly confused about what to put on. Some part of you wanted to just play nice and wear his shirt, and the other part of you wanted to not do something like that since you didn’t really consider yourself in love with this man - not anymore. You couldn’t even understand why you were in love with him in the first place. But, you weren’t enthused about this simply because of the issues you had with him being so rude, what good did being rude in response to a gesture of kindness do you? It would make you no better than him, and you didn’t want that. 

Once you were finished in the bathroom, you joined him in bed. It was awkward laying beside him, trying to keep your eyes away from his body as he did his best to keep his eyes on his phone and not look at you. 

“You know I’m not going to bite?”

“I’m not so sure about that.” You responded, finally turning to look at him. His eyes were just as soft as they were when he first saw you, but that softness was something that you didn’t see him show anyone else. Maybe that should make you feel special, but it only made you wish that he could just be a little bit nicer to the other people he knows.

Scott sighed, turning his phone back on. It wasn’t as though he wanted to ignore you, but he also just wasn’t really sure what to do. He still loved you, but it was clear that you no longer remembered him. It was obvious an obvious choice to fight for the relationship, but he also just wasn’t sure that he had the energy or desire to do something like that. Scott was never the type to try to force someone into a relationship with him, be it friendship or otherwise, and he certainly didn’t like having people tell him how to behave.

To be clear, you had never been supportive of the way that he had acted before, but you also didn’t abhor that trait within him as you seemed to now. 

“I’m sorry that I don’t remember you,” You started, turning to look over at him as he set his phone down against his chest. You fought to keep your eyes level with his, not glancing down at his warm skin no matter how much you wanted to. “The doctor I spoke to earlier said that I should have my memories back within the year.” 

“Should?”

“No guarantee, it just seems likely.” 

“Oh.” 

“Very likely, and since we’re engaged, I’m sure you’ll be prevalent enough that I’ll remember you soon.” 

But, you weren’t quite sure what that meant. It was true that you were engaged, but it was equally true that you had no idea why. The man was rude and seemed to be a little bit more arrogant than you actually liked in a person. He was a bit of an asshole, and nobody who you spoke to about him had anything to say other than that, and that they knew that it made no sense - it just worked. You were always bubbly and nice, and he was always kind of mean. You didn’t know how that relationship worked, but apparently it did. 

Sleep came easier that night than you figured it would. There were a lot of thoughts plaguing your mind, but it was easy because of how exhausted your body still was. You had figured that, being in a week-long coma, it would be difficult to get some rest. As it would turn out, that sleep hadn’t been very restful. As much as you wanted to stay awake to work some things out in your mind, you were glad to have a moment to not have to think about anything for at least a little while. 

The next day was predominantly the same as the first one. Rather uncomfortable, with you not really knowing whether you should feel compelled to speak to the man who you were supposed to be getting ready to marry or not. It was no surprise to you as you walked down to the room where you were assigned for the day - a radar watching position, until further notice - to hear Scott yelling at someone who you presumed worked for him. The part of it that caught you off-guard, as you lingered just outside of the view of the men inside the room, was what he was actually shouting about. Because it wasn’t a poor performance or anything else that you had been hearing about him - it was about you. 

“Scott, I really don’t think anything is going to happen all the way back here. When has anything ever happened back here?”

“When have any of us ever gotten hit by debris out there?” It was clear that he was worried, but you weren’t sure why. If this was the lowest-stress thing that you could be doing, you doubted that anything was going to happen to you. 

“Listen, man, I know you feel guilty-”

“No-”

“You feel guilty because that debris was supposed to hit you, but you can’t keep blaming yourself.” 

While you had been told that you were hit, and that the only person with you at the time was Scott, you hadn’t been told how exactly it happened. It was news to you why it had happened, but there was a brief flash in your mind - you could vaguely remember it, why you were hit. He had been in danger, you tried to help him. After a moment, you recognized that it was probably morally questionable at best to listen to someone else’s personal conversation and decided to make your presence known. 

Stepping into the room, you locked eyes with Scott first before looking toward the man who you were going to be working with for the day. “I don’t really like the idea of not being in the field, doesn’t feel like my thing.”

“It’s not.” Scott replied, grabbing his hat that he had set down on the console beside him. “But, you’re not allowed to do anything else for the foreseeable future.”

“Javi told me a month.”

“Javi was just being nice, your nurse said until you’re cleared.”

“That could be in a month.”

“Could be, best not to force it.” 

He gave you a pat on the shoulder, one that made you glance back at him for a moment, but he was already gone. His lack of optimism was slightly jarring, considering the fact that everyone else had you convinced that you would be back in the saddle within a month. It was also comforting, though. It was odd, because he was doing the opposite of trying to comfort you, but there was something comforting in knowing that he was being fully honest with you about your condition and not just being optimistic (which could be foolish, in the long run) just to make you feel better.

“He’s a real ray of sunshine.” 

“Yeah, well, he’s your ray of sunshine.”

“I guess.” 

Sitting down, you took your station for the day and allowed the rest of the events of it to unfold. Throughout it, you were struck by a lot of things. A few memories slipped back in when something familiar triggered them, some memories of your friendships, but unfortunately none about the man who you were supposed to be in love with. He was handsome, you’d give him that, but you couldn’t proclaim that you felt any love for someone who you knew nothing about other than him being rude to people.

But there was… something. Maybe it was muscle memory, since the heart is a muscle after all. There was some feeling that you couldn’t described that coursed through you when you looked at him, that amplified when he briefly touched you. There was at least one flash of him holding your hand at some point in your mind, and a part of you wanted that now. You wanted to remember what it felt like, maybe it would help you remember your relationship with him better. But how did you broach that subject, when you barely got along at this point? It wasn’t like you were arguing with him, he had been pretty tame for the most part throughout the day, but you’d been informed that a lot of his mean behavior was a bit less… scream-y, and a bit more of him just being sort of rude during conversations. 

That became somewhat obvious as you listened to his conversations through the earpiece that he had on during the day. He wasn’t yelling ay anyone, but he was being rude about how one of the other cars had misplaced their radar. You weren’t sure if you expected anything different from him, but it was still a weird contrast from the way in which he spoke to you. He was somewhat timid around you, even-tempered and clearly confused about how you were both supposed to proceed in this relationship with everything that happened. A week ago, you were happily engaged to this man, but now you found yourself turned off by the rude words that you were hearing come out of his mouth.

“He’s always like that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” 

By the time the day was over, you were back on the road. Rather than wait around and miss the predicted early morning storm, you were all shoved back in the caravan of vehicles with everyone taking a turn driving so the others could get a chance to sleep. Everyone but you, since you were still recovering and straining yourself could put yourself - and everyone else - at risk if you were behind the wheel.

As hard as you tried to fall asleep, the seat behind you just wasn’t very comfortable and there really wasn’t enough room in the vehicle for you to do anything else. It wasn’t until Scott placed an arm around you, urging you to just lay against him, that you just did what he was allowing you to do. It was a burden for him since he couldn’t use that arm for the rest of the night unless he wanted to wake you, an even bigger burden when he somehow had to get into the driver’s seat without waking you up, but he did it regardless. Some part of that made your heart a bit warm, and some part of you recognized that perhaps those nice moments weren’t quite so rare for you. 

When you woke up, you weren’t quite sure where you were. The last thing you remembered, you were in a car, but you were now laying down in a bed with nobody beside you. That was odd, since the last time you had stayed in a hotel room you had been with Scott, and you had been told already that there wouldn’t be any staying in a hotel room for anyone since there just wasn’t enough time.

Picking up the phone that had been placed on the nightstand beside you, you finally noticed the few text messages from your coworkers that you had missed. Scott had apparently gotten his own room, and Javi had decided that it would be best if nobody woke you since everyone was clear on making sure that you were taking care of yourself and not just trying to get back to work as soon as possible. It was still early, you were certain that everyone was still there for at least another hour. Still, it stuck out to you that Scott had gotten his own room. He did let you know where his room was, incase you needed anything, but it was enough to bother you and substantially shorten your process of getting ready for the day so you could try to catch him before he left his room.

Knocking on the door, you could feel your heartbeat in your stomach. You hated the idea of anyone being mad at you in general, but it was made worse by said person being the one who you were apparently supposed to be marrying soon. 

Scott opened the door, already dressed for the day but missing his shoes, earpiece, hat, glasses, and gum - all things that you had come to understand were important aspects of what he wore on any given day. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?”

“I just don’t- like you’re mad at me? Because I’m sure another room was extra money, and-”

“You might not remember much, but you’re the same - you know that?” He stepped aside, motioning for you to come in. You did as you were requested to do, but it seemed to be manly so he could finish getting ready to go. “That’s why I started being nicer to you, because you were always so worried that I was mad at you.”

“Were you?”

“Sometimes.” He replied, and it was odd because he was being more forward with you than he typically was. Was it because he wanted you to talk to him more, because he liked that you sought out his conversation like you did? “But not usually, I tried to be mad at you and it never worked.”

“So why did you book a different room?” From what you could recall of the night before, which was everything before falling asleep, he had invited and encouraged you to sleep on his chest. Of course, you didn’t remember anything that happened while you were sleeping so you also didn’t quite know the lengths that he went to so you were comfortable. But, you did know that it would be rather strange if the man had a change of heart that quickly. 

“I booked a different room so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable.” 

“Oh.” 

“I’m not a monster, we just couldn’t get another room for you last time on such short notice.” 

“But-”

“I brought you to your room, but I didn’t keep a copy of the key or anything. Wait, what were you about to say?” 

“N-nothing.” 

Why did you feel somewhat upset about the prospect of not sharing a room with him? You didn’t really enjoy the way that he talked to other people, but he wasn’t really very mean to you. He, thus far, hadn’t said a single rude thing to you and had seemingly gone out of his way to be nicer to you than he did for anyone else on the team. But it shouldn’t matter, it couldn’t. You hated the way he treated other people, even if the memories of falling asleep on his chest made your stomach flutter. 

“You can tell me, we are still engaged, I think.”

“We’re still engaged.” 

“Good.”

“Good, yeah. Great.”

“Unless you don’t want to be?” 

“Never said that.” 

Your face and… entire body, really, felt two hundred degrees as you looked away from him, looking at everything in the room other than the man in front of you. It wasn’t until he was actually in front of you, his finger hooked underneath your chin and forcing you to look up at him, that you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

“You didn’t say wanted to be, either.” 

“I haven’t had coffee yet.” 

“You’re not supposed to drink coffee for five more days, honey.” 

His eyes were hypnotic, was that why you liked him so much? His touch was gentle and warm, and for just a brief moment something struck you, some memory of his lips against yours, some memory of him holding you tight to his body and your fingers digging into his hair - but you couldn’t remember much more muddled visions of past intimacy.

“Have we had sex?”

“Quite a few times.”

“Was it good?”

“I thought it was good.” 

Now he seemed amused, and you had yet to see him smile before this. He had dimples, which made you want to curl into a ball and die because of course he had dimples. But he was also your fiance, why were you so upset that you were attracted to your own fiance? 

“Could you-” 

“Hey, Scott? Your uncle is downstairs, could you hurry up?” The sound of Javi’s voice outside of the door snapped you both out of whatever was happening, Scott’s hand dropping from your face and your eyes flickering to the ground before staring at the back of his head as he finished getting ready.

“One minute, man! You’re early!”

“Sorry!” 

Stepping toward the door, you listened to the sound of Javi walking away before sighing. Your hand was placed on the handle for just a moment, and you almost wondered what was going through your head throughout those few minutes with Scott. He was the person you were engaged to, you had to be engaged to him for a reason, so why were you so afraid of the fact that you were so into him? Maybe it was because it made no sense in your brain, but everyone had been clear that it had never made sense. 

“How early is he?”

“About fifteen minutes.” 

“Who’s your uncle?”

“Our benefactor.” 

“Scott?”

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t want my own room.” 

“I’ll let our benefactor know.” He responded, looming behind you after a moment. But whatever softness he had been showing was predominantly gone, he was very work-oriented from what you could tell, and he wasn’t the type to be late to even a business meeting that had started early. 

“Am I a part of these meetings?” 

“Typically, no. But I think you should be today, since you almost- since you were injured.” 

Scott was the one to reach past you and open the door, letting you walk out first so he could lock the room behind him.

“How long are we staying here?” 

“Couple days, there’s going to be another storm here in a few days. You’ll be with me today after the storm.” 

“Neat!”

You could see that there was a slight smile growing on his face, but he pushed it aside since he was in public now. There was a bit of familiarity in the feeling of knowing that those more positive emotions that he displayed in front of you were only displayed in front of you, in trying to make him genuinely smile when other people were around when you knew for a fact that wasn’t going to happen. You were certain that you had done this before, you just couldn’t exactly put your finger on when. 

The meeting with his uncle went fine, even though you were certain that you were never overly fond of the man. That was probably why you hardly ever met with him as well, since you didn’t really need to be there in the first place. But he did spill a few somewhat embarrassing facts about Scott being worried sick about you being in the hospital, and how he was probably the one who left the television running in your room since Scott only left your side at night and when he needed to for work. Considering the fact that you were worried that he didn’t care all that much since he wasn’t there to pick you up, this information made you just a little bit more comfortable with him - and a little bit more curious about what else there was about him to learn that you couldn’t tell just from the exterior that you had been shown. 

The tornado was more of the same, you watching from the sidelines and wishing that you could do more than what you were doing and Scott being a little bit bitchy if someone did something that he didn’t like. When it was over, he came back to bring you to the town that had been effected by the storm.

Thankfully, a majority of the damage had been done to a mall that hadn’t opened for the day yet - the employees inside had a storm shelter, and most of the damage was just done to insured companies. For the most part, your role in this was just making sure that the franchise owners in the mall and the people operating small or independent businesses were in contact with Scott’s uncle. Though you weren’t quite sure that you fully agreed with the business-model that Storm Par employed, you were able to take a few moments to help clean up once you were finished with that - even though Scott didn’t really help do much other than lift the heavy objects that you tried to lift even though you weren’t supposed to. 

He did bring you to dinner, though, with a few other people on the team joining along. Sitting with these people brought, again, an odd sense of familiarity. It was odd because you knew that it should feel familiar, you knew that these were people who you knew and worked with, people who you were getting reacquainted with, but it didn’t feel familiar because you couldn’t remember most of your interactions with any of them. It just felt like something that your body was used to, something that your heart was used to, but something that your mind was interpreting as an entirely new experience. 

Sitting beside Scott, you watched him discuss business with a few of the other people who you worked with while you took the time to read more of the detailed email that Javi sent you with everything that you had forgotten from the past few years. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if you needed to read the entire thing. Your nurse had been clear that it wouldn’t actually take forever for you to get your memories back since they were already starting to come back in bits and pieces, but you also had no idea how long it was actually going to take. If it was going to be a year, you needed to know about what you had missed. But if it wasn’t, maybe you should spend more time continuing to engage in your new/old relationships. 

Glancing down, your eyes were locked on Scott’s hand placed on his leg. You wanted to grab it, to see if it would remind you of anything, and from the way that he briefly glanced over at you, you knew that this was something that you did regularly. Flipping his hand over, he gave you the permission that you needed to take his large hand into yours, even though the feeling of your engagement ring against his skin seemed to make his fingers jolt for a second. But, he kept his composure. Seemingly, he just didn’t want to act too soft in front of the others - that was no surprise to you, though. 

While your hope of magically regaining your memories because of one single touch didn’t actually end up coming true, that didn’t stop you from having a nice dinner. It was nice to talk to everyone, to get to know them again, nice to just be around people and alive with the knowledge lingering in the back of your mind that you had almost gotten yourself killed for the man sitting beside you. Despite the glaring character flaws that he displayed when speaking to seemingly anyone other than you, he was still someone who you clearly loved for one reason or another enough to get yourself hurt to protect him. 

Upon returning back to the hotel, Scott helped you move your still packed bag to his room before you changed into a simple pair of sleep shorts and accepted his offer to wear one of his shirts to sleep in. You still couldn’t shake that feeling from earlier as you stood in his room again, that feeling to do… something. You weren’t sure what it was that you wanted. Did you want to discuss more with him? Did you want him to tell you more about your relationship so you could better try to understand it? Were you purely being driven by carnal desires and lust? You weren’t so sure until he stepped out of the bathroom from his shower, your head turning from tea you had been steeping for the past few moments. 

His hair was wet, but there was still a slight curl to it. He was dressed in just his sweatpants again, your eyes lingering on his torso before looking back up to his face. His eyes were almost unreadable, but you knew exactly what it was that you had wanted to do earlier - what you needed to do now.

Setting your mug down on the cupboard, he watched you curiously as you walked closer to him.

“Need something?”

“I think I need you to kiss me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Please.” 

Whether you thought it was going to jog your memory, or because your body was so used to craving his touch that even your unfamiliarity - which was made a lot less since he had been willing to answer your questions all day - couldn’t deter it; it really didn’t matter. Scott was slow, gentle, giving you enough time to back away and change your mind if you wanted to.

But you held onto his hand as he placed it onto his cheek, and you leaned in to kiss him almost as fast as he leaned in to kiss you. It did feel glaringly familiar, but it also ignited something within you. Though you didn’t remember everything, fragments of your relationship with him replayed in your mind - only small ones, moments that you would need to ask about, but moments nevertheless. The sight of him smiling, of him cleaning mud from your hair after a storm - moments that were soft and sweet and everything that you had come to believe were impossible from him.

You sighed into the kiss, letting your body relax closer to his and encouraging him to deepen the kiss as he brought his free hand to rest on the back of your head. His fingers were slightly tangled into your hair, his tongue pressed lightly against your bottom lip. He felt so good, but you knew that you had to pull back after a moment.

“I didn’t answer your question earlier.”

“What- oh.”

“I do still want to be engaged.”

“Me too.”

“Well, duh, you didn’t forget your memories.” You replied, teasingly as you pressed a chaste kiss against his mouth before taking your tea and setting it on the nightstand. He watched you, seemingly in a trance for a second, before joining you in bed. “I want you to tell me everything you remember.”

“That’s going to take a while.”

“Until you get too tired.” 

“Deal.” 

For roughly two and a half hours, you were able to have moments in your relationship described to you as though they didn’t happen to you, and you were able to feel like you remembered even the ones that you didn’t remember. It was true that the man beside you, the man who you had agreed to marry at one point in your life - a point in your life that he made sure to describe to you - wasn’t the nicest person in the world, but that didn’t change the fact that he was nice to you, he was affectionate with you, and had somehow fallen in love with someone who couldn’t be more different from him. Even though you were just becoming acquainted with him again, you were certain that it wasn’t some impossible task to fall in love with Scott just because he was a little bit prickly. 

In the coming weeks, you would regain a lot more of your memories, and Scott would fill in the blanks that you weren’t so sure about. He would go a little further than he needed to, somehow trying to woo you again when you had already told him that you still wanted to marry him, and it didn’t take you regaining every little memory you ever had with him to fall in love with him again. He was horribly rude to everyone else, but when he was sweet with you, it felt better than any interaction that you had with anyone else. When you eventually did get all of those memories back, there was a sense of relief, but there was also a sense that it was almost unnecessary.

The fact that you had fallen in love with him not once, but twice, made it clear to you that you had made the right choice when you had committed to marrying him two times at this point - and it was going to make you a lot prouder to walk down the aisle than you ever would have before, because there was no doubt in your mind that it was the right choice.

[wardenparker]

Baked in Soulmates

Pero Tovar x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 14.5k Warnings: Fluff, random historical factoids, flirting, grumpy-sunshine dynamic, discussion of past lovers/lives, talking about sex, food/alcohol consumption, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Summary: After having a premonition about him many decades ago, Peor Tovar finally walks into your bakery and turns your world inside out. Notes: Inspired by and based upon The Smell of Fresh Bread - a Writer Wednesday that Keri did some time ago, which has long been one of my favorite Pero pieces ever. It's a great way to bring Spooktober to an end! 🧡 As always, I apologize for any errors I might have missed in proofreading.

It was a rare day that saw you sitting at the table in the staff sitting room with nothing to do, and today unfortunately was no exception. While the cook took her time with the menus and the pantry and fussing at the scullery maids, you put in the long and diligent hours of a baker all for the benefit of this one great house.

It worked well for you, or at least it had in the past, to come into a large house like this and cook here for as many years as you can remain inconspicuous before finding an excuse to move on. It's easier that way. There are fewer explanations to give.

At least in this house there are more like you.

Kneading the dough for buns that will be studded with dried fruit and candied peel to be slathered with butter at tea, you hum quietly to yourself and focus on the rhythm of the work. Baking has been your steady companion through every lifetime you've lived and every country you've passed through, keeping you steady even when your magic became erratic or the treacherous uphill march of immortality weighed too heavily on your shoulders. A soft hum and the steady pace of kneading dough will keep you moving forward. They always have before.

“Ohhhh they are wanting their tea early.” Sally comes bursting into the kitchen, flustered and annoyed. “They are wanting it at three instead of four.” She huffs as she rushes over to the large cabinet. “And the mister wants another cup of coffee now that he has let the last one get too cold.”

"And he'll not perish during the five minutes that it takes to make," you hum pleasantly, not looking up from your work. The young housemaid seems always to be in a tizzy and you're far too old at this point to get worked up about anything so generally small. "Tea at three is just fine. Everything will be ready in time."

“Are you sure?” She hates when they change things around, believing that the house should run like a clock and it shouldn’t change.

"I will work a little faster, that is all." And there may be a dash of magic in the teacakes if necessary, just to make sure they rise in time. The family need never know.

“You are magical.” She heaves a sigh of relief, always put at ease by your unflappability. “It is always when he decides to come home.”

“If I had a shilling for every time a man made plans needlessly complicated, I would be rich as Croesus,” you hum, almost dismissively, but laugh to put Sally at ease. The fact is, you are fairly rich. But the wealth accumulated over centuries of immortality must be carefully parceled out. “There is no need to get worked up just because the master is in a tizzy.”

“You are right.” She sighs again and rolls her shoulders as she waits for the pot to boil. “As you usually are.”

“With age comes wisdom, my dear.” Though you look no older than thirty, the young housemaid has no idea how much wisdom you truly have.

“I suppose that is true.” She huffs slightly and starts to set up the sugar and milk for the coffee.

Down the hall, the servants’ door opens, letting in a gust of autumn wind that carries the scent of crisp leaves and the apple trees in the garden. It wafts in the scent of the wood fire from the next room over and picking up the muted notes of lingering from the cup of tea you had made for yourself which is now growing cold on the work table nearby.

It also carries, somehow, the crisp, atmospheric smell of stardust.

And within seconds your mind is engulfed with entirely another scene altogether.

Cardamom, cinnamon and rosemary scent the air along with the yeasty smell of fresh bread. A man opens the door. Dark, scarred with eyes that are brooding and seemingly holding a thousand years worth of secrets. Even in the unfamiliar and very informal dress, his stance is one of a solider. This is a man who has seen war and is on guard from unseen enemies lurking around every corner. Dark hair, short and practical, is unstyled and accompanied by facial hair that is not in fashion during this time. “Buenas—”

An entirely different, sharp and acidic, unpleasant smell pulls you from the vision. In just a moment you've gone from standing at your work table to lying on the stone floor of the kitchen, with Sally wailing and fretting in the background and the caretaker kneeling over you with a stern frown painted on his face.

Smelling salts have been useful for centuries, but that does not mean the smell of them has improved any.

"I'm alright." Your voice is hoarse though, and weak, and the man looks less than impressed. Under the cover of Sally's wails, you are able to murmur the truth to the warlock surveying you for injury. "It was a vision. I'm alright."

“A vision?” He frowns and helps you sit up. “Do you need to go to your room to write it down?” He asks quietly.

"I ought to." You nod, scrubbing your temples with your fingers and feeling them sticky against your skin. "But the dough..." That dough needs to be finished kneading and rested if tea is going to be served early today.

“I can finish it.” You have shown him how many times and he knows how important it is to write down specifics while they are fresh in your mind.

"Cover it in the bowl and put it by the stove when you're done?" It's no small thing to offer to finish your chore for you, and you're grateful for the kindness. "I'll just go and freshen up," you say a little louder, hoping to quell some of Sally's vocal worrying with reassurance.

Helping you to your feet, he snorts and waves Sally away. “Take the coffee where it belongs.” He orders, even though he had no authority in the house, he is tired of listening to her caterwauling.

“Thank you.” Touching his arm gently, you give the man a nod. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Smirking slightly, he sweeps his cap off his head and bows. “Anything for you, my lady.” He intones playfully and winks at you before turning to take an extra apron off the hook and wash his hands.

******

Life in that house was good. The family was reasonably kind, they paid as well as they could, and the company you had kept then was amiable. The caretaker had been kind enough and gentle enough that when he had confessed love for you, you had gone to his arms and to his bed for more years than you had expected. But as always, you had needed to move on.

Sometime in the early 1950s you had made it back to America for the second time, and found work in a bakery in the North End of the city run by an Italian family. The focaccia you made there was different than the type the cobbler's wife in Rome had taught you to make, but only out of necessity. That cobbler's wife and that Rome were nearly six hundred years gone by then.

Here, you told the family employing you that you were a widow and supplied stories of the caretaker whenever pressed for details of your late husband. They assumed that he had died in the war. You did not contradict them.

And then one day the scent of warm spices and a new vision of the dark man with his scared eye came to you, and you learned his name.

Pero Tovar.

******

The bell above the door tinkles, letting you know that someone has come in. A necessity when you are so often in the back with your ovens. “Buenas Dias.” Pero has learned that manners are necessary in this time, if you want to have people not refuse your coin. Even if it is a small plastic card. “I need a loaf of whatever smells so good.” He grunts, slapping his card down on the counter, belly rumbling.

The visions had not many sense for many years. Of course the familiarity of a bakery was something you could understand. A customer. A sale. But the little rectangle in his hand did not begin to make sense until plastic and credit cards became realities. But all the visions of your past had eventually come true, so the faith you have in your magic had brought you to today. To the loaves of bread leaving your oven and being set lovingly on wire racks. The lingering, mingling smells of cardamom, cinnamon, rosemary, and yeast mixing with autumn air and your customary tea.

To the man walking through the door of your shop.

The loaf you had handed him in your second vision was what most bakers called artisan now. An old world thing with wheat germ and oats and none of the processed white flour that was most popular in the modern world. This was bread that smelled of dirt-floored cottages and honey – more precious than gold – being stored in clay pots and bargained over. This bread smells of home, and through your vision you had felt the same would be true for him.

So you took it from your racks and savored the scent, placing it on a trencher with jam and butter, and handed it to him to enjoy. When he tried to pay, you only gently refused. "For you, Pero Tovar, there is no charge." You tell him, enjoying a private smile and his shock all at once. "Eat and remember."

“How do you know my name?” Pero had been drawn here by the smells of the past. The scent of time forgotten. Pulling from him the core memories that have almost been forgotten until they are recalled. Sitting unused and dusty like a book on an abandoned library shelf. In the time he came from, books were more rare than gold, now people carelessly toss them aside when they don’t care for the words written inside them.

"I have known your name for a long time." You can't say just how long. Not yet. There are still many things to learn about the man from your visions. "Sit," you encourage, nudging the plate toward him again. "Remember. Enjoy."

He doesn’t question you, he doesn’t attack you. Despite this time’s view on weapons, Pero still does not walk around unarmed. He could have a knife at your throat in an instant. Instead, he sits at a small table and tears apart the bread with his hands like he would have when he was on his first set of years.

It is a satisfying sight, you have to admit that much. Raw enthusiasm is in short supply in this modern age. To see someone devour the food that you prepare is an enormous part of why you have continued to bake century after century. In continues to be a challenge to feed all of the hungry people in the world, but you do your part. And this one man is included in that number.

For more than a century, this man's face has held a place in your mind, so you stop at his table to put a cup of coffee at his place as well. Let him enjoy himself, you think, and offer him a smile when you put down the mug.

Pero pauses, glancing up at you and then back down at the steaming cup of coffee. “Gracias.” He murmurs after a moment and picks it up. It doesn’t appear to have all the sweet creams and syrups that they have in this era and for some reason, he’s disappointed by that. Although it would be more than what he had drank when he was riding towards the East and selling his sword.

"Come back after sunset," you tell him, and walk away again to greet the new customers who have come through the door.

He frowns at the comment, wondering what he will need to come back for. How you know his name, he had checked his credit card. The name is on the back, so you didn’t get it from there. He is suspicious, but that just means he will come back.

******

It’s not that your shop strictly closes at sunset, but as the proprietor and only employee, you have the luxury of making your day what you like. From sunrise to sunset you sell breads and sweets and coffee and tea to your customers, and luxuriate in the ability to do as you please. If someone upsets you or is rude? You can simply turn them away. If they are kind and lovely? They can have their treats for free. The only person keeping track is you.

Tonight, like every night, you bundle up your unsold things to be picked up by the young lady who works for the village, and she distributes them amongst the poor and the hungry at night as she makes sure that each and every one has a roof over their head and a warm place to sleep. This, you have already decided, is the person from this life you will be leaving a great deal of money to when you must disappear and move on. You always choose one, and this time it will be her.

It is in this state, humming yourself as you load up paper bags with bread at the end of the day, that Pero Tovar finds you once more.

This time, the bell does not alert you to his presence, he had manage to slip inside without disturbing it. “How do you know my name?” He asks, watching as you look up from your task.

“Good evening, Señor Tovar,” you murmur politely, undisturbed and unperturbed when you look up.

It makes him frown even more when you aren’t surprised by his presence. “You seem to know me, but I would remember meeting you.”

“Would you?” That is what surprises you, and you look up to find him watching you carefully.

He doesn’t know what game you are playing, but he is starting to get frustrated. “Who are you?” He demands again.

You supply your first name easily enough, and finish depositing the bread loaves and sweets into bags. Everything except the small white cardboard box on your counter. That is marked with his name and tied up in string. “I’m like you are.” You tell him calmly.

He highly doubts that. “A bastard?” He snorts, purposefully misunderstanding. “You seem too sweet for that.”

“Actually?” You chuckle a little. “Yes. I am. But I meant that I am older than I look. As you are.”

"I'm thirty-eight." At least that's what it says on his driver's license. This lifetime at least. "Do you think you know me from somewhere?" He demands, wondering what you are playing at.

“I would sooner believe you to be five hundred and thirty-eight.” Your visions never specified too much about him, but the aura of magic he held around him had some of the same hallmarks as yours. Namely, enchantments and immortality. “We have never met, but I have seen you before.”

His jaw tightens and Pero growls dangerously, stepping closer to you. "You are mad, witch." He hisses, shaken to his very core that you might know of his plight even though he much older than your claim.

“Perhaps.” You actually laugh a little. “But at least you are right about one thing. I am a witch.”

That confuses him, making him furrow his brow together and frown. Looking around the kitchen to see if there something to explain all of this.

“Come and sit down.” That feels like the right thing to do, and you motion to one of the tables close by. “If you would like me to, I will tell you what I know.”

He watches you for a moment, gauging you before he moves over to the table and pulls out a chair and sits.

"You know that magic is real." Coming to sit down with him, you bring two cups of coffee to give you both something to do with your hands. He had frowned at his cup earlier when you set it down, so this time you had added a touch of caramel and vanilla to the hot steamed milk to see if he liked that better. "We have both been touched by it in different ways. But both of us have been given immortality. Whether that is a blessing or a curse depends on the day."

“How old are you?” He demands after a moment, leaning over and staring at you with an intensity that would make a mere mortal uneasy.

"That would be a rude question to ask a lady in any century, but fortunately for you it is a moot point." An amused smile curls your lips as you sit back and sip your coffee. "I do not know. When I was born they did not keep track of birthdays so studiously."

“What is the earliest century you remember?” He asks instead, aware that it is only because of his own parents he had been aware of his age before his trip to the Wall.

Thinking back as much as you can, you sip your coffee in silent thought for long moments before finally being able to answer. "I remember the news that Charlamagne had been crowned emperor." You tell him. "I was a child, and a messenger came to our village. But life went on as usual, unaffected by the change in man who supposedly ruled us."

“How did you come to live this long then?” You are older than he is, but a good four hundred years. His eyes are wide and curious, never meeting another than has been cursed with walking the earth without end.

"I tended to a dying witch," you tell him, sitting forward again at the table with your cup in your hands. "She was very powerful. The woman who taught us all and who raised us up to the goddess. It was an honor to tend to her even in her painful last moments. And she blessed each of us with a gift. The other girls were older than me. One she wished eternal kindness on, that she and her family would always be good to each other. To the other she gave an endless curiosity of spirit. That girl died within the year from eating things she should not, which I do not think was the intention of the gift." You shrug slightly, having thought of these other girls so often that it no longer brings you sadness to think of them so long ago. "When it came time to give me a blessing, she was in the throes of more pain, and she wished to the goddess that I should never know the pain of death that she endured in that moment."

“So you never find the peace of eternal slumber.” Pero leans back, still confused as to how you could have known about him. His own existence is a curiosity that he has never been able to explain despite the theories. Witches no longer hold the same fear that they might have centuries ago. He has seen too many gods and people fall through the ages.

“I understand it is possible.” But you shrug your shoulders. “But it would require enchanted items that seem to no longer exist.”

Pero nods. “So how do you know about me?” He asks. “Have you been watching me?” He thought he had been more careful. It was hard to cover his tracks with the scar on his face, but he had used prosthetics a few of the lives he has lived and explains the scarring away as the boons of war. He had tried hard to keep from being photographed, but now it was impossible.

"No." You sip your coffee again and nudge his cup toward him, encouraging him to do the same. "I have visions. And I had some of you."

“Visions?” In his entire life, Pero Tovar has never had a vision. He has memories, often coming to him while he sleeps in the form of dreams - or nightmares, but never visions. He picks up the cup and examines it for a moment before taking a sip and his eyes light up in delight at the sweetness.

Sweet things for this man, apparently. That will be easy enough to achieve. "My senses tingle. Smells become more acute and I can hear the songs in the wind. Then my mind's eye fogs over and I see..." Describing this is easier now, since the advent of new technologies. "As though I were watching a film, made from my own point of view. I see the future."

“So you saw me walk into your shop.” Pero reasons. “Any knowing my name?”

"The older I get, the more intense my visions are," you explain. "Centuries ago, they were more frequent and far less detailed. Now? I will rarely have more than one every few decades. But they are much more intense. More detailed. They instill knowledge in me instead of simply showing me an image."

Pero cannot say that he would envy a gift like that. It would put him on edge more than he normally is. “Why would you have visions of me?” He questions that part, taking another sip of his coffee.

“That,” you tell him, having the last sip of your coffee. “Is what I do not know.”

Your answer simultaneously makes him unease and relaxes him at the same time. Unsure of why he believes you, but he does. “I don’t know why I still walk the earth.” He admits quietly. “I had long believed it to be because of the Tao Tei, but no one else from those battles still roam.”

“Tao Tei?” The term isn’t one you’re familiar with, which is surprising. You’re familiar with quite a lot.

He looks out the window the modern streets and huffs to himself slightly. “Demons, aliens, monsters.” He shakes his head. “I still don’t know exactly what they are, but they were ferocious.”

“So they were creatures.” At that, you nod again and lean forward on the table. “That is most likely why I have not heard of them. Unless you can eat them or milk them I have had little interest. My many lifetimes have been spent mostly in a bustling kitchen.”

"They were in the far East. The Nameless order worked hard to keep word of them from spreading." Pero explains. "It is not like now. The word traveled so much slower than now."

“I miss it,” you admit without shame. “Things are so fleeting these days.”

"Some days I would have talked to no one but my horse.” Pero snorts, “now having a horse is rare.”

“I do like my bicycle.” That makes you grin. The bicycle you had bought while living in Boston in the 1950s is vintage now, but you learned to repair and care for it yourself. The basket on the front was long ago replaced with one of your own making as well. “But horses are wonderful companions.”

"So you have just been waiting for me to show up?" He asks, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that you know him. Even if this is the first real conversation you have had.

“More or less.” You agree. “Since 1909. Or really, since I bought this shop. I walked in the front door here about ten years ago and realized it was the bakery from the visions, so I got a job here and bought it when the previous owners decided to retire.”

He nods and looks around. “Looks like it is a nice place to live one of the many lives we experience.” He compliments. “Have you always been a baker?”

"Most of the time." He is entirely right. The two of you have lived countless lifetimes. Endless choices of where to go and who to be. But you have mostly kept to what makes you happy. "In different parts of the world, in different ways, and always learning new things. Have you always been a warrior?"

“Always.” He nods. “Although it is harder to do these days.” He admits. “Private security is more about using technology now than brute skill.”

"I imagine your sword is in far less demand these days." In fact you can't think of a single way he could use it outside of sport and discipline, which is a shame. A talented swordsman is a gloriously indulgent sight to watch. "Have you tried any of the new martial arts?"

He sighs, “all of them.” He admits. “But the MMA shit is boring.”

"Pobrecito," you tease, chuckling a little at his dismay. "You should fight fires, then. Use your strength and immortality for something valiant. Just to try it out."

“Fires.” He snorts and shakes his head. “I will scare the little girls hiding under their beds while the wallpaper burns.”

"Or inspire beautiful women to open their legs in gratitude." Standing from the table, you take the two empty coffee cups and round the nearby counter to rinse them and set them in the dishwasher.

“I have not taken a wife in many years.” Pero admits, looking down at his hands. “I do not wish to bury another.”

"Surely that does not mean you cannot enjoy a warm bed from time to time?" When you reemerge from behind the counter, you sit down again, sensing that there is plenty more talk to be had. "The last time I married was 1810, but that has not kept me from pleasure."

He chuckles. “I did not say that.” You have a modern take for one so old, but he doesn’t mind that. “It is hard to not feel dirty.” He snorts. “They are all so young.”

"Well that is true enough." And well worth sharing a laugh over. For there are very few in the world as old as the two of you. "There is not much to be done about an equal age, though. The community of immortals in the world is quite small, and always on the move. For reasons you understand all too well."

“Community?” Pero frowns, his head jerking up and he looks at you in confusion. “There are more?”

"I have met thirteen others, over the centuries." You tell him, nodding. "Mostly witches or warlocks, but also some who were enchanted at random, like you were. Mostly we acknowledge each other, share a few stories, and then go our separate ways."

“You are the first I have met.” Pero tells you. “I have always believed I was alone.” It had been a lonely existence, but he had felt like it was his punishment, or reward, for what happened at that wall. Although he could never explain why William lived out his life as expected and died an old man.

"There are many theories. About what could eventually kill us, or what can weaken us." Theories that you had been over time and time again with the few other immortals that you had come across. "Apparently it is possible for us to die. But...not easy."

“You mean being stabbed, blown up, crashing, or drowning would not do it?” He asks sarcastically, ticking off the ways he should have died many times over. He had come out with little more than a scratch.

"Apparently." Your head cocks to one side, wondering how he will take this. "It is more like a fairy story. Where true love restores us to our mortality."

Pero chuckles. “I have loved many times, bruja.” He reminds you. “Yet there is still no grey in my hair or beard.”

"True love." You correct him. "Not just love. I have loved more times than I can count. Endless, depths of the oceans of love. But supposedly the truest love our hearts can feel...that is what is supposed to do it."

Pero frowns, digesting your words and trying to understand them. “You are speaking of soulmates.” He murmurs. “Those do not exist.”

"Until today, you believed you were the lone immortal in the world." The reminder is stark, but not unkind. "Who is to say soulmates do not also exist?"

Pero sighs and nods, having to concede that fact. “You are right.” He grunts. “But if I had not found them in nine hundred years, then I fear I have none.” He smirks and huffs to himself. “My soul is long rotten.”

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not." There is really no way to know. No way to open up one's heart or soul and read the name written there in destiny's hand. "I suppose we can only wait and see."

He shakes his head and stands. “Then I guess that your vision has been fulfilled.” He feels oddly disheartened by that, but his face is set.

"Has it?" You do not rise from your seat, but watch him intently. "My vision could have had any of ten thousand meanings. But all I know is that we were destined to meet. I should hate for it to only be one time."

“Perhaps it will not be.” Pero nods to you and then glances at the door. “The darkness settles.” He reminds you. “You should go home, bruja.”

"Come again at closing time, if you would like to talk more." This time you do rise from the table. There are bags to gather and things to distribute to the needy. "I am always here. In this lifetime, anyway."

Pero nods and he’s unsure if he should offer to walk you home, but he reasons that you have been taking care of yourself for far longer than any other woman walking alone at night. “Gracias.” He murmurs before he disappears through the door as silently as he came.

“Buenas noches,” you murmur to his back, watching the swift and sleek way he retreats. Pero Tovar must have been an admirable opponent in his warring days.

*****

It takes an entire week for Pero to come back. He had been purposely avoiding that side of the village so he didn’t drop in. Doing research and trying to learn everything he can about you. Your digital footprint is good and the way you have set up your ‘lives’ is admirable. Now he wants to talk to you again.

His stealth is admirable, but you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye as you wipe down the counters. The last guest has left for the night and the village girl has come and gone for the bags of leftovers already. “Good evening, Pero Tovar.”

He almost asks how you knew he was here, but he doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer to you. “You have lived under the radar.” He says. “It was hard to find your trail at first.”

“But you have been successful now?” Finishing up your cleaning, you take your apron off and toss it in the small hamper you keep under the counter to accumulate washing. Every few days you take your towels and aprons home from the bakery to wash and dry at home. The ritual is soothing.

“As far back as 1841.” He admits. “The trail is harder to follow any farther back. Records are not as good from before as they are now.”

"1841..." You think back, trying to remember where you were an who you were then. "That was...Greece, wasn't it? Did you find employment records from the hotel?"

“Your marriage record.” Pero shakes his head. “But before then, it seems like you had just arrived from somewhere else.”

"From here," you tell him, smiling nostalgically. "From Spain. I was living in a fishing village on the Portuguese border. I met a Greek merchant who begged me to come away with him and..." Trailing off, you shrug your shoulders a little but never stop smiling. "It sounded like a grand, romantic adventure. Cristos was a good man, and I worked at a hotel in the islands for a long time."

Your voice takes on a soft, dreamy quality and for a moment, Pero is jealous of the Cristos you speak of. It must have been a grand romance. “I was in America during that time.”

"Oh?" You're interested in anything he is willing to share about himself. Unlike him, you did not go digging into his past. More hopeful that he would return to share with you when he was ready. "What did you do there?"

“Went west.” He had found the rough and Wild West fascinating and had enjoyed the hard journey. Remembering vividly blazing that trail to the East, so it was only fitting that he also went West.

"You were a cowboy." That image of him is actually fairly charming, morphing the smile on your lips slightly but not at all dimming it. "It must have been easy to blend in. With so many Spanish speakers all over the west back then."

“The language has changed so much over the years.” He snorts, knowing you are well aware of that fact. “There were a lot of Germans there too.”

"Did you sell your sword there as well?" It would have been guns by that point, far more often than swords, but your question is the same. Was he a warrior in that time too?

“Homesteader.” Pero shakes his head. “Started a ranch. But there was plenty of gunfights.”

"You actually settled down?" That surprises you, but you nod. It's impressive that a man so restless seems to have found moments of tranquility in this long life. "That must have been a welcome change."

“It was nice.” Pero frowns slightly, remembering the last wife he had taken. He had buried her on that ranch. Her and the baby who had also died in childbirth. “It wasn’t going to last though.”

"Not everything does," you say, but before you can stop yourself, you chuckle a little. "Except us."

“The only good thing is that I’ve not started aching like people complain about as they grow old.” Pero rolls his eyes. “Besides the normal middle-aged aches.”

You laugh again. "I count it as one of my truest blessings that I was given my immortality before the aches and pains set in."

“And that bone cracking doctor is amazing.” Pero groans, rolling his eyes slightly. “In my original time, he would have had all the riches in the world riding with a group.”

"A chiropractor?" Once again, your laugh rings through the shop. He is straight forward and honest, despite being suspicious and grumpy, and it makes you smile unexpectedly. "I would not have thought of that myself, but you're perfectly right."

He likes the sound of your laugh, his own grin quick and broad before his face slides back into that normally fearsome set. “I know I am.”

Letting your laughter linger in the air, you lean on the counter between you and consider him. The things you have wondered in the last week - and in the century before that - are running wild in your mind again. "I'm glad you came back."

“Not sure why.” He steps closer and tilts his head. “For you or for me.”

“Handsome and hungry,” you tell him with another laugh. “That’s my favorite kind of man.”

He lifts a brow, surprised that you would find him handsome. “Your bread is very good.” He admits. “I might have dreamed about it.”

“If you think my bread is good,” you hum, tucking a pleased smile into the corner of your mouth. “You should try my pastries.”

He glances towards the empty cases. “I will have to try them sometime.” He is hungry, but it seems like that has something that has never gone away despite the availability of food now compared to in the past.

“Or…” Noticing the expression on his lips and the hunger in his eyes, you tilt your head. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I was going to find food and I ended up here.” He had been trying to avoid coming to you for another day, but his feet had other ideas.

“We could…eat together?”

He obviously hadn’t thought about that, but it doesn’t sound bad. Often he eat alone and it would be nice to have someone sitting across from him. Perhaps a beautiful woman would help others not be so wary of him.

“Tovar?” Brooding and silent seems to be his way, but you asked a question that deserves an answer.

“What?” He frowns in confusion and realizes that he has not answered you. “Sí.” He nods. “Yes. What do you want to eat?”

“Do you like seafood?” You had made friends with a family that runs a restaurant on the nearby cliff overlooking the ocean. It is beautiful and the food is stunning. “I know a place.”

“I like food.” Pero jokes dryly, smirking slightly when you grin.

“We can walk.” Motioning toward the door, you excuse yourself for just long enough to disappear, grab your purse, and reappear again.

Pero watches as you step outside the shop after him and carefully locks up. Silently guarding you even though he’s not needed in that capacity.

“Down to the cliffs.” You tell him, wondering if he is accompanying you out of curiosity or out of boredom. Either way, it’s at least nice to spend time with someone like you. “This way.” Almost as soon as you say it, you head out through the village streets toward the promise of a warm meal and a cold drink.

Pero isn’t familiar with the town, if he’s honest. He doesn’t explore much, but he watches as you confidently saunter off down the road.

The walk takes only a few minutes, but when you arrive it is to the comforting smells of fresh food and the warmth of friendly smiles. You ask to be seated outside, enjoying the last sunset and thanking the owner when she lights the candle on your table to ward off the nighttime despite there being plenty of other light sources nearby. Your table on the edge of the patio is away from the others, giving you privacy to talk, and you have a feeling the owner might have mistakenly believed you to be on a date this evening.

Pero chooses the seat that gives him the view of the patio and anyone approaching, but he’s not so unmannered that he doesn’t pull out your chair for you, even if he doesn’t wait for you to sit to walk around to his own.

“The women these days must think you’re very gallant.” Gallant and grumpy, you think to yourself, smiling again. That is surely how his latest conquests describe him.

He rolls his eyes and huffs as he sits down, watching the movement behind you before he picks up the napkin and drops it in his lap. “Don’t know.” He admits. “I never ask.”

“Not out for romantic companionship in this lifetime?” Even if it’s not marriage, having a companion is always possible.

"I've had one." Pero shrugs slightly. "She wanted kids and I cannot give them to her."

“Cannot or will not?” It is a bold question, you admit, but immortality does not take away a person’s ability to have children. Not as far as you know, anyway.

"It is the same answer." Pero shrugs. "I would not want to watch my child grow old and die. I could not bear it. Not after losing -" He sighs. "It is better that I not populate the earth."

“People like us…we lose everyone eventually.” That is an unavoidable truth, though also undesirable. “I’m sorry for the ones you lost.”

"You have lost others too." He points out, glancing at the waiter when he pours out wine and he lifts a brow. "Come here enough they know what you drink?" He asks you.

“Yes.” There is no shame in that, and you thank the waiter with a smile. “Do you know what you want to eat?” You ask Pero, though neither of you has looked at the menu very much.

"Food." He snorts, and looks around at the other tables as if he can just pick something from their plates that looks good. "What do you get?"

“Either the grilled octopus or the spicy bacalao.” Over the centuries you have tried almost every kind of food possible. Seafood dishes truly are some of your favourites, though. “Or scallops. Really, everything is good here.”

He grunts and nods. “Sounds good.” He does open the menu to read through the options. It’s amusing that when he was riding with William, he could not read, now he reads in multiple languages. Including Chinese. Knowing the language would have been helpful back then.

The waiter departs to give you time to decide, and when he returns a few minutes later you order your usual octopus and Pero opts for a prawns dish that sounded good to him. It leaves you alone together again at your table to look out over the ocean and you sigh happily at the comforting scent of salt air.

You like it here, that is obvious and Pero stares as you unabashedly, curious to your thoughts.

"What is it you want to ask me?" There must be something. You are no longer so insecure that you would be confused as to why a man would stare at you. There is nothing on your face. No food stuck in your teeth. He is simply curious.

“You do not feel it?” Pero asks finally, unable to refrain. “You seem so relaxed.”

"I do feel relaxed," you agree, smiling as the wind wraps around your shoulders. A hug from the earth that you happily appreciate. "People and places come and go, but the wind and the ocean? They are as permanent as we are."

Pero frowns and leans back, unable to understand why you would not feel it. He looks around and sighs before he picks up his wine glass.

"You pout when you don't get your way." The observation makes you hum in amusement. In some ways even this man with his hundreds of years is still very much a boy. "What ought I to be feeling, Tovar?"

“I do not pout.” He grumbles. “You really do not feel the vibration in the air? The pull?” He doesn’t understand it, but he does feel it. He’s drawn to you. “It feels like the air is dancing right now.” It makes him uneasy because the only time he’s ever felt that was when he was in danger but there is no danger here. Confusing him even more.

"Like...electricity." You nod slightly, but tilt your head slightly as you look at him. "I thought that was simply my magic. But if you can feel it too..." Truthfully, you had thought it was your magic's response to your intense attraction to him. But if he can feel it too, it must be much more than that.

“So you do feel it?” He leans in, eyes wide. “It is your magic then? You are that powerful? You pulled me to you?”

"If it is my magic..." Shifting forward in your seat slightly lets you talk a little more freely. Even at a table that is slightly isolated you have lived through too many witch hunts to simply go around shouting about magic. "Then it is doing something I have never felt before."

That makes him frown even more. If you don’t know what it is doing, he has no hope of having the question answered. “If?” He catches that. “What else could it be?”

"Are you sure you want the answer to that?" He will not believe you, you can predict that now. That the other thing you could liken this feeling to is one that was described to you three centuries ago by a couple in the islands of the Caribbean.

He rolls his eyes and purses his lips. “I wouldn’t have asked the question.” He reminds you.

"Fine then." You wave one hand as if to say he asked for it. "I have heard of this sensation once before. Centuries ago. From a pair of soulmates."

Brows pulling together, he takes his time to connect what you are saying. Then the dark orbs are blowing wide and he jerks back to look around quickly again. “You are saying—?”

"It is possible." Anything in the world is possible, after all. Long life has taught you that. "But I do not suggest we go testing the theory by getting into danger."

“What does danger have to do with soulmates?” He asks, frowning again.

"The chance that immortals bonding with their soulmates restores their mortality is...very high," you remind him quietly.

Clarity shines in his eyes and he leans back again. “But we don’t know if that’s what it is.” He hums, picking up his wine again. “We will not test it though.”

"Two meetings do not constitute a connection." And that is all you have had, despite the fact that your vision had stretched over decades and you had dreamt many times of those things your magic revealed to you. "But I agree. We will not test it."

“Soulmates.” He whispers, as if he is trying it on. He looks over at you again and licks his lips. “How would we know? For certain?”

"There are a few tests – magical ones – that could be tried." Their origins all seem dubious to you, or they require ingredients for potions that are unavailable in this new and modern world. They are less than ideal. "Or there is a more...primal test."

“Primal test?” He wonders if it is some kind of blood ceremony or something.

You smirk, hearing in his voice that he expects you to say something deeply mystical or esoteric. "We could have sex," you clarify, pronouncing every syllable.

You are enjoying teasing him. He can tell, but his body is too busy agreeing with your suggestion to care. “We could.” He growls, hands curling on the table as his entire being shifts into something much more dangerous.

"You are interested." It doesn't even need to be a question. His body language makes that clear, and your lips turn up in a smile all over again. "Good."

“You are a beautiful woman.” He reminds you bluntly. “I am old, not dead. My cock still stirs.”

"I'm very glad to hear it." Feeling more confident and looking forward to the night, you shift in your seat to sit a bit taller and survey the man before you unabashedly. "It would be a pity to waste such an enticing man."

It has been a long time since a woman has called him enticing. Instead of preening, like the young boys seem to do now, he lets you look your fill.

"Are you the sort of man who needs to be in your own space?" It is now a negotiation of sorts, but you are happy to be able to study him while you talk and wait for your dinner.

He huffs, amused by that idea, and shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a space that I considered my own.” He points out. “We are both nomads.”

“True. But some people feel the need to exert control wherever possible.” Satisfied that he is not one of those men, you sit back again. “Think of it as asking ‘your place or mine’.”

“Your place.” He decides immediately. “If you want to kick me out, it’s easier.” He doesn’t also say that it will be later in the night and not safe for you to go home alone, not wanting to seem sexist.

“My place.” Your smile is crooked and calm, intrigued and anticipatory. “Good.”

He wonders why that is good, but he shrugs it off, his eyes shifting behind you to see the waiter bringing the food.

You give the waiter warm thanks when your plates are set down, and look back to Pero with interest as the two of you begin to eat. “Tell me a story,” you request, wanting to know more about the man now that you will be spending at least one night together. After all, he has never met anyone like you and you have never met anyone specifically like him. Who else could you share your life stories with in the same way?

Pero frowns slightly and decides that you should hear a story from his original lifeline. "There was this bastard I knew." He begins, the gruffness of his voice is belied by the glimmer of fond remembrance in his eyes. "William Garin. He was a pain in my ass. Getting me into scrapes and saving my ass on the battle field. But I saved his life more." He adds. "He heard about this mystical black powder the Chinese had. And he convinced me to go in search of it. The weapon of our dreams."

Garin is obviously not Spanish, nor is William, and the time spent as a warrior connects dots in your mind. Dots that most in this day and age would find unsavory, but you know better. Survival was harder back then. “You were mercenaries together?”

"Sí." He nods, happy that he does not have to explain every detail to you. "We had fought together for this lord and when he was done with us, we had managed to not kill each other, so we rode together."

“A friend you don’t wish to run through is exceptionally valuable when the sword is already in your hand.” Mercenaries were never long on friendships, as you recall. Which makes it doubly impressive that the men stayed together. “So you went to China together?”

"We collected a group of men." He continues, looking down at the wine and the water at his plate. "All of us desperate for the powder for our own selfish reasons, but we were foolish enough to believe that we could obtain it."

“Fools sometimes have great success,” you point out, sipping from your wine glass. “But I think your luck was not so good, judging from the expression on your face.”

"Twelve of us started out." He nods. "Two of us made it to the Wall."

“The Great Wall?” It is still great today and in nowhere near the splendorous condition that he must have seen it in then.

Pero nods. “Some were killed by bandits, some from disease.” He huffs. “One poor bastard broke his back when his horse fell on him.”

“An unfortunate fate for anyone, bannered soldier or freed lance.” You nod slightly, not wanting to make light of his brethren’s fate but knowing that happened to many.

“The last three died the night before we reached the wall.” He stares at his wine before he takes a large gulp of it. “Eaten by the Tao Tei, though we did not know that at the time. Ripped away from the fire in the blink of an eye while we were resting from running from bandits. Will and I survived together and he took the creatures hand when it had come for us.”

“What became of your brother?” It sounds like he was far more than simply a brother in arms. Pero is likely to have tracked his entire life and legacy.

“When we left the Wall, after the Tao Tei had been defeated, he left his heart behind.” Pero frowns slightly. “After three months, we turned back and he return to his general.”

It’s sweet, or perhaps bittersweet, but you off him a soft smile of understanding. Laced with curiosity, of course. “An unusual love, or an unusual general?” You ask gently.

“She was ferocious.” He chuckles, understanding your meaning and appreciating the tact. “She brought out a side of him I didn’t understand at the time.” He admits. “He was better because of her, the best version of himself.”

“That is what soulmates do, they say.” Satisfied that you haven’t offended him or the memory of his friend, you settle back into your meal. “Did you stay long with them?”

“Until their third child was born.” He hums. “It had become obvious to me that they were aging but for some reason I was not.” He frowns slightly. “I went to a monastery to search for answers and when I returned, my friend was on his deathbed, old and feeble.”

“You were there for his joys and returned to show him your love at the end.” That is honorable. Commendable, even. “That is more than many friends can say they have done.”

“He deserved it.” He shrugs as if it was not much. It was the least he could do in his mind after so many years. “After they were buried together, she had passed the year before, I started my path alone. Never meeting anyone like myself until now.”

"Perhaps it is a sign?" If he even believes in them. As likely as not, he thinks them child’s play.

“Perhaps.” He takes his wine and finishes the rest of it. “It has been a long time since I have seen any signs of anything beyond this existence.”

“I cannot claim to know anything of what lies beyond.” How could you? “But this life is valuable despite being infinite.”

“It is getting harder with technology.” He admits.

“Avoiding being photographed is difficult.” It is a hazard, if you’re honest, which is why you have stayed out of the big cities for decades. “I stay out of cities and tourist traps now. We have to be so careful.”

“Especially with my scar.” He gestures towards his face. “I have thought about surgery but who knows if it would work?”

You consider him carefully for a moment, letting a smirk turn up one corner of your lips. “It might be a pity to lose,” you tell him finally. “The effect is rather dashing.”

His brow lifts, the one affected by the scar and he hums. “You like a more….rugged appearance on a man, hermosa?”

“I do.” And you are old enough and have had enough lovers to know that you do have a preference. “It is not necessary, I would say. But certainly my preference.”

“Then I am pleasing to your eye?” He asks, smirking slightly. He might not be a vain man, but he does enjoy when a woman wants him.

Far be it from you to deny a truth, especially when it is one you have already confirmed. He has let you look your fill during this meal, after all. “I would not be taking you home with me if you were not,” you confirm, and let you smirk grow a little wider.

“Depended on how desperate you might be.” Pero jokes dryly. “Thought I do not believe you have had much trouble warming your bed over the centuries.”

“More than you might think,” you admit, but shrug. “I thank you for the compliment, though.”

“You are a beautiful woman.” He grunts. “Interesting too.”

“More compliments?” Your face blossoms into a teasing, playful grin. “Since I am sure you do not hand them out meaninglessly, I am even more glad.”

“Tell me about yourself.” He asks, wanting to know more about this witch who had known he was somehow coming into your life. “You ever been wrong with your visions?”

“In the early days.” You nod to that, willing to admit that you had needed much training to learn to wield your power effectively. “I have honed my skills. Learned how to tell when things are important. Listened to the way the visions sing to me. I have been wrong before, but not in many centuries.”

He nods. “And you knew that I would come to you, but not exactly when.”

“Because I do not presume to know everything from the visions anymore. Early on, we are so eager to know all. We cannot abide mystery. But now?” You wave one hand dismissively, picking up another forkful of your meal. “The universe will tell me what I am to know when it decides I am ready.”

“It is not like you do not possess the time.” He snorts, finding comfort in your ideology and he picks up his own fork. “Your bread is probably the best I have had in years.” He compliments. “I dreamed of it last night.”

“Is that all you dreamed of?” You doubt it, much to your own amusement, and are not ashamed of what your own dreams have consisted of since meeting the mercenary.

“No.” He admits easily, a ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips. “It was hardly decent.”

“Good.” The way your thighs clench in anticipation is no accident, but all he sees is the pleased expression on your face and perhaps the fire in your eyes. “Then it matched my own.”

“Then tell me what you want.” He demands. “I am sure you have expectations after being here so long and seeing how sex progresses.”

“We have both been here a very long time, Tovar,” you remind him with a wry chuckle. Your meal is finished and your wine as well, so you sit back in your seat and inhale the ocean breeze. “We will take pleasure in each other until we are exhausted, we will sleep curled in the same bed, and when we wake tomorrow we will indulge again if it pleases us to do so.”

“You are very sure of yourself.” He chuckles, not minding the idea of your evening at all. “It is a trait I admire in a woman.”

"If I was certain of myself, I would plan beyond tomorrow morning," you tell him, valuing honesty more than pretense in this moment. The meal is ending and the next steps you take together may change everything. That is what you are unsure of. "But I don't presume to know your mind. Only my own."

“You know it well.” Even though it would not be considered the newer custom of a date, Pero pulls out his wallet to pay for the meal you shared.

It's gentlemanly of him, and after hundreds of years walking this earth you have both accumulated fortune enough to always keep food in your bellies, so you simply thank him for the gesture. You will make him breakfast in the morning before he decides to be on his way, and that will be payment in kind. There is a sort of uncertainty in your bones about how this coupling will turn out – not because you doubt that you will find pleasure but because Tovar seems prone to run from anything he perceives as comfort.

Wiping his mouth one last time, Pero stands and he waits for you to get up as well. “Then let us go find our pleasure with each other.” He offers.

Your home, like everything else in this village, is close enough to walk to. There is no soft sweetness of hand holding or stolen looks, but instead a sort of comfort of knowing what is to come. He walks closer to the street, shielding you from anything that might splash or come too close. When you make it to your door, though, the air of anticipation seems to tighten around both of you and you suddenly become hyper aware of how close he is standing as you turn your key in the lock.

“You can change your mind.” It’s not that he is trying to get you to send him home, but he always prefers to know there is no doubts when he takes a woman to bed.

"I don't want to change my mind." You push open your front door and step back, letting him enter first if he wants to. "You can as well. If that is what you want."

“I would regret it for a thousand years if I left now.” Pero shakes his head and steps into your house.

"Considering we may well live that long, I would hate for you to live with that feeling." You step in behind him and close the door, deciding to throw the lock closed because he is a warrior of many lifetimes and will be on high alert if the house isn't secure.

He hums in approval, sure that after so many years walking this earth you can protect yourself, but no one openly invites the bear into their home. He looks around, finding your private space to be an extension of the bakery you run. Warm and inviting, although he recognizes the antiques that must be collections from your past lives.

"Look around if you like." Shedding your bag and jacket, you don't mind that the space is a little untidy and obviously lived in. This new fascination with making a home look as if no one lives in it is maddening. "Would you like another drink?"

"I am good." He declines as he start to poke around shamelessly. Picking up trinkets and examining them. If he had been the Pero from years ago, he would thinking of stealing from you. Now, he just admires them before setting them back down as he learns more about you from what you keep in your home.

"Do you have a favorite?" As he shuffles through the shelves and collections of keepsakes from your past lives, you smile softly to actually be able to share them with someone who understands.

“Why did you keep this?” The flower is dried, encased in resin and obviously of some importance to you.

"Because I promised the little girl that gave it to me that I would keep it forever." You tell him honestly, stepping into the living room to gaze on the dried wildflower bud. "When the plague came through the village we were in, almost everyone died. She could not have been more than ten years old, but I promised her I would nurse her parents while they died, and she gave me a flower in thanks before her grandmother took her and they fled the village together. The flower was for my kindness, and I took the promise that I made to her very seriously."

“Hopefully the girl had a good life.” It was doubtful, times were hard back then, but it was the best he could hope for anyone.

“Hopefully.” Not having been able to find her later on, you could not say for sure. But she was a sweet little girl and you liked to imagine she found happiness of some sort or other as a woman.

“Your home is very cozy.” The word sounds rough on his tongue, but you don’t seem to mind his gruffness.

"I see no reason not to surround myself with things that bring me joy." You extend your hand, wondering if he will take it and how that will finally feel. You have wondered about his touch for more than a hundred years. "That includes people."

Pero stares at your hand for a moment, then he reaches out. The scars on the back of his hands have faded over the millennia, but he can still see each one. He watches his fingers touch your palm and slide over your skin.

In modern times, they talk about electricity between people. Between a couple coming together. But in the centuries past that spark of new passion was always what happened before an all-consuming fire. The calluses on both of your hands seem to slide over each other with ease, letting your fingers lace together and making your breath catch in a way it hasn't in centuries.

And all at once desire seems to banish every other thought from your mind.

His eyes widen slightly, feeling tug deep in his belly, lighting a hunger in his loins that has long been dormant. Even though he had told himself he would let you control the pace of the night; he is dragging you close. Already obsessed with the next step that you would take. A kiss.

It’s as if you fuse together instantly, that kiss being the mere byproduct of your union into one being. Arms wrap around each other as fiercely tongues entwine, the kiss already deepened into something hungry and exploratory as soon as your lips met.

Once he’s tasted you, Pero is ravenous. Growling as he slides his tongue against yours and holds the back of your head, tilting you like the heroine in a romance novel. The need pouring through him into the flick of his tongue against yours and the groans he is feeding into you.

Every inch of your body is alight with need, and while the fingers of one hand sink into his hair to tug sharply as much as to keep him near, your other hand explores. His frame is even broader than you expected, shoulders and arms thick with corded muscle. You are pliant under every demand of his kiss, returning his moans with enthusiasm even as you start to blindly feel what lies ahead for your pleasure.

He does not know your little house, but he is learning your body. Caressing you with large, sweeping passes over your body. Listening for when your moans intensify. Wanting to memorize what brings you pleasure.

The little cottage only has one floor, though, making it easy to navigate blindly. You could not tear yourself from his embrace now even if you desired it — but the only thing you desire is to bring him with you as you slowly pull your intertwined bodies toward your bedroom.

He lets you guide him. Shuffling with you as you start to pull away. Not wanting there to be any space between you, he follows. Trusting you more than he has anyone in hundreds of years.

Out if the living room, across a small hallway, and through the doorway into your bedroom, you keep hold firm hold of him. Of the countless lovers you have had over the course of your overly-long life, none have set a fire in you that could compare to what you’re feeling right now — and the shocking thought that a soulmate might exist somewhere in the world for you narrows itself into an almost inevitable reality.

He’s never felt like this. Not even when he was a wet behind the ears whelp tumbling into bed with his first whore. The craving he has for you has burrowed under his skin and his fingers reach for the tie to your dress to strip it off your body.

Your hands work just as fast and thoroughly, pulling his sweater over his head despite having to part from him to do so. If you never breathe another breath that did not come from his mouth first, you would live another thousand happy years.

Modern clothing is both a gift and a curse. A gift because there is less of it, a curse because it was easier to just throw a woman’s skirts up and sink into her if she was not wearing drawers. Panties now are alluring but so restrictive. His fingers dig under the band and he shreds them in his haste to rid your body of the barrier between you.

If you felt any sort of restraint whatsoever, you might be amused by his eagerness, but it matches your own. It matches how frustrated you are to have to tear through the shirt under his sweater just to get to bare skin, then the belt and sticky zipper on his trousers to get to what you're craving. His cock is hard as stone – as desperately hard as you are wet – and you moan with a measure of uninhibited relief when you slip your hand inside his pants to discover he isn't wearing any sort of underwear. One less layer to have to tear off of him.

He would chuckle if he could breathe, but that is beyond him right now. Groaning when your fingers wrap around him, he bucks his hips forward and only takes his hands off you to strip down his pants and kick them off with his shoes.

Your bra is the last thing tossed aside, and you sigh into the feeling of his calloused hands kneading your flesh. He has made no mistake about appreciating a woman with curves, and in this moment you have never been more grateful for them. Any additional patch of skin for him to touch is worth praising.

"Beautiful." He growls, cupping and squeezing your tits, appreciating the lushness of your curves and the way you fit into his hands. It's as if you were created to slot into him perfectly.

“Enough to keep your hands full?” You huff a breathy laugh, already knowing the answer.

“You could be a little plumper.” Pero snorts, never denying a thicker figure is sexy. Back when he was younger; that meant you were well fed.

You grin, laughing with him, and tug him toward your bed without shame. “Then it is a good thing I am a baker.”

“Does that mean your cunt is sweet?” He teases, reaching out to brace his arms so he doesn’t collapse on you when you both fall into the bed. “Tastes like honey?”

“You’ll have to tell me.” The blankets are pushed aside immediately, letting you both tumble onto the mattress eagerly. “For the sake of your sweet tooth, I hope so.”

He flashes a predatory grin, eyes dark and full of mischief as he bites your chin. "Then let me have a taste."

"As much as you like," you assure him, sliding back to lie down amongst your pillows. "Until we are both satisfied."

He hums and attacks your mouth again, intoxicated by the taste of your lips and sure that the rest of you is equally addicting.

Every inch of you is plied with those hungry kisses. From your lips and jaw down the length of your neck, paying tribute at the temple of your breasts and growling into the soft flesh of your belly as he makes his way down. No detail is spared his voracious attention. No scar missed. No stretch mark unadored.

You are exquisite. A map of time, of experience. Random scars that have faded to non-existence. A lesser man wouldn’t even notice them, except Pero wears the same faded marks on his body. His tongue and teeth worship them until he has bitten each of your thighs and his shoulders are wedged between them, inhaling the musky, tangy scent of your sex like it’s a stimulant.

"I will go and get the honey jar if it will get your tongue inside me faster," you gripe, smirking at him even as your thighs bracket his head and his breath wafts over your cunt.

“Impatient witch.” Pero huffs, frowning so he doesn’t laugh. But he takes your lead and buries his tongue deep inside your walls, his prominent nose pressed against your clit.

"I will not apologize," you groan, sinking further into your mattress with a keening sound of bliss as he dives in with enthusiasm.

He wouldn’t expect you to. You are too brash for untruths. You are impatient and he groans into your folds as he sets about learning what makes your thighs quiver about his ears. It’s been years since he’s eaten a cunt with this much enthusiasm and he wants to prove that he can make you squeal.

Your fingers find his curls, tangling in the long strands and encouraging him to seek the deepest parts of you. It bows your back and makes your skin tingle, and you anchor yourself to him as he begins to build you up in pleasure right away. Every stroke of his tongue is magic, and you have experienced enough magic in your life to know that sensation deeply.

You respond so beautifully to him. Synchronizing your moans to the flick of his tongue or the nudge of his nose. Urging him on with breathless chants of pleasure that have him aching against the sheets he is grinding down against.

The pleasure is almost blinding, taking over all of your senses so that you forget everything in the world beyond him. His name is the only one one your lips, barely joined by breathless praises. A thousand lifetimes of practice have made him a skilled lover and you are glad to reap those rewards tonight.

You melt into him. Your cunt is better than honey but he laps at you continuously. Sampling the sweet nectar and pulling the gorgeous sounds out of you with a glee that is bordering on smug.

Time is as liquid as your body by the time you fall apart for him. All you know is that your world has narrowed to the man between your legs and that this is what you want more than anything in the world. You sob his name as he drinks down your release, fingers twisted both in his hair and in the bedsheets. The unapologetic ringing of bliss through the walls of your house seem to reverberate back to you, as if knowing that this pleasure should not be shared with anyone else.

Watching you shake apart is a privilege. One that he is determined to have. Again he curls his tongue around your clit to help you extend the fluttering of your walls. Obsessed with the way that you sob his name.

A satisfied sigh passes your lips when you can finally breathe again, and you open your eyes to find him staring hungrily up at you with his cheek resting on your thigh.

“Did I satisfy you?” He’s smug, because he knows he did, but he wants to hear you say it.

"Better than I expected you to," you promise him, not at all upset with how satisfied with himself he looks. He should be that satisfied. You certainly are. But you still shoot a grin back at him. "Now do it again. With your cock this time."

He snorts, taking the backhanded compliment and he leans in to nip your hip and starting to untangle his shoulders from your legs to crawl up your body.

"You wouldn't like a girl who fawned over you." That part of his personality is abundantly clear. Praise is good, but honest praise. Not when it is empty. "But I knew from the way you devoured me with your eyes at dinner that you could do it with your mouth, too."

He grunts, placated by your answer and his lips find yours again as he slides into your arms and wraps his arms around your back.

You’ll take the kiss as confirmation. As an agreement that you have learned him well in a very small space of time. And that is all you need to deliver the measure of passion back to him twofold.

You fit together so naturally. So easily. His body slots against yours with no discomfort, no need to adjust. His cock is pressed against your entrance and all he has to do is push forward to sink into you.

Gasping in unison, the sharp intake of breath turns to a shared, shuddering moan as he pushes inside you. Your arms wrap tight around him just as his hold you close, and the seemingly endless moment of just being joined is better than you ever remember feeling with any man before.

It’s not that it has been so long since Pero has filled a woman that has him groaning your name. It’s how perfect you feel. Transcending beyond physical into something almost primal, like you are his.

One long, breathless moment of amusement is needed before you search out his lips again, nipping the lower one and squeezing your cunt around his cock to spur him into moving. This blissful elation has mountains to climb before the night is over.

He grunts, twitching inside you because of your boldness. He likes a feisty woman, especially in bed. One that demands that her needs be met and met well. He pushes even deeper before he is dragging his cock back out, making sure that your walls feel him retreating to anticipate the next commanding thrust.

The rhythm you build together is damn near athletic with the amount of push and pull you give. Not quite right but all the way to the edge of wondering whether your creaking bed will give out before you decide you don’t care. He would be worth the collapsed furniture, this rough-hewn warrior with his heart of golden softness. And you wonder, in between moaning his name into the darkness, whether anyone has ever told him that before.

The mattress undeath you doesn't give him the leverage that he wants, that he needs to snap his hips forward and pull another beautiful cry from those lips of yours. Obsessed with how you take every demanding thrust and still seek more, he reaches up and grabs the headboard for better purchase. Growling your name while he rocks into you. "Fuck, you are perfect, bruja, taking my cock and begging for more. I'll give you everything you want and more." He pants, almost breathless, but determined to keep the brutal pace up. He had fought in hand to hand combat for hours, he can make you cum before he collapses in exhaustion.

Some lovers are sensuous, some are tender, some are eager or greedy. Pero matches the way you feel in this moment — the unbridled surety of what your want and need and crave — without question and with great enthusiasm. He is as hungry for a partner to be unrestrained with as you are. To find someone with whom you can remove your mask. The wet noise of slapping hips and growling of praise fills your senses like a drug and all you can think is how you want more.

Every thrust feels like he’s going to impale you. Hurt you. Your legs wrapped around his waist feel like they are the only thing keeping him from fucking up into your throat and still you cry for him. It’s the most beautiful, greedy sounds he’s ever heard and he wants more of them ringing in his ears. His lips kiss and his teeth bite along your neck, your jaw while he huffs and puffs, grunting his own pleasure into your skin.

Too much, not enough, absolutely perfect, overwhelming, and yet the most unbridled you’ve ever felt. It is everything. The first time you come apart for him it is like the explosion that heralds the beginning of a new world, tearing you apart from the inside out but only granting you a new and vital life force. Pero ends up on his back beneath you, trading places so that he can watch you ride him with greedy eyes and explore your body with calloused hands as you take more pleasure from him.

You are a witch. You’ve bewitched him. In awe of the sight of you, tits bouncing, head thrown back, you ride him like you are riding a horse across the desert. Every time you slam back down in his cock, his toes curls and his body lurches in pleasure under you. Hands filling with every inch of your flesh he can possess, growling and moaning like he is in pain, but it is pure pleasure bleeding those sounds from him.

It’s sunrise before you’re done with each other, collapsing into a pile of satisfied bodies and damp sheets. One of the best fringe benefits of immortality is the stamina and you fully abused that tonight.

“You have to work?” He asks, panting as he runs his hand down your sweaty spine and smirking tiredly when you shiver in response.

“I’m closed today.” You chuckle, breathy and light, deciding that taking a single day off from running the bakery won’t make a difference to the village. “There are more fun things to do at home.”

He chuckles. “Sí? Like what, bruja? Casting more spells over me?”

“Sí.” Laughing together, you hold him a little tighter, as though a whisper told you he might slip away. “Claro. Of course I will.”

He hums after a moment. “I have never felt that strongly before.” He admits after letting the silence settle between you and your breaths have slowed down. “That connected. Did you feel it too?”

“I did.” A small smile quirks at the corner of your lips. “I do feel it. Perhaps it is as they say.”

“Soulmates?” His eyes widen when he puts it together and his fingers twitch against the curve of your ass where he had been idly caressing. “You believe that is what we are?”

“Perhaps.” Your lips find his, brushing a reassuring kiss there while you still smile. “There is only one way to be certain.”

“How?” He kisses you back before he frowns slightly.

“Sleep, hermoso.” When he looks surprised you only laugh sweetly. “Sleep. And your bruja will cast into the shadows after some rest.”

“As long as you sleep with me.” Pero grunts, pulling you close again and closing his eyes even as the room becomes brighter with the coming day.

******

The sound of the cock crowing penetrates Pero’s sleep, making him grunt and curl around you a bit more as if to protect you from the coming day. “Too early.” He grumbles, although he knows that you must wake, pressing his lips to the warm skin of your neck where his face has been buried through the night.

“Ignore it.” You grumble back, shifting backward in a sleepy shuffle to burrow closer to him under the heavy wool blanket. You’ve only half woken up but you don’t want to leave this bed.

He grunts in agreement, holding you tight and his cock twitches when you press your ass against his crotch.

“Ready for more already, mi caballero?” Not that you’re surprised — you’re ready for him again too. You dreamt about it.

“Sí.” He growls quietly. “Your cunt is too good not to be craving every chance I get.”

"One night and you are already addicted?" You chuckle from somewhere low in your chest and roll over to face him, only to sit straight up in bed when you finally open your eyes.

Pero frowns slightly, feeling the rush of cool air when you pull the warmth of your body and the covers away from him. "Lay down."

"Pero." With your eyes darting around the room, you start to twist and look in every direction, turning a little more frantic with every change of direction. "Pero, look!"

He grunts, opening an eye cautiously and then he is opening the other, sitting up in the bed with a frown. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Flanders.” You practically gasp out the word, looking around in shock. “In a cottage on the river outside Gent…” Practically springing from the bed, you reach for the nearest blanket to wrap around yourself and go to the window.

The garden and meadow behind your little cottage look brighter and sweeter than you remember, but very much the same. It has been hundreds of years since you lived in the Flemish countryside yet here you are.

Swallowing a sharp gasp, you turn back from the color-stained glass window. “When do you say you were from?” You demand. “Originally, I mean?”

Pero frowns as he follows you, not bothering to find his breeches and he looks out the wavy glass. You must have been very well established to have glass. He tells you the year. “Why?”

You swallow thickly, disbelief coloring your features and all you can do is choke out a laugh. “Pero, look around you. We were in an entirely different cottage when we fell asleep.”

“I can see that.” He huffs. “I’m asking why you wanted to know what years I was originally walking through life.”

“Because…” You can feel your heartbeat pounding, adrenaline beating in your veins. “Because in your first walk of this earth, I was living here.”

He frowns, brow pinching together in thought. “Where are we?” He demands, thinking back to that time.

“Flanders. The country. I was already baking then…there is a tavern down the road where I made bread and cooked suppers and helped keep guests.” The awe and confusion on your face are so deeply etched into your skin that it feels like they go all the way into your bones. “For two immortals we should not be so cods walloped by the notion of time travel.”

“Because I have never woken up in a time different from which I fell asleep.” He reasons. “I was supposed to travel to Flanders.” He whispers. “After I left the wall. That was mine and Garin’s plan.”

“You were?” You wrap the blanket around yourself a little more tightly at this surprising news, as if it might bring on more unknown magic.

“Sí.” He frowns as he peers out the window at the sleepy little scene in front of him. It’s almost jarring, how quiet this time actually was. There is none of the low frequency noises that he had grown used to hearing in the modern world.

“I wonder…”

“Wonder?” He turns back to you, watching you as you contemplate this newest development in your lives. “What are you thinking, cariño?”

The term of endearment does not escape you, but rather it almost seems to confirm the thought that has cropped up in your mind. “I wonder if there is something in soulmates…being people who were supposed to meet?”

Pero, despite his humble beginnings at this time in history, is not stupid and he understands what you are saying. “So we have been brought back to the time we were supposed to meet and understand our connection?” He theorizes and looks around the cottage again. “You were unwed at this time?”

He has followed your train of thought exactly and you nod. “I was. When I came to this village, I presented myself as a widow. There was more freedom in it.”

“And I was to come and spend the winter here.” Pero muses. “A sexy widow would have been a very appealing way to spend the winter.”

"I would have welcomed you." He is as to your taste after hundreds of years as he would have been then, and you would have let him into your bed without hesitation. "We would have kept very warm that winter."

He chuckles and leans over, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder. "Overheated." He promises. "Do you think we are here to stay?" He asks.

"It seems likely." Though you do frown, trying to think through the logistics in your mind. "We could travel. Make our way east. You could see your friend again."

"Does-- does this mean we are no longer immortal?" Pero asks, looking down at his hands and body. "Or does this mean we live these times again together?"

"I don't know." You murmur softly, placing your hands over his and gently squeezing. "But we will find out. Together."

------

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[beenbaanbuun]

dancing w/ choi san

words - 2.9k

genre - hurt/comfort

warnings - san is a dick but he’s sorry about it, implications of infidelity

——————————————————————————

The door banged against the wall as you stormed into your apartment, a sheepish San in tow. Rambling apologies spilt from his lips but ultimately fell on deaf ears. You were too upset to even consider listening to him excuse his behaviour from the evening. Besides, even if you did, you were sure the meaningless sorries would only serve to infuriate you further, if that was even possible.

“Sunshine, I’ve said I’m sorry,” you really hated the way the words were so effortlessly spilling from his lips, not a single thought put into any of them. You weren't even sure if he knew what he’d done wrong, and that made your blood boil. So you tried your hardest to keep your cool as he followed you inside and closed the door, much gentler than you’d opened it. At least there were no dents in the wall.

“It’s not enough, San,” you grumbled in response, dropping your handbag down onto the floor. It landed with a thud, the sound rippling through the tense air of the hallway. The sigh San let out when he saw how you’d discarded his gift on the floor let you know that he was growing frustrated too. It was like he was angry at you for being angry at him. Ironic really; if you’d acted as he had, you were sure he’d be in a much worse mood. “I don’t want to talk to you, right now.”

And with that, you started to make your way down to your joint bedroom. You were tired, and all you wanted to do was hole yourself up and cry yourself to sleep. In an ideal world, San would take the hint and move to the spare room for the night. In reality, you knew him too well to think he’d let the two of you go to bed upset. It had always been a rule within your relationship to talk your feelings through with one another, even if you didn't want to. Trust San to do everything he can to make sure your relationship was as healthy as possible.

“Well, that’s mature!” He called after you as you set off down the corridor. You ignored him, instead focusing on the rhythmic clicking of your heels against the wooden floor. You tried to pretend like you didn't hear the sound of his own shoes as he followed you.

The door to your bedroom got much gentler treatment than your front door did. It was opened just wide enough for you to slide in and shut the door behind you straight away. You knew it was childish, but it was your way of creating a barrier between the two of you. Even if it was only a thin piece of wood that could be opened at any time, it made you feel calmer for just a few seconds. It was like you'd sent a message from you to him, one that you hoped he could comprehend: leave me alone.

But whether or not San understood what you were trying to tell him was a mystery. If he did, he ignored it completely, pushing the door open just as you sat on the edge of the bed. You felt a fresh wave of miserable rage rise up within you, only this time, it was accompanied by a familiar lump in the back of your throat, and a painful ache behind your eyes. You prayed that the tears wouldn’t actually fall, but as more seconds passed, the wetter your lashline became.

San just stood in the doorway, the constant stream of pathetic apologies had stopped, since replaced by a frustrated silence. The way he was staring at you with nothing but exasperation was completely unfamiliar, and although you knew your anger was valid, you couldn't seem to stop some guilt from rising within you. It was rare to see the man truly angry, and you hated the idea that you were the one to make his cheerful disposition crumble to nothing. You knew that it wouldn't take long for the evil feeling to root itself deep in your brain, so you tried to push it down and let your anger consume you once more. All it took was a few seconds to think back on the evening, and you were there once more; blood boiling and mind ablaze.

“Go away,” you said, trying to put on a tough facade. Although you knew your attempt was futile, it didn't hurt to try.

“Not until we've talked about this,” you flinched as he spoke, his voice lacking the gentle whininess that it carried as he was desperately begging for your forgiveness just a few moments ago. He sounded stern, and you had no doubt that he meant every word of it; he wasn’t leaving until you’d had an adult conversation.

But for some reason, the thought of talking to him about what was bothering you made you want to sob. Anyone with eyes and a brain should’ve been able to see what he’d done wrong, but apparently, San couldn't. You weren't sure whether he was dumb or just plain ignorant. You didn't know which was worse.

“Why should we talk about this, San? You haven't spoken to me all night and now all of a sudden you do want to speak?” You let out a humourless laugh as you realised just how ridiculous the whole situation was, “If you want to talk to someone, how about you go back to those girls you were dancing with all night? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to share a conversation with you.”

Just as you expected, he had no response, a few stuttered words falling from his lips before he went silent once more. You shot him a glare, daring him to say anything other than a true, meaningful apology. It took him a moment or two to collect his thoughts before he said anything.

“Are you jealous?”

You scoffed because of course you were! And while you knew it was an ugly, relationship-ruining emotion, San only had himself to blame. After all, you never forced San to take that girl's hand and lead her to the dancefloor without so much as a look in your direction, just like you didn’t force him to respond to her shameless flirting by keeping and her friend’s glasses full all evening. It would be silly for him to expect you to feel anything other than jealousy when all you could do was watch on with an empty glass as he had the time of his life with some other women.

“Go away,” you repeated, voice small, as you kicked your heels off, sending them flying to the other side of the room. They hit the wall with a thud, and for a second, you thought you could see San flinch out of the corner of your eye.

A few seconds passed by in silence before San began to shuffle further into the room. You let him, not having the energy to tell him to get out again. You were expecting him to move towards the bed, perhaps taking a seat next to you before continuing the conversation in a calmer manner. But he didn't, instead coming to rest by your shoes on the other side of the room. With a sigh, he picked them up, organising them neatly by your dresser. Not long passed until the ones he was wearing were placed right next to yours.

He remained there for a few moments, back facing towards you, staring at your shoes that sat together. You’d been so excited when he’d suggested wearing matching shoes; even more so when he presented you with the pastel blue heels that matched the accents on his trainers perfectly. All he’d wanted to do was put a smile on your face, but he had to go and mess that up.

Fuck! He really had been an idiot, hadn’t he? He never wanted to take you for granted, and yet he had, all in the name of what? Attention? It seemed cruel to admit, but he could hardly back away from his own actions.

It may have been cruel, but at least it was honest, he supposed. He always had been a sucker for compliments from pretty ladies. Compliments from you especially. Your shy voice as you tell him what niche thing about him you’re obsessing over each day. Your pretty smile as you trace his features with your fingertips. Your gentle lips that press against whichever part of him you find yourself drawn to. He guessed he had forgotten how euphoric it felt to have you fawning over him rather than a few nameless, faceless girls that he couldn't even remember anything about. He didn't have to to know that whatever they were telling him was nowhere near as precious to him as your soft words.

He sighed.

“I’m so sorry for ignoring you all night,” He sighed as he spun around to face you. For the first time all night, you heard some sincerity in his voice as he apologised. This time, it wasn’t just a passing comment he made so that you’d talk to him again; you could feel the remorse in his voice. It only made you cry harder.

You let him walk over to you and crouch down in front of you. His expression was soft as he went to wipe away some of your tears with the sleeve of his top. At first, you tried to pull away, but as he wrapped his other hand around the back of your head, bringing your face back into reach, you realised there was no escape. You tried not to grimace as you saw the black marks on his white t-shirt, left by your mascara. San hadn’t seemed to notice them.

There was a soft look in his eyes as he dabbed at your skin, being as careful as humanly possible. The last thing he wanted was to irritate the already red skin around your eyes. As he worked, the thumb at the back of your head rubbed slow circles into your scalp, working alongside his quiet hushes to soothe you. It wasn’t until your eyes were completely dry that he pulled the sleeve away from your face and stood up once more.

Nothing was said when he left to go into the bathroom, the only thing filling the otherwise silent room was the sound of your quiet sniffles. At least until he turned the tap on. You listened as the water splashed against something for just a few seconds before the tap was turned off once more, and San came back into your eyesight with a dampened flannel in his hand and a pretty smile on his lips.

You matched it with your own, albeit a little more pathetic, as he squatted in front of you once more and guided the flannel to your face. It was soft and warm as he tried his hardest to remove your makeup, but of course, with no cleanser, it didn’t really do a lot. You appreciated the sentiment behind it, though. San was looking after you, just like he usually did whenever you weren't fighting. It was his way of apologising; actions rather than words.

“You’re the prettiest person in the whole world,” he whispered as he dropped the wet flannel to the floor and took your face in his hands, “And I love you more than I have ever loved anyone else. I’m pretty sure that this is it for me, and I’ll be damned if I let my own stupidity fuck that up. I’m so sorry for making you feel unwanted tonight, Sunshine.”

He leant in, face just a few inches from your own, hot breath dancing against your lips. It felt like forever before he closed the gap, but when he finally pressed his soft lips pressed against yours, it was magical. There was so much love in the kiss, mixed together with something that felt a lot like remorse, and you couldn't help but want more. You needed him to hold you in his arms, chest pressed against chest as he showed you just how much he loved you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours, heartbeats intermingling until they became one.

His lips moved slowly, yet confidently against yours, slowly deepening the kiss until he was probing your mouth with his tongue. You let him in, allowing it to dance with your own in a soft fight for dominance. Both of you knew that San was going to win, and both of you knew that that's exactly what you wanted. After all, San was good at taking the reigns and making you feel loved and desired.

As he kissed you, his fingers danced across your jawline before moving swiftly to the back of your head to hold your face still against his own. His fingers tightened in your locks, giving a soft tug. It was so gently domineering that your mind went blank for a few seconds. He always did know which strings to pull, or more importantly which strands to tug, to make you weak at the knees.

“San,” you whined as you pulled away from the kiss. There was a pout on your lips that begged to be kissed again, so San did. It was just a small peck before he pulled back once more, ready to listen. Wide eyes stared you down as you let another sniffle wrack through your body, “you love me, right?”

He cooed. Long and sympathetic, as if he'd just watched a kitten bump it's head or something. With his hand still tightly pressed to the back of your head, it was easy enough to tilt it forwards until your foreheads were touching. He looked blurry from this close, but even that couldn't stop you from noticing the softness in his chocolate eyes.

“What a silly question, my sunshine,” he said, low and rumbling, “you're the only woman in the world for me.”

You only pouted harder, a sour look taking over your expression.

“You can't say that to me right now,” and he knew you were correct; he didn't have the right to say that after what he'd done, “you can tell me you love me, but don't say I'm the only woman in the world when you're so easily swayed.”

“I wasn't swayed,” he hummed, although he could tell you didn't believe him, “you are the only woman for me. And I don't want to diminish your feelings but it was only a dance, my sunshine. Nothing more.”

“But you left me,” you looked down at your hands as your voice quietened to a whisper. It’s low and quiet and if he wasn't invading so much of your personal space, you'd wonder if he even heard you.

He pulls back, just a few inches, until he's far enough away to see your full face. To watch how your bottom lip wobbles as you try to hold in the fresh batch of tears that are threatening to spill. He feels a wave of guilt fill him from top to bottom, and he lets it. It sits heavy in his chest like lead, and tugs in every which direction until his chest aches an unfathomable amount.

He feels like he could cry too, but he won't. He knows that if he does you'd be all over him in seconds trying to soothe him, but that isn't your job. Not right now, anyway. Not when he's in the wrong.

So he sucks it up, takes a deep breath and stands up.

“Come here, sunshine,” his hand reached out for you to take, and although you were angry at him, you weren’t not cruel enough to deny him the opportunity to make it up to you. Not when he’d been trying so hard all night. So you took his hand and let him pull you to your feet. Your knees were a little wobbly, but it didn’t really matter when San was there to hold you up.

Within a few seconds you were pressed to his chest and his lips were on the top of your head. They alternated between gentle kisses and whispering indistinguishable words against the styled mop. You let it happen as you rested your weary head against his chest. There was bound to be yet another makeup stain on the white cotton when you eventually pulled away, but that seemed irrelevant right now.

“I’ll never leave you again,” he said a little louder. It seemed to echo around the room, repeating again and again until it finally sank in. It was a promise, you realised, and San never broke his promises, “the next time a girl comes up to me, I’ll scare them off. Make myself look insane, or something.”

You giggled at that. Part of you wanted to believe it was a joke to get you to giggle, but deep down you knew he was telling the truth. You’d have to fight the ladies off yourself next time, just so your boyfriend didn’t do something to embarrass you both in the middle of a nightclub.

“That won’t be hard,” you replied in jest, “you already look insane.”

He chucked and you could feel the way his lips spread into a smile at the top of your scalp. He pressed another smiley kiss against it before pulling away a little so he could look at you. Still pretty, he thought to himself as he stared at your pouty lips and your puffy eyes. Still the love of his life.

“I must be if I was willing to leave your side,” he caught a stray tear with his thumb, “no sane man would leave the prettiest girl in the club all on her own, right?”

[felixbit]

my sun

pairing: felix x gn!reader w. 1.6k genre: fluff summary: it's felix's birthday, and you decide to spend the day reminding him all of the brightness he brings to your life. from sunrise to sunset, you show him how much he means to you. a/n: happiest birthday to my boy :DDD

Getting up early is hard.

Waking up your night owl boyfriend early on his birthday is harder.

But, there you were, dragging Felix out of bed just past six in the morning. You'd scolded him for staying up past midnight on his birthday, letting him know you planned an early morning.

So, a sleepy Felix was resistant to the idea of getting out of bed so early. You tugged on his arm, trying to physically pull him out. His gravitational pull to the bed seemed to increase in the mornings, so it wasn't working out.

"Felix, honey, it'll only be for a few minutes," You pleaded, "You'll be able to go back to sleep right after."

Your boyfriend made a low grumble sound as he finally budged, waving your hand away as he rolled out of bed on his own. "Fine."

Trying to ignore how enamored you were by his morning voice, you took Felix by the hand and walked towards the balcony. The timing was pretty much perfect, the sun just starting to peek above the horizon and the sky spilling out into beautiful colors.

Felix seemed to wake up a little more at the sight, rubbing his eyes as he looked out onto the view. You wrapped your arms around his waist, smiling. "You see that? That's how I feel when I first see you in the morning."

You heard him snicker softly, trying to turn and look at you. "Is this what you woke me up for? A pretty view and a cheesy one-liner?"

Kissing his cheek, you shrugged. "No, I just wanted to show you how much you're like the sunrise in my life. You're my sun, Felix."

Felix made an over-exaggerated groan and turned away from the sunrise so he could hug you back. He buried his face deep into the t-shirt you had stolen from him to use as pajamas. "Thank you," He mumbled into the fabric.

"Of course, sunshine boy," You rubbed his back softly as he held the hug, but then started moving you back towards the door inside.

"Can we please go back to bed now?"

It was unfortunate that you had to get back up only two hours later, but you had other plans in store. Felix slept heavy, so you didn't have to worry too much about getting out of bed without waking him up.

You threw together a presentable look before you left the house. The first destination was a flower shop nearby, exchanging small pleasantries with the employees as you picked out a beautiful assortment of short sunflowers.

It was then that you walked over to the cafe that you had placed a custom order a few days back. They had pastries and cookies that the staff would decorate, given a theme. You had placed a rather large order, telling them to go all out with the sun and sunflower imagery.

You picked it up in a big bag, your hands now full as you traveled back to the apartment. Getting into the apartment itself was a struggle, but you made it with time to spare and set up the pretty display of flowers and breakfast.

With the pastries, you made some pancakes. It wasn't a planned thing, but Felix was taking longer than expected to wake up. So, next to the pastries sat a plate of chocolate chip pancakes. The waiting continued.

Eventually, you heard a yawn as the bedroom door opened. Out stepped Felix, with his blonde hair in a bird's nest on his head. His eyes were hardly open, so it took him halfway to you to stop and look at everything you had set out.

"Good morning, birthday boy," You said with a smile, sitting conveniently next to all of the food set out for him. The flowers were on the other side of the display. His eyes seemed to look over everything, you included, a few times before it all registered in his sleepy brain.

Rubbing his eyes again, he looked like he had finally pieced it together. "Is all this.. for me?"

Standing up and walking over to him, you gave him a quick kiss before nodding. "That it is, sunshine. I got up a little early and picked this up. Thought you deserved to eat some sweet sunny treats and the pancakes I made when I was bored."

Felix circled an arm around your waist and began to walk over to the assortment of pastries with you in tow. "How did you even.. I won't ask. This is perfect, baby. Thank you."

"You don't have to keep thanking me, Felix," You leaned into his shoulder, "I'm just showing you how much you matter to me today."

Felix detached himself from you, walking over to the plate of pastries and picking up a croissant with a little sun shape on it. He bit into it and looked as if he could melt into the floor, turning around and looking at you dumbfounded.

"You like it?" You couldn't hold back laughter as he stared at you like you were crazy, crumbs still on his lips.

"Are you kidding me?" Felix walked over to you and handed you the croissant. "Try it."

You took a bite, tasting the chocolate filling. Maybe it was the hefty tip you left on the order, but it was perfect. The flaky pastry was buttery and delicious, and the chocolate was rich and smooth. After swallowing your bite, you nodded in agreement. "Yeah. That's actually amazing."

"Where did you get these, anyways?" Felix snatched the croissant back from you and took a bite as he awaited your answer.

"Oh, there's this cafe-bakery spot nearby I've been meaning to show you. When I figured out they would do custom decorating orders, this whole plan came together in my head and I decided to hold off on telling you until I did this."

"How could you hide something like this from me?!" Felix feigned exasperation and betrayal, "I'm heartbroken. On my birthday."

"Oh, you drama queen. Eat your pastry."

The day as a whole went great. You had far too many sunflower-themed things throughout the day that Felix was bewildered. Coming up with all of it wasn't easy, but it was turning out better than originally anticipated.

During the day, you took him to a flowery lunch with Hyunjin and Seungmin tagging along. Things went according to plan when both of your friends showed up in their sunflower outfits, much to the shock of your boyfriend. This was going on longer than he expected.

Things seemed to chill out after lunch, spending a few hours in bed watching shows and putting on a movie as you got a chance to nap after the hectic morning. It was nice to wake up on your Felix's chest as you were so used to doing in the mornings, seeing him smile down at you.

"Hi there," You said with a yawn, leaning up and giving him a kiss.

"Hey, you," Felix ran a hand through your hair, his voice warm and sweet, "You said to wake you up at six so we can get ready for dinner."

Catching up to speed on your own plans, you nodded. "Yep, I did. There's an outfit that I hid in the walk-in closet for you on my dresser, can you go put that on? I'll get mine on out here."

Felix looked at you a little surprised before grinning and nodding. "I shouldn't have expected any less after today. Alright, I'll go see what you picked out."

As he stood up and walked over to the walk-in closet, closing the door behind him, you reached under the bed. Pulling out the clothes you hid to change into, you put on your second flowery, warm-toned outfit of the day.

It only took a few minutes for Felix to join you back in the bedroom. "How do I look?" He asked, walking close and looking your outfit up and down.

You smiled and took his hand in your own. "Amazing. Just how I pictured it," You checked to make sure everything you needed was in your pockets, "Alright, you good to go?"

Felix had to grab a few belongings but you set off to the next adventure. Once getting to the parking lot, you climbed in the car. In the back was a cooler and basket with food and drinks and a picnic blanket.

You drove him out to a desolate hilltop spot with ten minutes to spare, setting up your little outdoors dinner on the blanket and Felix happily joining you. He looked out at the view, "So, what's this place for?"

"We have to watch the sunset," You answered, "So you can understand how I feel when I see you at night and before bed."

Felix was a smiling mess as he tried to eat his food, but you were entranced with the sun starting to set. The colors were like something out of a painting, vivid and clear.

Your fingers locked with his as your head rested on his shoulder. The view was stunning as the sun began to dip below the horizon, the beautiful colors being encased by the darkening sky. "I hope you get how I feel by now, Felix. You keep me going throughout the day. You're my sun."

Felix wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a tight hug. "I think I get it. And next time, I promise I'll do the same and show you how you make me feel, okay?"

"Okay," You hugged him back, basking in his warmth as the cold nighttime air settled on your skin, "Happy birthday, my love."

[hunnylagoon]

Take Me to War

PT1 Friendly Fire

Streamer! Ellie Williams x reader

A writer, I think is someone who pays attention to the world. We are observers, it is in our nature to be off-putting and turn shallow things deep.

Premise: Your neighbour is becoming increasingly loud and you decide to do something about it.

PT 2 Here!

Two things I hate the most?

My neighbour and New York City.

They shared something in common, they never rest. I liked my quiet life in my small town until I was convinced that all of the greatest writers lived in the city, what a joke. I sold my virtue to move to New York and now my body burned with the shame of not belonging.

I worked as a journalist and in advertisement but it didn't fill the gaping mass that consumed me, I felt like a sellout so I quit to do freelance, and now I feel like even more of a sellout. Freelance is making me think that I hate ghostwriting more than I hate my neighbour and New York City.

It's like you do all of the work and get zero reward but I'm desperate to pay the bills and all that stuff I've been telling myself all my life 'I may never be a rich man but the rich man will never have me' well, the rich man most certainly had me. I was paid an almost criminal amount of money to pour my soul into art just for it to get stamped beneath a new name and make a gross income six times the size of what I sold it for.

I look for happiness everywhere but I do not find it. I search for it in things everyone seems to pry joy from; I go clubbing, walk in Central Park, and date around, but happiness doesn't seem to exist there for me.

I plead for it in my morning cups of tea with a spoonful of honey, the sunshine glittering in a puddle after a rainstorm, for a brief moment, it flickers in the light of my cinnamon-scented candle. The truth is I am almost comforted by my sadness and it is in my lowest moments that my creations are the most beautiful, it is like I am dead and I despise those who aren't for I enjoy the company of my silence more than anyone I have ever met.

It was my dream for my name to be above 'New York Times Best Selling Author' but instead, it is just my work beneath it and maybe that's why I'm so bitter.

Right now as I am trying to salvage the bits and pieces I was given by a washed-up pop star for her memoir my neighbour is screaming and laughing incoherently in their apartment, it makes me miss living in an actual house.

The noise usually started up when I would finish up my writing and get ready for bed, then it would go all the way through the night. The dumb fucker probably threw parties every single night; my roommate never faced an issue with this as she worked at a club and was usually working when the deafening noises would begin.

I on the other hand who lived in that apartment and worked from that apartment was always cursed to listen to the random thumps and spats of laughter that sounded all through the night. At least once a night when I'm sound asleep, I hear a bang against the wall and each time without fail, I'm brought awake with my heart thumping.

Trust me, I have retaliated.

On occasion when I'm sleep-deprived and at my absolute limit I'll bang on the walls, that only stops the noise for a minute. I've even complained to my landlord and that one week was heaven until it eased back to the clamour that I've almost grown used to.

Almost.

I still hate it.

I'm broken from my thoughts when my phone rings, it vibrates till it's almost at the edge of my desk and I feel for it; don't worry buddy, I wanna jump too. I read the caller ID and I almost wanted to gag, it was a woman from the publishing company who reached out to me and asked me to write Nicole Elliot's novel. Despite wanting to throw my phone against the wall to stop Noemi's constant checkups and get back at my neighbour while I'm at it, I answer the phone "Hey, Noemi!" I glance out the window where the winter sun has long set, leaving nothing but billboards, street lamps and neon signs to light up the New York night. Under the unforgiving lights I can barely make out the gentle snowfall.

"Hey," She draws it out and I can hear in her voice that she is smiling "I know it's a little late, just checking in, how is the draft coming along?" A loud thump sounds against my wall along with intolerant cackling "What's that?"

"Just some street noise," I dismiss "Anyways, the draft is coming along great, I'm a couple thousand words away from finishing it. I will of course send it to you and I would really love it if you could reach out to Nicole and ask for her opinion on it before I carry on with the final copy," I give a middle finger to my wall, even if my neighbour can't see me, it makes me feel a little bit more formidable "I did follow her outline, which was difficult but I think I salvaged it pretty well."

This time there is a yelp from my neighbour and what sounds like someone slamming their hands down onto a table, Noemi thankfully ignores it "You haven't been in touch with Nicole?"

My eyebrows furrow "She hasn't responded to any of my emails and she's been turning down all of our scheduled Zoom calls, so no, I have not been in touch with her."

"Weird," Noemi comments and there is a brief break of silence between us "She's been M.I.A on our end too," I could hear her scribble something down. "So can you get the draft to me by Friday?"

Two days? If I lock myself inside and don't see the sun then I totally can "Absolutely!" I do work better under a deadline.

"Great," She sounds almost relieved "We will hunt down Nicole, it would be nice to get her greenlight with this but whether or not she approves it, she has already signed off and it will be going to print."

"Okay," I fight the urge to respond with 'sick' or 'aight' because I'm an adult now and someone who is masquerading as a professional.

"Sorry, what was that you mentioned about an outline?" Noemi asks, she sounds more confused with each word "I wasn't aware Nicole made any-

She is swiftly cut off by a crash from the other side of my wall, when I say crash I mean it. It sounded like someone just bodied their car into drywall. My eyes went wide as I saw a crack splitting up my once pristine white wall. I hold my phone against my collarbone as I get up and pound my fist against the wall, giving it a kick for extra measure.

"Is everything alright?"

"Certainly," The nice thing about phone calls is that the person on the other end can't see your awkward habits or subtle outbursts (Or neighbours breaking through your shared wall). After I hit the wall, everything went silent for just a second before laughter sounded heavily from multiple people. "Noemi, thank you for sourcing me out to write this, I am really grateful for this opportunity I will send you that draft on Friday." I try to wrap up the call but she speaks up.

"Well, I've read your work and I was very impressed, I trust you will do well with this. Sorry to have called you so late-

"Thanks, have a nice night now!" I'm talking faster than I can even think, the only thing in my head is the fact that my neighbour is slowly deteriorating my wall.

"Wait-

Before Noemi can finish her sentence, I've hung up the phone. I'm leaning back in my cushy office chair, hands gripping my hair as I stare down the newly formed crack in the wall. I don't entirely like to be confrontational, even in school I hated drama, but I was beginning to think it was necessary.

I saved the progress I had made on the memoir and pushed myself up from my desk. I was clad in nothing more than a t-shirt and some plaid pants, it was my writing attire and in the moment I didn't care much to make a good first impression. It was fucking freezing the second I got up from my desk.

The moulding on my bedroom window was broken which allowed the frigid New York air to slip into my room and make me shiver with each breath. At my desk, I would usually have a throw blanket to shroud my freezing body but the moment I discarded it, I felt regret. I almost wanted to wrap myself in it to confront my neighbour but the pyjamas alone didn't help me look tough.

I did however shove my feet into some cow slippers and march right up to their apartment.

Apartment 2D stood in front of me, the pastel blue door making me angrier with every second that I looked at it. I rapped my knuckles on the wood and crossed my arms to stop me from shuddering.

My nerves built up as I slowly heard a door within the apartment shut followed by footsteps leading to the door. I would just ask them politely to quiet down and calmly work on a way to fix the shared wall that they are slowly ruining.

The door opens and staring me down is a woman. I had expected it to be a man to be truthful. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, the colour teetered on the verge of auburn and brown. The woman is clad in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, it's almost parallel to my outfit.

"You need to be quiet," I say the first words that come to mind "And stop assaulting my fucking wall."

She sucks a sharp breath through her teeth "Are you apartment 3D?" She asks to which I nod "I knew you would be stopping by soon." She has this sheepish and almost sardonic smile on her face and despite the amusement she's portraying I can see sadness brewing in her green eyes like a storm.

"I don't know what you're doing in there where you are up all night, I don't even have a clue how you sleep and work with all this time to spare to be a nuisance." I say and then swiftly feel the urge to backtrack "I'm sorry, that was a little rude, but mate, I can't sleep or work when you're being loud doing whatever you do."

"Fuck," She mutters looking back into her apartment and then at me "I'm sorry, I'll keep it down."

"What about the wall?"

Her eyes look me up and down, settling on my cow slippers "I'll find someone to fix the wall."

I press my lips tight together, looking dead into her eyes, scraping my brain for something else to say. It was almost like I wanted to fight. I had expected this to be a full-out conversation that ended in yelling but god she was pretty and she was telling me just what I wanted. "Okay."

"Okay?"

I regard her once more with what I assume is a cold glare before ushering back into my apartment and slamming the door behind me, the whole time, my neighbour watches me from her doorway.

That was the first night of uninterrupted sleep I'd had in a month.

-

I woke up earlier than I would've liked when my roommate Margot came home from work at 4:56 on the dot. She made sure to slam every single door and cupboard before throwing herself onto her bed in all of her makeup and musty clothes that had to endure whatever happens at a nightclub between the hours of 8 pm and 4 am, which I can't imagine is very clean.

Still, even though I was a little ahead of schedule I fell into my morning routine. It started with ignoring my phone, this was followed by a mug of Bengal spice tea with a teaspoon of honey and a splash of cream.

Sometimes I would curl up on the couch, though it snowed last night and I loved fresh snow. Freshly fallen snow absorbed sound, it was like soundproofing for the earth. There wasn't anything like the rare peace you could find in New York. I figured I would have my morning tea on the fire escape.

My peaceful image was destroyed the second I pried my window open and crawled through I was hit with the intense smell of pot. "Shit," I mutter, instinctively wafting the scent away from my nose.

"Sorry, man," I see my neighbour leaning against the railing of the fire escape, nursing a joint. It hadn't crossed my mind that I shared a level of the fire escape with her, I had never seen her out here but now the smell of weed that drifted through the damaged moulding on my window made sense, I had always assumed it to be Margot.

"Joint for breakfast?" I ask, half-joking. A dusting of powdery snow adorns each step and railing, creating a delicate layer of white that contrasts with the industrial gray of the metal though it looks like my neighbour has pushed all of the snow off the platform.

"Nah, for dinner I guess, it helps me sleep," She's in the same outfit from last night, except her hair is now loose around her face and she threw a hoodie over her tanktop.

I furrow my eyebrows "You've been up all night?" The slight tension from the previous night has dissolved completely.

"Yeah," She says it like it was a stupid question and it partially was but I hadn't stayed up that late since New Year only because I was the designated driver and was in charge of getting everyone home safe. "I don't sleep much, that's probably why I keep you up all night."

I mean, I'd let her keep me up in other ways "Honestly, I've gotten used to it, it's almost like white noise." I try to sympathize even if it isn’t necessarily true.

"Next time I'm loud, you have every right to bang on my door and chew me out." She takes a drag from her joint and I watch as the smoke escapes her lips, her cheeks tinted pink from the cold.

"Good to know," I glance behind her at the open window and all I see are purple LED lights cutting through the darkness of her apartment. "Now I know that we share a fire escape I'll just crawl through your window and yell at you that way," I joke, taking a sip from my snoopy mug.

This makes her laugh in the slightest, she crushes what remains of her joint on the cold railing and tosses the bud into the pot of a dead plant that's covered in snow and has lived on this fire escape long before I moved in; one time I just about removed it but I felt bad, it's like I was evicting it from its rightful home "Feel free."

"Am I allowed to ask why you're up all night breaking the sound barriers?" I ask, pulling my fuzzy robe tighter around my body to fight the bitter air. "Are you the leader of a cult? Would it be better for the world in the long run if I push you right now?"

The corners of her lips curl up into a smile once again "You've figured me out, just know I've got some big plans with Koolaid," She plays into my teasing.

"It was flavour-aid, actually." I don't know why I said that.

"What the fuck is flavour-aid?"

"Koolaid basically," Silence stretches between us "So what do you actually do all night?"

"It's a bit complicated," She says, of course, it was complicated. "I work from home," She couldn't do something normal, she probably did voice acting or ran a podcast or some weird shit like that.

"Sick," Don't worry, I made myself cringe when I said that too "I work from home too."

"Yeah, you said something about work last night, are you in marketing?"

I shake my head "I'm a writer," every time I tell someone that, I feel a twinge of embarrassment. I know it wasn't a noble career like my parents had hounded me over, but it felt noble to me. I had two absent parents and was raised by a pack of wolves, I would devour as much food as fast as I could because I didn't know when I would be eating next. I was far too emotional to be around all of the narcissists who preferred their own faces to my company, the only friend I had was the written word.

Since then I have been serving my soul up to strangers through word documents.

The thought makes me homesick for the arms that did not hold me and I truly expect my neighbour to make a mockery of me, the way others have. The way they've told me 'It's a tough industry but hang in there!' and pat me on the back like I'm a hopeful child clinging to her mother's skirts.

"That's really cool," She smiles while she gazes out to the skyline, I can see her perfect side profile and ski-slope nose "I wanted to be a writer, I thought myself to be a poet, and then I thought myself to be a scientist and wanted to be an astronaut. Now, I'm here."

"Where's here exactly?"

"Working things out, figure it out as I go," She shrugs like she is unsure of her answer.

I think it's beautiful how everything around me has been touched by human hands and carries so much history. For a quick moment, my mind wonders to those who built this building, the calloused hands that crafted the iron railing and now my neighbour who was leaning against it. "What's the end goal with this whole freefall thing?"

"To make it out alive."

"And your name?"

"It's Ellie."

-

That night Ellie stuck to being quiet as she promised. The next night was a different story. I was so close to finishing the draft of Nicole Elliot's memoir and was praying that the deadline would pass with no issue.

However, the noise began again. I was coming around to like Ellie and I didn't want to go yell at her again so I shoved my headphones in and turned up my playlist as loud as I could. There is no song I can blast in my headphones to drown it out.

She did say that the next time I was loud I could come and chew her out, I wouldn't do that; I would just knock on her door and quickly tell her that she was being too loud, and then we would both carry on with our respective work.

I stopped in front of the smooth door and raised my hand to knock. Ellie slips the door open just a crack, when she sees that it's me she opens the door. "Hey, Ellie."

"Hello," She smiles "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She had a very nice smile.

We both know the circumstances of my visit but I spell it out anyway "Dude, you're way too loud, it's disruptive and I'm working under a deadline."

"I know, I'm sorry." She looks genuinely apologetic.

"I don't know any office job that needs you to scream for hours on end," Alright, that blows what could've been a simple visit where she apologizes and I leave, I always had to add on.

"Right, sorry," She carries herself with so much confidence that it is like she is wearing armour made of gold though she has these subtle awkward tendencies of someone who has never been loved and was forced to improvise. "It's hard to explain,"

"Yeah, you've said-

"Do you wanna come and see?"

I'm taken a little aback and for a minute I think this is all a ploy for Ellie to lock me in her her apartment and kill me because she is sick of her neighbour banging on her door "What?"

"Well, you've asked a couple of times and if you have a minute I can show you."

I pause, mauling over her proposal. I think of my laptop on my spruce desk, open to the final pages of the memoir and I make up my mind "Alright, just not too long."

"If you say so," Ellie opens the door wider for me to move past her and then shuts it behind us.

Ellie's apartment is what I had expected from her even though it is surprisingly nice. She has a large L-shaped sofa in the living room adorned with throw blankets and pillows and a huge flatscreen with a coffee table in front of it. The layout is exactly like mine but inverted, her open kitchen has some odd knick-knacks that looked like they belonged on an Amazon must-haves list.

I don't go into her bathroom and the door leading to one of the rooms (What is equivalent to Margot's bedroom) is shut. The apartment itself is pretty sparse aside from little bits and pieces as she only moved in a month prior.

On the left side, I see that purple LED spilling out of what I assume to be her bedroom.

She walks in ahead of me and the second I follow in after her there is one question I have to ask "Ellie, are you a porn-star?" There are entirely too many computers in here. Her desk is set up with one of those fancy triple-screen PCs and she has a laptop placed seemingly randomly on a white loveseat that's pressed against the right wall.

There is one of those galaxy lamps that projects that trippy shit onto your walls and ceiling. The screen of her PC is facing our shared wall and I can see a huge hole where I assume that a loud crash from the other night occurred. Plastered all over the walls are posters from video games and movies, many of which I hadn't seen.

"What?" She sounds nearly offended "No," she grabs a folding chair from the corner of the room and unfolds it beside her black florid office chair. She sits on the folding chair and motions for me to sit in the office chair. "Come, sit."

I hesitantly sit in the chair "Are you going to attack me now?" I ask, getting defensive for no particular reason other than it was in my nature "Because I've read The Outsiders and I'm pretty sure I can fight."

She chuckles "I'm not gonna fight you."

"Because I'd win?"

She furrows her eyebrows but has this look of amusement on her face "Yeah, definitely."

"So what is this?" I motion around at all of her equipment.

Ellie puts one earbud in then hand me the other "Chat," She says, looking dead at the camera clipped onto her PC "This is my neighbour who came to yell at me for being annoying, she has every right."

"Who are you talking to?"

"I'm streaming," She said, clicking something on the screen so it changed, instead showing Ellie and I in front of the camera, I looked absolutely lost next to a rolling chat bar full of jokes that I didn't understand and people saying hello to me.

"So I was right," I turn my attention to Ellie "You are an internet person."

"Yeah, I'm an internet person but you weren't right, I don't do porn."

"Not yet," I shrug "Times are desperate," To this, the chats come in even faster than before. "So do you just sit here all night and scream at people?"

"I play video games and do challenges, sometimes I do just sit here and scream at them."

"That makes so much sense," I say "If there's any job that needs you to be obnoxiously loud and annoying, it's a youtube personality."

"Okay, well-

"So you're like Logan Paul?"

Her eyes go wide "No-

"What explains why your eyes are so bloodshot."

"You are a writer," She says it like it's a fact I wasn't aware of "You are in no place to judge, you probably spend as much time in front of a screen as me."

I nod "I hate to say you're right," My attention shifts to the hole behind me "Can you explain how playing video games put a hole through the wall?"

Ellie looks almost embarrassed, she doesn't say anything in response, instead, she just clicks something to screen share with us in a little box in the corner and then goes into YouTube. She types in 'Ellie Williams falls through wall' My eyebrows furrow as I read it, and she clicks the first video that pops up.

The video starts off strong; Ellie is cackling at something that her friend off-camera is saying, her friend then makes a comment that makes her laugh even harder and she throws herself back in her chair. This act breaks it, you can hear the chair snap beneath the pressure and Ellie just lets it happen as the chair crashes against the wall. Her eyes go wide when she realizes she's just put a massive hole into the wall and seconds later you can hear me on the other side banging my hands on the wall. Her eyes go wide and she stares at her friend off-camera, all of the laughter stops abruptly before her friend can't hold it in anymore and erupts in chortles, and the video cuts off.

My hand flies over my mouth to fight back the laughter I so badly want to let out. Ellie and I sit wordlessly, the only sound being donations on the screen and my giggles slipping through. Eventually, I manage to compose myself and look to Ellie, I don't have much to say except for "Oh my god."

A/N: Streamer! Ellie won the poll so here we are. As I was drafting out the other chapters for When I Was Your Girl, I decided that it is most likely to be discontinued unless I do a rewrite which will not be in the near future. I’m not rocking with the plot and there was a lot of mixed feedback, sorry if you were invested I guess, but you have this series to be invested in now!

[dailypenpen]

What do Genshin Men think of with you in their arms? (pt. 2)

characters: Alhaitham, Wriothesley, and Childe

notes: overworked reader (Alhaitham). gn reader, only you pronouns used.

a/n: hello hi um make sure to like and subscribe!! Thank you all for your nice comments on my previous post :) this might not be as good as the prev one 🙇

HERE'S PART 1

Alhaitham thinks you're quite the unique person. You're on the verge of sleep, yet you insist on fighting the urge to shut your eyes. You try, and fail, to rub it out. Your pen is gripped loosely in your hands, your handwriting starting to appear like gibberish.

Alhaitham frowns at your actions, observing you with lidded eyes. Why are you so persistent in keeping yourself awake? Don't you realize that your body is already telling you that it wants to retire right now? He wonders if you got any sleep last night, with how your head is drooping so much. His eyebrows knit together in worry at your state.

You aren't even listening to him anymore, brushing it off with something along the lines of you're not tired. Your lies aren't backed up properly, Alhaitham points out, with how much you're yawning. You groan, now moving to ignore him completely. Your writing is now incomprehensible. You almost planted your face on your papers.

Well, drastic times call for drastic measures. You are in mighty need of a nap.

He grabs you by the shoulders, much like a mother cat with its kitten. He drags you away to the couch with ease. Your sleepy protests are left unheard as he gently sets you down onto the cushions. The moment your body feels the softness of it, your face melts with satisfaction. Alhaitham sighs, sitting next to you. He reaches for your head, letting it lean against his shoulders as the two of you relax.

He glances at you, your tired eyes finally closed. He looks down at your hands and intertwines them with his own. The corner of his lips turned up at the soft sight of it. Who would have thought that someone like him would end up with someone like you? It's puzzling, really. But he chooses not to question it, settling on focusing on you.

Alhaitham presses a soft kiss on your head, his other hand running through your hair. He takes in your features, taking in the ethereal beauty that your entire being exudes. He leans in close, wanting to look at you even more clearly. Tracing the curves of your face, studying it with precision. His eyes trained to look at every part of your face that he deems the most wonderful piece of art his eyes ever laid on. Beating even Kaveh's best work, he muses to himself.

You stir, blinking awake your eyes in hopes that you can catch a peek of him. You try to subtly glance at him but you didn't expect him to look at you like that. To look at you with such softness, with such fondness. With such great intent, great purpose. You can feel your cheeks flush at his heavy gaze. Like by just looking at you, he might find all the answers he seeks.

"Take your rest now, sunshine. You deserve it."

Wriothesley thinks that he is one damn lucky guy. The two of you decided to go on a much needed date after not seeing each other for so long. You wanted to go to this one restaurant, fancy decorations and equally fancy food to be paired with a lovely night together. Of course, who was he to say no to you? He missed spoiling you, hugging you, giving you all the love you rightfully deserve. But work had made both of you busy, so it's no wonder why he immediately jumped to the offer of a date.

He leans against a building near the restaurant, occasionally looking at his pocket watch. He's wearing something more formal, yet still so distinctively him. Wriothesley tugs on his tie, Sigewinne must have tied it a bit too tight for his own liking. It takes half a mind for him to resist the urge to loosen it.

He glances at the people around him, whispering amongst themselves. He knows that some people are looking at him with surprise. The Duke, out in public? Not on official business? He smirks at the thought of their potential questions. The people here can't live without their gossip, can they?

Your voice suddenly calls out for him, Wriothesley instantly perking up. You're running towards him, a huge smile on your face. He opens his arms wide, and you take the cue to jump forwards. He doesn't so much as stumble when you both collide against one another. He wraps his arms around you, taking in your scent and warmth.

At this very moment, he thinks that all is finally well in this world.

You're almost floating off the ground, with Wriothesley lifting you up so that your face is close to his. Your huge grin from before is still present, your hands moving to cup both of his cheeks. He softens instantly, akin to a dog receiving pats from their owner. You could almost see a tail tagging from behind him.

He thinks you look absolutely gorgeous— almost ravishing if anything. You don't often wear clothes like this, but when you do he just relishes in it. He preps kisses on the palms of your hands, smile softening as he hears you chuckle at his actions. He sets you down, not before staring deep into your eyes and leaning ever so closely. He whispers to you, intending that you and only you can hear his proclamation of love. That only you can know about what he truly thinks of you.

"Sweetheart, do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

Childe thinks he might be in heaven. The two of you just finished a round of sparring with one another, covered in sweat and grim from it. He sighs in satisfaction, knowing that you beat him this time. He'd want nothing more than to shout out to the skies that he lost against his lover. Childe is proud that he lost, because it was against you. He'd be ok with losing, if it was you who was winning.

You lazily lean against his back, gasping for air. You wipe your sweat with your shirt as it hurriedly drips to the ground. All the while Childe is starring intently at you. You don't even notice the way he's looking at you, eyes focused on your exhausted figure. He whistles lowly, eyes glinting with a plan.

Who was he to deny himself of this opportunity?

Before you know it, you feel a weight on your back and you somehow manage not to fall under it. You screech in surprise, turning your head to look at Childe with wide eyes. You try to shake him off you but he's persistent in staying put. He only grins at you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling your neck. He doesn't care that he's sweaty or that you are too. All he wants right now is to be close to you, even if both of you are filthy and in desperate need for a bath.

You eventually give up, grumbling under your breath. Your hand unconsciously moves to his hair, ruffling it to get the dirt out. He hums in glee, eyes closed and hands tightening around you more. Childe wishes to stay like this forever but he knows that you'll immediately protest to his suggestion. What a bummer, he thinks to himself. You are much too comfortable to let go of. If he had it his way, he would have brought you both to the ground. That way, you won't be able to escape his hugs.

He kisses your cheek, reluctantly releasing you from his embrace. You turn to look at him, wanting to scold him. And dread goes to your face once you look at his playful face. What was he thinking this time? Surely he wouldn't want to spar again? Childe laughs at your expression, and he can almost hear what you're thinking. Really, can you blame him? You give him so much joy and happiness! Who was Childe if he wasn't going to chase that high?

Plus, it's you. He'll never get tired of you, no matter what you both do.

"C'mon babe, you can't be tired already! Come at me!"

Please consider liking and reblogging!!

[blackkatmagic]

Commander Fox! =D

“Please stop throwing yourself off buildings,” Thorn says, ragged in a way that makes Fox hide a smirk behind his pad. “We’re not all airbenders, and some of us have more self-preservation than a concussed tooka—”

“You mean you're cowards,” Fox says disdainfully, and scrawls his CC number on the bottom of the form, sends it, then closes the pad and clips it to his belt. The wind is strong here, Coruscant's wild weather pockets spitting out hurricane gales and stinging rain despite the fact that Fox knows the weather system is set for balmy sunshine. It’s making the rappel lines flap and swing alarmingly, not that Fox cares about that. Thorn seems like the type to, though.

“Affected by gravity, Fox, not cowards—”

Fox rolls his eyes, pulling his helmet on and checking the comm. They haven't gotten a go signal yet, and Stone’s generally good about not karking up, but Fox is feeling antsy. Their thief has been breaking into the Senate every single night, like a taunt, and only leaving signs on their way out, like they're daring the Guard to catch them.

Maybe it’s a personality flaw, but Fox has never met a dare he didn’t immediately latch onto with teeth, and he sees no reason why this should be any different.

And besides, this wind makes Fox want to throw himself right into the slipstream, see how far he can ride it before he has to start catching himself. If he aims right, he might be able to make it all the way down to the second level of the undercity; there’s a good access point near here, and the wind is temptingly strong.

“You're not even pretending to listen to me, are you?” Thorn asks on a sigh, martyred, like he’s the only reasonable one here.

“I only start pretending to listen when you stop bitching,” Fox says without sympathy, and checks the time again, shifting impatiently. It’s getting towards morning, and he’s run out of paperwork to kill time with. If the thief wants to move, they should do it now while Fox is in a relatively good mood, and not cranky from boredom.

He’s also curious. Whatever the hell kind of bender they are, no one’s been able to work it out.

“Fox—”

A shadow, quick, darting. Fox almost misses it, because it blends in with all the hundreds of other shadows shifting in the light from passing speeders. Something about this is different, though, more fluid, more noticeable. He jerks his head up, and in that same moment a speeder’s lights wash across a window at just the right angle, illuminating a figure in dark clothes, headed at a run down a corridor that should have been locked down when that wing of the Senate was evacuated.

There's no pausing, no moment to think. Fox is moving before he can even register the motion, and he twists, hands up, will behind the motion. Leaps—

The wind catches him like wings, like vast hands, and he hurtles down off the side of the building, arrowing straight for the line of windows across the way.

Like every time, bending is instinct and an adrenaline rush and a burst of vicious, knife’s-blade joy that ricochets through Fox’s whole body, rises to flood him entirely, and he twists, foot leading, and feels the whirl of air that cracks glass like it’s a piece of himself. There's shouting from behind him, troopers scrambling to follow, but Fox doesn’t care.

He’s a howling wind, he’s a hurricane, and when he explodes into the hallway, a gale rising to a scream around him, it feels like he’s the most powerful thing in the whole galaxy. Like he’s invincible, untouchable, free.

No one’s ever going to take that away from him. Fox won't let them.

[igotanidea]

The phone number: Dick Grayson x reader

She was walking through the mall, running errands, crossing off the things on the to-buy list, eventually ending up carrying like ten bags.

A little too much for a girl.

Fighting with the bag strap, painfully digging into her shoulder, Y/N tried to find her phone, aiming to call her sister to pick her up, cause the chances of getting home in one piece were decreasing by a minute.

And then, to her terror she realised that the device was nowhere to be found.

Stopping in the middle of the mall passageway, the poor girl started digging into her bags and bundles, noting the slight shaking of hands she couldn't quite control.

Just not that.

She couldn't have lost her phone. There was so much information there. And she was having it in her hand just a second ago, checking time.

Right. She was checking time.

So there was no way she left it somewhere while shopping.

Yes. Obviously, She was so silly. All she had to do was take a deep breath, calm down and search methodically, and not fight the luggage in the middle of the way like a crazy squirrel with her hair all over the face

"Hey, you gonna move or something? You're blocking the passage..." male voice came from behind her, painfully pointing out that she was being a road hog.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry, I just-" she spun around only to see a tall, lithe and very handsome man. The force of her movement mixed with the heavy weight on her shoulders made her lose balance and for a moment she was on a highway to meet with the floor.

However, before she could paint the tiles with her blood, the man caught her arm, getting half of her stuff into his own hands (literally! and the way those forearms muscles flexed almost made her fall again). Having ensured she wasn't dizzy or anything like that anymore he carefully guided her to the nearest sitting spot.

"You look distressed."

"Oh, do I?" she fixed her hair, now fully in panic mode due to the allegedly lost phone.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I lost my phone..." she finally muttered and then it dawned on her. "Oh, um, hey- I really don;t want you to take it wrong way or make it sound weird but maybe you could - um-" she stuttered a little, cause the request she was going to make to this model-like man could easily backfire on her. "Could you maybe call me?"

"Call you?" he grinned and she mentally prepared herself for the worst reaction "you didn't even get my name and you're already offering your number?"

There it was. She was right. A mistake asking a guy like him something like that.

"You know what just forget it-"

"Oh, sweetheart, don;t go shy on me now. I'll be more than happy to call you. Only to help you find the phone, obviously." he smirked with a light chuckle, showing all his shiny teeth.

"Obviously." she nodded, rolling her eyes a little, dictating the set of numbers to him.

And as the phone was luckily found at the bottom of her bag, she hastily mumbled words of acknowledgement and fled the place before he could even attempt another mockery.

Leaving Dick Grayson astonished and a little amused, shaking heads while watching that girl run away from him.

***

She forgot the whole incident almost immediately. Well, maybe not all of it, cause those blue eyes seemed to mentally follow her everywhere for the next few days.

And when she finally managed to get past them, her phone chimed with a message from a number that was not in her contact list.

"Hey sunshine. Not to complain, but I think you at least owe me coffee for my help."

Y/N frowned, taking a longer moment to figure out what this was about. Was it SPAM? Phishing? An erotic offer from a portal that gathered her data from god knows where?

"Who is this?" she responded.

"Oh, you are hurting me. It's Dick. From the mall? The one who helped you with the phone hunt?"

Oh. It was him.

"So, now that you got my name, what do you say about that coffee? My treat." the notification of a text interrupted her train of thoughts.

A little drink couldn't do much harm to her, right?

"Okay." Y/N texted, waiting for his proposition, smiling to herself without even noticing it.  

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

One For The Road [3]

Cecil Dennis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Series Masterlist

Summary: You and Cecil go on a sort of date.

A/N: Another huge thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading again! You are the best!

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of weed, catching feelings and self denial of catching feelings, fingering, oral sex (afab! & m!receiving), jerking off, public sex (they're in a car), please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1578

I've Been Here Before

Cecil practically jumped on you when you got out of the car, hugging you so tightly he nearly broke a rib. He kissed your cheek shyly when you broke apart, grinning so widely.

That look alone was enough to set off the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Thank you so much for coming with me.” He kisses your cheek again, giggling. “No one else wanted to see it with me.” 

You smile, his expression infectious, “You didn’t need to wait outside…” He’d been standing in front of Harry’s house pacing.

“I didn’t wanna make you wait.” He hugs you again, nuzzling into your neck and then hurrying to open the driver's side door for you.

You chuckle softly, but secretly loving it. “Thank you.”

He nods and gets into the passenger seat beside you, clicking on his seatbelt as you start the car and pull off. 

He takes a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. “I printed out the tickets, just in case, because my phone battery sucks balls, and I wanted to make sure everything went right.” He beams at you again and it just melts your heart. 

“How much do I owe you for the tickets?” 

“Oh, no, no, nothing, these are on me.” 

“Cec…” you say softly, you know he’s not working at the moment. 

He shakes his head, “Nope, my treat. Really, not only do I get to go, but I get to go with you.” He smiles as he looks over the tickets again, double checking everything for the hundredth time that he hadn’t messed up the date or time. 

It was at the newly opened retro drive-in theatre in town, a double feature showing Bringing Up Baby and What’s Up Doc with a twenty minute intermission in between. 

“I didn’t realise you liked comedies so much?” You ask and Cecil nods exaggeratedly. 

“Love movies, and these are so good, What’s Up Doc is like, top tier. Like one of the best comedies of all time.” He grins, practically buzzing like a living embodiment of sunshine.

.

Getting there is easy, as is parking. You buy Cecil a large popcorn, which makes him get watery eyed. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” you smile and squeeze his hand reassuringly. “You okay?” 

He nods, “Yeah, yeah,” and gives you a blinding smile. “Just been one of those days, you know?” 

You do know. 

Just before the first film starts he checks his phone to make sure it’s on silent. The screen is cracked, it has been for the last eight months. You don’t mean to look, but you catch a glance at the screen. There are three missed calls from a contact listed as ‘D’, and a text notification that hasn’t been read. ‘Call me now. I need…’

You shake your head ever so slightly. It’s not your business. You swallow and adjust your seat, moving it back and giving yourself some extra leg room while you watch the movie.

The first film Bringing Up Baby starts on time and you enjoy it. Cecil mouths along silently with some of the lines and offers you popcorn while he pulls a pack of M&M's from his jacket to share with you. 

When the film finishes, they play Looney Tunes cartoons on the screen during intermission. Other people get out of their cars to get more snacks. 

“You want anything else?” You ask and Cecil shakes his head, he looks around for a few minutes, checking both right and left and then front and behind.

“Cec?” You ask.

He turns back to you and smiles sweetly. But you can see the cogs working behind the expression. He’s up to something. 

Cecil leans towards you, kissing your cheek lightly. “Thank you again for coming with me.”

“Of course.” You smile, about to speak again when he presses his lips to yours, letting out a soft, wanton moan and slipping his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like chocolate, and for once, not weed.

He snakes his hand to the back of your neck, shifting closer as he hums and deepens the kiss.

You touch his cheek, kissing him back with equal energy, even if you are a little surprised at his sudden forwardness. It’s not unwelcome though, you were hoping he’d still be interested in something more physical after the films. 

But you are not expecting the hand that he rubs against your thigh, quickly sliding under your skirt and pressing against your core through your panties. 

“Cecil,” you break the kiss. 

“Hmm,” he nips your bottom lip, “so glad you wore a dress again.”

“We shouldn’t-”

“Why?” He breathes into your mouth, eyes lidded and a disgracefully innocent smile plastered across his face. 

“We’re in public.”

“We’re in your car, it’s dark out.” 

“Cecil, the light of the screen.” You gesture with your hand.

“No one will know.” He kisses you again, practically hypnotising you with the rhythmic move of his tongue. He presses lightly at your core, dragging his thumb against your clit until you whine. “No one will see, I promise.”

Then he smiles, knowing he has you. He pushes your underwear to the side, and presses his forefinger inside easily, curling it up and strokes your walls. 

You gasp into his mouth, your back arching as he starts to take you apart piece by piece.

“See?” He groans, barely stopping to kiss you as he speaks. “Isn’t this nice? Just us? Waiting for the next movie? Gushing all over my hand?” 

He circles your clit with his thumb, his grin widening when you keen and grab at his shoulder, too far gone to even worry if anyone can see you, if anyone is watching.

“Cec,” you plead, unsure what for as you widen your legs. 

He hums happily, “You’re gonna have to stop wearing panties when you see me.” 

You rock your hips against his soft strokes, the pressure building between your legs dizzyingly fast. “I– I can take them off.”

“Oh, fuck yes.” He groans, moving his hand away and kissing you when you whine at the loss. 

He helps you pull them off when you raise your hips, pulling them completely off your legs and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. 

You expect him to just go back to his previous position with his hand touching you, but he leans down completely, grinning at your little gasp of surprise and how your muscles tense when he pulls your skirt up completely and sucks your clit into his mouth. 

You cover your mouth with your left hand, sinking your right into his soft curls as you squirm in your seat. 

He pushes two fingers back inside you, curling and stroking in time with how he sucks your bundle of nerves, slowly easing you out of his mouth to draw you back in and flick against you with the tip of his tongue until you're writhing and panting and pleading nonsense into the air. 

“Cecil, Cecil,” you repeat his name like an eager prayer. “Please, please,” you tug at his hair, pulling him closer. “Please don’t stop, please, I-” Your sharp cry cuts you off and you smother the sound with your hand. Your body tenses, sings as the pleasure flows up and out and swallows you whole.

He keeps sucking, softly swirling his tongue until your muscles relax and your grip on his hair loosens. 

He sits up with a lazily grin, his chin shining with your slick. 

You breathe deeply, your nerves buzzing with the aftershocks. “How are you so good at that?” 

His smile widens and he shrugs suddenly acting all bashful, as if he didn’t have your cum all over his stubble. 

He sits back in his seat, pleased with himself and throws a piece of popcorn up in the air and catches it in his mouth. 

You lean over close to his ear and make him shiver, “Your turn.” 

He audibly gulps as you quickly undo his jeans and pull his thick, heavy cock free. He’s throbbing, so hard it looks painful with how red and swollen the tip is.

You lean down quickly, swirling your tongue over his head, mirroring the movements he took against him while you cup his full balls.

“Fuck– I– can you, shit,” he groans as you lick up the prominant vein along his length, one hand on your shoulder, the other pressing against the roof of the car. “I, sorry, I’m gonna come so fast, can you suck-” He cries out, a long drawn out whine when you quickly take him into your mouth and sink down. You barely get to bob twice before he tenses, shakes and spasms, apologies falling from his lips in a flurry as he comes into your mouth, spurting hot and hard. 

You swallow eagerly as his cum hits your tongue, drinking it down and sucking him dry until he stops shaking and lets out a contented sigh. 

He’s got a wonderfully lovesick expression on his face when you sit up, pulling you in for a long sweet kiss. 

“Sorry I came so fast, I-”

“It’s hot.” You grin and he laughs.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You nod.

He blushes a little, running his right hand through his curls. “That's, um, that’s really nice of you to say.” 

“It’s true, makes me feel all powerful.” 

He giggles, “Yeah?” 

You nod.

“Good.” He kisses you again, “because you are.”

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

@steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood 

@pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[tteokdoroki]

✩࿐TRACK 02: ONOFFONOFF. eijirou kirishima (2K)

about. by day, kirishima fights crime to keep everyone he loves safe. by night, you’re fighting to keep your relationship alive, even while everything else is crumbling to pieces.

warnings. minors, ageless and ageless blogs do not interact! suggestive, angst, hurt-comfort, hopeful/open ending, toxic relationships, dry humping, civillain + fem!reader, pro hero!kirishima.

things to note. happy saturday homies, i hope you enjoy this second instalment !! i adore writing angst pieces so it was nice to go back to that, enjoy mwah ! <3 - masterlist / series masterlist / playlist ✩

how could anyone ever hate eijirou kirishima. 

by day, he’s everybody’s favourite pro hero. though number five on the ranks, red riot has a comforting charm that dazzles the public. fear dissipates almost instantly whenever he was on the scene, as if there was never anything to be afraid of in the first place. he is calm while he works, caring. holding crying babies to his plush chest as he breaks through burning buildings, pulling dazed strangers out of the way of speeding cars, taking out criminals with brute force and bright banter. 

he’s wonderful with kids as well, which by extension, makes kirishima popular with the parents — often using their starry eyed little ones for a chance to get close to the bulky hero. of course, your boyfriend doesn’t realise. he doesn’t take note of the lingering touches during touching family photos with him, numbers slipped into his hero costume or how people lean against kirishima desperate for a messy signature to be scrawled across inappropriate parts of their bodies. 

eijirou is too nice to say no, to set boundaries. he’s warm and friendly — the perfect aura of sunshine. in some ways, you can understand the way the world almost revolves around him. why all the people and their planets make him the centre of the universe. after all, it’s part of the reason you ended up dating him. 

but the press adore him too, they really do. their beloved red riot is always willing to stop for interviews even when he’s busted and beaten, they love the way he leans down (all 6’5 of him) to hear the reporters better. they eat up the way he blushes and bumbles humbly whenever he’s asked about the status of his relationship. to which he answers “i wouldn’t say there’s anyone in particular that’s in the picture right now…” while sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, accidentally showing off his bulging muscles and firm chest. 

how could you ever hate eijirou kirishima. 

by night, he’s supposed to be yours and only yours. but you can smell floral perfumes on his collarbones from fans that get too close and you can feel the distance grow between you like an invisible barrier.

you hate that kirishima lies about your relationship to the public just as a ‘precaution’ when it’s clearly a ploy from eijirou’s marketing team to keep him the lovable, single, himbo hero. you hate that it makes you want to push him away. 

it’s not just you and him in this partnership. it’s you, eijirou and the whole world that eagerly watches his every move — and it’s starting to make you feel like a third wheel, like less of a priority, like more of an accessory.

you don’t know when loving eijirou kirishima becomes difficult and starts to feel like a chore — in your mind, you’re under appreciated. he comes home from work, sleeps, and leaves before the sun rises without giving you an ounce of attention (aside from the money dropped into your bank account as an apology). the dates that you plan become less frequent too, or when they do happen, kirishima leaves halfway through with a lopsided sorrowful grin. 

“the world isn’t gonna save itself, yanno. someone’s got to be on the scene.”

you fill the void in your heart with your work, spending time with friends who don’t offer the same comfort as your long-term partner and lazing about the house. but being alone gives you the space to begin resenting kirishima, giving into the toxic comparisons of your relationship against that of others — todoroki and his girlfriend are getting married soon, why aren’t you and eiji?

it’s not like you haven’t brought this up before, over quiet dinners interjected with snide remarks — it only ever leads to screaming matches that end with your throat raw and kirishima slamming doors so loud that the house shakes. but brought back together by the toxic cycle of love, you end up back in his bed and he ends up back inside you — taking root in your ribcage right where your heart lies, the thorns on his roses piercing the beating muscle. 

you cough up perfumed petals like you would blood, kirishima leaving fatal wounds on the inside  of your chest cavity. 

it doesn’t stop the way you so brokenly make love, tearing one another apart and piecing you back together like patchwork. 

“careful.” your boyfriend mumbles through swollen lips as they press against your own. he lets your tongue slide into his hot mouth, your noses pressed up against each other — breath ragged. 

your hands reach for eijirou’s shirt to tear through it. each of your movements are calculated to replace what traces from others linger on him. you pull, bite and scratch at golden skin that is already littered with scars from his battles. those where he protected the country he loved, the people who loved him. “slowly…” kirishima ushers, you gently, tilting his head back when you tug on the black roots of his hair to gain access to his neck.

“d-darling, what’s the hurry?”

you love him so much that you think you might hate him even more. he’s so perfect, he doesn’t colour outside of the lines, he touches you like you’re a house made of cards even though his fingertips set your entire body on fire.

blood rushes through your ears, carrying a heat that blossoms in your lower tummy and intoxicates kirishima as you kiss him again — teeth sinking into his lower lip until it bleeds. 

“c-can we talk?” kirishima stutters out as your tongue glides under his earlobe next and your hips slot against his perfectly, grinding down into his hardening cock. “w-what’s going on? fuck,” he curses, hips bucking up instinctively. “what’s going on with you?” 

“nothing.” stop talking.

“darlin’, you’re being a little rough…” shut up.

“you usually like that.” you utter breathlessly, switching sides to leave marks on the unmarred portions of his neck. 

this time, however, the red head grips your hips a little tighter — halting your movements and pushing you back so he can get a better look at your face. “baby, let’s just—“ 

“what, kirishima?” finally, you snap — glaring at him long and hard. “what could you possibly have to say now? that you can’t fuck me tonight because you’re too busy working? cause you’re busy thinking of bending over that pretty, ditzy little reporter from work today ‘cause she’s a little more tolerable than me? what is it eijirou?” you punctuate each of his words with a jab to his muscular shoulder, though the man is sturdy enough not to feel it. 

you’ve had this fight before, dozens of times and on more occasions than you can count on both hands. eijirou either tunes out to play innocent or he snaps  back with all teeth bared and fangs on display.

“you’re being unfair.” is all he says, tone dull and lifeless just like it’s been before. it’s like he’s given up on the two of you, not that you’d blame him. there’s no more fight left in the two of you for your love, only fuelled by the anger and resentment  you feel towards  each other. 

“what next? bet you’ll think i’m being unreasonable.” 

“you are being unreasonable.”

“oh i’m sorry, is that a problem for you? am i inconveniencing you, riot?” 

“come on, what’s with the attitude?” 

“excuse me?” 

kirishima exhales shakily, letting go of your hips to pinch the bridge of his nose. his ruby eyes shoot everywhere but you, he can’t even stand to look at you when arguments like this come up. those eyes of his, they carry too much shake and guilt.  “you always get like this. when i come home and i just want to be close to you and you get all…aggressive.” he spits out harshly, like the words are poison on his tongue, like he can’t stand to see what your love has soured into. “angry like you want to hurt me when i’m trying to love you.”

you scoff, rolling your own jewelled eyes. “love me? don’t make me laugh, eijirou. you don’t know the first thing about loving anyone except for you and your job.” 

“will you at least fucking explain what i did tonight, ‘cause i’d love to know what’s got you so bitter, sweetheart?” hurt echoes in his timbre voice. you wish that you could tell him, but you flounder for words and react with rage instead — how can you tell the man you wanted forever with that you hate the hero he’s become? 

“fuck you, red!” you stand, retaliating instead of communicating your needs properly. “fuck you, mister red ‘righteous’ riot, mister eijirou ‘incapable of doing wrong’ kirishima.” 

kirishima’s face crumples but he follows suit, standing, but he doesn’t make a move to come closer. “what’s your fucking problem? what did i do?” 

“the blame is never on you, is it?” 

“well i’d like to know why it should be! if you’d just—“

“it’s like you have no sense of accountability—“

“i’m trying—“ 

“—like honestly, fuck you, eijirou.” 

“you’re not letting me talk!” the redhead damn near screams, the base in his voice shaking your house, bouncing off the walls. he sounds drained, pained and no amount of medication can fix it. you’ve blackened his heart with scorch marks and danced amongst the flames and now you’re finally seeing that it’s not just you who this relationship is crushing. 

each word you spit kirishima cuts him into the shape you want him to be, wounding him deeper than any battle scar. 

“and you’re not letting me fucking breathe!” you shout back rather than listening to logic. it’s a low blow, you’re highly aware — a reference back to the early days of your relationship when kirishima overcompensated his absence for affection. he thought you’d worked through it. you liked to throw it back in his face when you were mad. you’re stubborn, you always have been, but for some reason you want to hit kirishima where it hurts. you want to cut him up into the perfect shape, until he feels exactly how you feel. 

when he finally makes a move, you become aware of his sheer size for the first time that night. eijirou would never hurt you, he couldn’t harm a fly even if he wanted to but that doesn’t mean you’re not scared of his presence. kirishima touches every corner of the room, his anger flooding through it and pushing you under so that you’re drowning in your own mistakes and his too. 

“you’re suffocating me too,” he mumbles, voice just above a whisper and you relax into his arms. “i’m trying so hard to be the man that you want me to be. you take so much, you want even more. you want a house and you want kids and i want to give you that too but you make it so hard. when you hurt me like this.” he’s being honest, the truth scratching at his throat as the pro-hero vocalises what you’ve failed to communicate for months. you’ve been selfish and he’s been avoidant, the pair of you only hurting one another, carving cuts so deep the wounds won’t heal and the blood won’t stop pouring unless either of you do something. and fast. 

“where do we go from here?” you don’t even realise that you’re crying until your boyfriend swipes the pad of his thumb underneath your eyes, leaving no time for the salty droplet to hit your skin. 

your teary gaze is tied to his as kirishima’s ruby eyes glisten under the moonlight. “i don’t know.” he hesitates. “i don’t want you to leave me. you need me.”

you whimper and curl up against his chest. “i don’t want that either.” 

kirishima wraps his arms around you like a safety blanket, shielding you from the ugly truth of your own relationship. it’s always on and off with the two of you, but this time you’re determined to make it work — you hope that he is too. 

“we have to work on this, on us.” he says firmly, but he squeezes you close as if you might disappear — holds you as if you’re a flower that might wilt if it’s touched. “none of this on and off, we…we gotta talk to each other from now on. yeah?” 

“yeah,” for the first time in months, you sink into kirishima’s touch — accept his rough edges and hardened shell, and turn your pain into a promise. “we will.” 

a promise to keep dancing together like it’s the first time even when the world around yourself and eijirou kirishima is burning.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[hopeluna]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ — Barista!Izuku Midoriya

♡! hope's notes: this is 50% unrealistic and 50% self indulgent. Tell me what u think lol <3

It's 7 in the morning when you realise that you're truly, utterly fucked.

You try to convince yourself that it was really your alarm's fault for not waking you up. Because now you are desperately trying to shove everything in your bag, while chewing on the world's driest granola bar and make your way out of your apartment.

You do the calculation in your head as you make your way down the stairs, trying not to trip. Your class is supposed start at 7:15, so you have approximately 5 minutes to get a much needed cup of coffee. And then you need to make run for your class which is 15 minutes, hoping to whatever deity that you'll reach there in 10 minutes.

A groan of frustration escapes you on the sidewalk at the utter slow pace the lady is moving in front of you, talking animatedly on the phone.

You've been late to class enough times this entire week that you're convinced your professor is going to shoot you in the head today. The first thing you notice in front of the cafe is how cute and cozy it looked. Like something straight out of a rom-com set.

There were small little coffee shops like this scattered through almost every road corner outside the campus. Coffee shops, cheap diners and stationaries all looking out for their target customers, drained college students.

This particular coffee shop, you had realised one day talking with your friends, was new and untouched by your hands. You knew that logically it wasn't a great time right now to experiment newly opened shops, no matter how much your friends had been praising the place but you were already late, and the decor and smell of roasted coffee beans seemed too appetizing to pass up.

The gentle chime of the bell at the entrance almost made you forget that your life could possibly be on the line in less than 10 minutes. Your shoulders loose some tension at the faint but noticeable fragrance in the air, the smell of coffee and the muffled sounds of students clicking away on their computers, couples chatting away in excitement and the sound of the workers behind the counter.

Oh yeah, you were definitely forgetting about class for some minutes.

Tapping your fingers to a random rhythm, your eyes immediately go to the cheapest drink on the big menu overhead the counter. Being a college student, you weren't really raking up the big bucks and would rather like to be able to afford instant ramen in the future.

And that's when it happened.

You swore that you almost went blind for about 2 seconds at the absolute beaming, sunshine-filled smile the barista gave you. The simple words "what can I get for you today?" suddenly sounded like the most holiest piece of angel music coming out of his mouth. He was cute, like a lot, with lush green curls falling messily atop his head, freckles doted like stars across his cheeks. You briefly registered the small "Midoriya" name plate attached to his shirt.

"Um, e-excuse me?"

"Yes?"

"I- what can I get you, ma'am?"

"Your number, hopefully"

Shit. The wide eyes and the full flush creeping up on his cheeks made you almost shriek in horror, you didn't mean to say that aloud. Suddenly, the once calming air felt stifling and uncomfortable.

"Uh! I mean- no!", wincing at your own volume, you suddenly wished that the earth would just open up and swallow you whole. "You see, um, that was- a joke! A bad joke!". It took all your strength to not bash your head on the counter under your sweaty palms, cringing at yourself.

The nervous laugh that "Midoriya" let out certainly didn't help the situation either.

You felt the tension lifting off your chest when a girl came up to the counter to ask for more creamer. The next course of action was probably not your proudest moment, definitely something you would look back at and curse yourself for. In your defence, your mind felt scrambled and fried at the whole interaction, so you did the only thing your brain managed to comprehend. You ran.

A few minutes later, already at your campus, you stopped for a second for breath. The frustrated whine you let out next was met with some questioning glances your way that you could not be bothered about right now, your mind only swirling with one thing.

You didn't even get your fucking coffee.

© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind. Epilogue.

Series masterlist

a/n As promised, I welcome you into the last glimpse of our beloved's future. Thank you so much for joining me in this wonderful project. I had a blast writing it and a big part of my heart will always be here. ✨🤍 in a way can be read as a separate piece. 🫧

warning: kids for sure, mentions of past trauma and that's all. Happy, happy vibes. Just cute fam goodness.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You hummed to yourself. That ancient melody of the wind that had been woven into your blood for decades. One that was now accompanied by a gentle breeze. Pulling the basket to rest on your hip, you slowly turned back to the house that Azriel had bought, even before you and the kids were in the picture. One he had surprised you with weeks after the proposal. You three had slowly decoded and rebuilt. Painting flowers and gusts of wind along the rims of the windows. Slithers of dark and radiant beams of light. A mural of your story. One that had threaded you all together so tightly that there was no way to distinguish where one of you stared and the other began.

"Can you do my hair the way you had it during the mating ceremony with papa?", you flinched slightly as an overly excited Zofie appeared right in front of you the moment you walked through the patio door. You slowly set the laundry down. Cupping her cheek gently. To think that now she was almost above your shoulder. Where, when, and why did babes suddenly start to age way quicker?

"With flowers and all?", you asked her softly, and she nodded so eagerly that there was no way for you to decline. You loved that both Axel and Zofie had been there. Have been a part of one of the happiest days of your existence. Mother, strike them all. You still got goosebumps just from the thought alone. Of course, neither you nor Azriel cared about official vows and ceremonies, but there had still been a part of you that wanted to meet him in the middle of the old oak forest. Meet him in the glistening pool of startling. Take his hand as he slowly helps you step over the slippery stones.

Azriel was beautiful. You knew that from the moment you laid eyes on him. But that day. Dressed in all black. His slightly curly hair brushed back, yet that one stubborn, utterly perfect strand lazily fell over his forehead. The moment Azriel's eyes met you, you were ready to run down the path, not walk. Run straight into your mate's arm, into your forever. "My light, my sunshine," the spymaster had muttered as he brushed his nose against you when yours, you two were inches away, both up to waist submerged in the starlight.

"Alright, but...", you muttered, shaking your head slightly. You hadn't been the one to do your hair. It was Feyre and Cordelia who had braided and poked at your head for what felt like hours. "I picked all of the flowers myself." Zofie quickly cut into your train of thought, "You don't have to do anything; just braid," she breathed out. So hopeful. So full of young enthusiasm. Flowers. It had been the flower that Elain had grown in her garden that had been threaded through your hair that day. Even if Azriel had turned from her, you had sought her out against his will. She had moved out with Lucien. With Beron dead and Eris running the autumn court, the youngest Vanserra had wanted to stay close to his brothers. She, like the farmers in the border villages, had been poisoned by the dark magic Padme had borne. A weak link—that's what she had been. A naive, still ever-trusted heart that had been forced against her own will to cause harm that now she had to be forced to bear.

You chased that memory away. Even now. Even after so much, her story still sent shivers down your spine. Reaching for the brush, you gently brushed Zofie's long, onyx hair. Twisting and braiding. Plucking flowers from the basket as you went. Zofie shifted in her chair. She had a direct view of herself in the big brass mirror that stood against the wall in the hallway. Smoothing the silk of her skirt, she muttered, "Do you think it's too much?" You met her eyes in the reflection ahead. She was one stunning young girl. But teen years could be and often were filled with so much doubt. "Oh gosh, it's too much, isn't it?", she nearly sighed, and you realized that you had taken way too long to answer, "Zofie, darling, calm down; you look lovely." You smiled at her, finishing some of the last braids as you carefully pinned them into place.

"We'll go as soon as Axel comes back," you said softly. She rubbed her palms together, already trying to turn her head to see the backrest. The lack of patience in these younglings... "Do you think papa will be mad?", she asked softly, yet you couldn't help a slight frown that ran through your face. "Mad about what?", you had started right as the door opened, and Azriel walked in, looking as refined as ever. You instantly felt a gentle caress against the bond, making you smile before the spymaster turned his attention to the not-so-little girl. "Wow," Azriel breathed, and Zifie's cheeks instantly turned crimson. "Give me a twirl," his shadows already dancing in the sides of the purple dress you had stitched specifically for tonight. "You look breathtaking, my little start," and here she was, nearly shining with the love and confidence Azriel poured into her on a daily basis. She flourished when she was with him. And Azriel had done all he could to make her grow into her skin. Into her power.

"It feels like a whole welcome party for your brother," Azriel finally chuckled as he stepped further into the house, and Zofie's face fell instantly. The girl spared you a look before turning to her dad, "It's not for Axel." It was barely a whisper, and yet she knew that he heard her. "You just wanted to get...", but Azriel's voice died down right as the realization hit him. "Oh...", he breathed out. His features grew stern almost immediately. "Nyx's will be there," Zofie swallowed thickly.

This was probably one of the things Azriel struggled to get over. Of course, he knew they were going to mate eventually. And you had to be blind and dead and, in general, not be able to grasp reality to miss the way Zofie and Nyx were constantly pulling towards each other no matter where they went. "Papa," she breathed, stepping closer to Azriel and pulling at his arms that were tightly folded over his chest. "You are too young," Azriel huffed slightly, shaking his head. "Come on," Zofie huffed, turning to you. "Mom," she pleaded her case with you.

"Azriel, we talked about this," you said softly. And you two had. Elain had a vision of them a long way down the line. Azriel, of course, had called it bullshit. But Rhys saw the early flickers of bonding between the two kids with his own two eyes. Of course, they were left unaware for now. Way too young to go through frenzies. Hand holding already gave Azriel cardiac arrest. If Nyx were to pull her into a cabin all alone, the end of the world would be upon everyone.

"You are supposed to be in the phase when boys are disgusting to you," Azriel stated plainly, making you giggle slightly. Yet you knew that there was only so long he could decline her, and the minute Zofie's shoulders had sagged in defeat, the spymaster had thrown his head back too. "Fine," he muttered, and Zofie let out a happy squeal that she tried to cover with her palms, but nothing truly slipped through Azriel's ears. "Your shadows can be with me at all times," she stated, nodding her head firmly. "Oh, like hell they will be, missy," Azriel leaned in to kiss her forehead lovingly. His fingers reached for the blue sapphire that glistened on her neck. Azriel had crafted it himself for her. It was a way for her to block out the flare-ups of her empathetic powers. It helped her keep her shields up. Helped. She could do it perfectly fine on her own now, but Zofie had never taken the necklace off. No matter what, that piece of jewelry always stayed.

"I'm home." You nearly let out a gasp as you turned your attention to the door. And here he stood. You nearly tripped over yourself as you rushed to him. "Oh, my sweet," you said, feeling your eyes tingling as you cupped Axel's face. "Look at you," you breathed. To say that it was hard watching him go to the camps to train would have been an understatement. You couldn't sleep the first night he was gone. Had made Azriel winnow you there just so you could see him sleeping peacefully. Of course, he wasn't alone. Nyx was with him, and the two had formed quite a friendship, but still, the past trauma of the place lingered.

"Ax," Zofie's voice echoed, and Axel barely got to turn away from you as she jumped into his arms. Axel spun her around a couple of times before muttering, "Hey, Zo." The two siblings were beaming at each other. It was hard for them to stay away from one another. For most of their lives, they held onto each other so tightly. Protected one another. A slight sob slipped past your lips. "Mom, come on," Axel reached out to you, but you just shook your head, waving him off. "Don't mind me," you said, patting your cheeks. Zofie instantly stepped to hug you from the side, her head pressed against your chest.

"Who let you grow so much in a week?", you muttered, making everyone let out a chuckle. "I doubt I did," Axel looked down at himself before his eyes met yours. "Yes, you did," you reassured him as he too stepped closer to kiss your cheek. "Put your bags down; wash up if you like before we go," you brushed your fingers over his cheek, earning a smile from him in return. While you had been excited for a family dinner the past couple of days, all of a sudden all you wanted was to lock up the doors and keep your family all in the house. "I'll help him unpack," Zofie beamed. You knew it was less about the unpacking and more about the extra time they could spend together. The two just loved to talk. And since they trusted each other so much, you were sure there was a lot to catch up on. You watched them chasing one another up the steps. The house was once again full of laughter, and footsteps were echoing from the second floor.

You closed your eyes, your hand resting on your chest. "You're okay," Azriel's smooth voice found you before you felt his touch. "Don't ask me that, Azriel or I will cry," you huffed, pressing your lips together as another wave of tears burned your eyes. "Come here," the spymaster pulled you into his embrace, warm palms drawing patterns on your back.

"Mother, strike me. I hate this," you pinched the bridge of your nose as you blinked rapidly, trying to chase the tears away. Azriel snickered, "I think it's adorable." You shot him a glare, muttering a quick, "Shut up." That, of course, earned another wholehearted laugh from him, "See, adorable," to which you had only rolled your eyes. Azriel leaned in, kissing the side of your head. Cheek. Before his lips met yours, slow and gentle affection. That was how your love was now.

"I just want to keep them here forever," you breathed out after a while, "They are not allowed to leave ever." Leaning against your mate's chest, you felt that all overtaking peace and quiet. "And I'm the overprotective one," Azriel teased, but your lack of response and the way your shoulders were tense let him know that today wasn't the day to play around. He pulled you even closer to him as if that were even possible.

"Breathe with me," he muttered softly, resting his forehead against yours. Guiding your breaths once. Twice. A shallow breath in and an extended exhale. "And you," the spymaster muttered, the smile in his voice hard to miss, "You need to stop making mommy so emotional." His scarred palm slowly moved to rub your rather swollen belly. Where the newest addition to the family was growing. A loving touch from its father stirred the baby awake and earned a rather strong kick in return.

"You just said it was cute," you muttered, frowning. "And angry too, please," Azriel leaned closer to the bump as he whispered. You softly hit the back of his head, "You are insufferable." "But you love it," Azriel practically sang. "How are you feeling?", his tone almost immediately switched as he realized that you were up on your feet, so he was guiding you towards the sofa in no time.

"Well, I officially can't see my feet," you chuckled as he pulled out onto his lap, nestling his face in your neck for a couple of nibbles. "You look dazzling pregnant," Azriel stated firmly, making you shake your head. "Yeah, because you are high on fea hormones," you pointed at his chest, but he only shrugged his shoulders.

"How did we get here?", you breathed out, slowly reminiscing on all the years spent together. This was your forever. This home. This family. "Well, when a male puts his...", you hit his chest playfully. "No," you muttered, "With our kids wanting to be out instead of spending the evening with us," because it had been just you four for so long. Well, five. Cordelia had been the most loving mother-in-law ever. And the two kids were over the moon excited to spend time with her. Even now, they always visit. If not together, then by themselves. But she was a huge part of your family. "They are growing up," Azriel said softly, his hand protectively resting on your belly as he no doubt sat here listening to the heartbeat. One of his many hobbies now that you have been pregnant.

"I'm excited to plan their mating ceremony," you blurted out randomly, and Azriel's head turned to you so quickly that you wondered how he didn't get dizzy. "Hold your horses, women," he huffed almost offensively, "No one is walking down any aisle unless I'm the one dragging them off it." Here was the protector. You tried biting your lip, but you simply couldn't hold yourself back. Letting out a genuine laugh. And Azriel's slight frown melted immediately as he moved to brush some of the hair away from your face, "Here's that pretty smile I love so much." Your heart skipped a beat. Still skipped a beat as you felt your cheeks grow crimson. "Stop," you muttered, nestling your head in the crook of your mate's neck. "No way, I vowed to make you happy," Azriel breathed out, kissing the side of your head.

Laughter echoed from above, making your lips curve upward even more. You didn't need to see Azriel's face to know that he too was grinning. Nothing ever beats the sound of home. "Do you know how much I love you?", you pulled away slightly, suddenly desperate to look into his hazy eyes. Azriel cupped your face lovingly, "I do because I love you just as much, sweetheart," he breathed. His velvety lips meet yours. And Mother, you had never been happier for bargaining forever with this man.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace @just-m-2 @thereadinggremlin @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @stressed-reader

[bumblesimagines]

how do you like your eggs?

i'll make us breakfast.

Love Quinn

i'll make us breakfast.

how do you like your eggs?

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

There were always unspoken rules in the workplace that everyone tended to follow. Be kind to customers even if they walk in with only 2 minutes left to spare before closing time; Don't trust your coworkers wholeheartedly even if you speak to them on a near day-to-day basis; The customer is nearly never right but pretend they are unless you want to be written up; Don't fuck your boss even if she's got the prettiest hazel eyes ever seen on a woman and the charm of a Disney princess. 

The rules had been relatively easy to follow at Anavrin the first few weeks. Most of the bitchiest customers (Y/N) dealt with were easily managed by stroking their egos and making them feel completely in the right, even if they demanded to be given a milkshake without any actual milk despite milkshakes not being on the menu to begin with. Anavrin attracted the most annoying types of Los Angeles locals and worse tourists. But the paycheck and exchanging gossip in the break room with Calvin made things worthwhile. 

Until the Quinns returned from some time away with their family and he became a dot on Love Quinn's radar. And boy, was she hard to escape once her sights set on someone.

It started innocent enough. She joked and teased and bantered. She batted her eyelashes and gave that signature Love Quinn smile where she showed off all her pearly whites and her eyes crinkled with pure joy. Her fingers would brush against his, subtle enough to be seen as accidental until it happened far too often. She'd place her hand on his shoulder and press close against his arm to show him something, even going as far as to lean her head against him and gaze up at him through her lashes sometimes. And Christ, some divine being had certainly blessed her with the best of luck because she seemingly appeared out of thin air wherever he went. Or maybe he was just predictable, he wasn't fully sure.

Then came the time when Love wanted to figure out his 'perfect bite.' The perfect meal that would consistently taste heavenly no matter how many times one ate it. (Y/N) had begrudgingly gone along after some begging and heartstring-tugging puppy eyes but he would've been lying if part of him hadn't been curious about Love and how far she'd go with her not-so-subtle flirting. As he ended up learning, his curiosity and her flirting would lead them back to her place where they'd share a glass of wine and spend a long night in her bed.

He stared up at the tall ceiling and felt the sunshine pouring in from the equally tall windows. Everything about Love's home felt big and fancy. From her king-sized bed to the fact she had a walk-in closet and a bathroom the size of a bedroom. With her down-to-earth sweet personality, it was easy to forget her parents were wealthy business owners. He couldn't help but wonder how things would be at the store with the strictly platonic boss-employee relationship shattered into pieces. (Y/N) doubted she'd fire him or make his life worse now that she got what she wanted. Maybe she'd move on to someone else and things would settle back to normalcy.

"Morning, sunshine." She called out from the bathroom doorway and he craned his neck to look at her properly. His eyes immediately fell on the familiar shirt she wore, the only thing she wore, and he raised a brow. Her smile turned cheeky and she pushed herself away from the door, closing the distance and climbing into bed as he sat up against the headboard. Love settled down nicely on his lap and placed her hands on his cheeks before closing that distance as well and kissing him. She tasted of mint and mouthwash. 

"Didn't mean to sleep in." He spoke against her lips, feeling and hearing her chuckle. 

"It's okay, (Y/N). I would've let you sleep in until four if you wanted to." Love cooed warmly and pecked the tip of his nose. Everything felt rather... domestic for a simple one-night stand. "Now that you're up, I'll make us breakfast. How do you like your eggs? Boiled? Fried? Omelet? Scrambled? Or do you want, like, pancakes?" 

"How about... I use the bathroom and we figure that out in the kitchen?" He offered and she smiled again, nodding so eagerly her bun nearly came loose. 

"And then.... maybe we could talk about us?" She asked softly and tilted her head, her sweet hazel eyes making it hard to say anything but yes.

"Definitely."