#its about 2.5k deep so far

[alphabetboyluvr]

is there gonna be a second part for when the thrill expires??

can confirm, yes

[vxnuslogy]

— empty souls do not breathe, they wait.

pairing: kinich x gn!reader

premise: ajaw has always thought that after kinich's death, all will eventually bow to him as their new king. what he didn't expect was to grapple with his host's loneliness and find the reason why he sought your presence during nights that grow too cold.

— warnings: slight angst if you squint

— author's note: ajaw holds a very special place in my heart so deserves to be the main character of this fic. and after almost 24 hours of having no electricity, it'll finally leave the basement. this is heavily inspired by this comic on twt so please go give it a read! art credits to @.n249 on twt. | 2.5k words.

— tags: @ryescapades @moineauz @mikashisus @https-sourlimes ; if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the forms in my pinned!!

there was something wrong with kinich. mavuika’s eyes scanned over the wounds on the poor boy’s body and the blood dripping from his forehead. long gone was his usual bandana and golden rimmed eyes were now tainted with a strange red. 

this man is not kinich.

“so kinich has fallen, too,” her voice sullen, eyes barely able to look at the husk of one of her heroes. though her stance is not tense, it certainly wasn’t relaxed either. “kinich” followed her movements carefully—the way her hands twitched towards her claymore, her eyes he could not read, and the unmistakable tone of her voice. the pyro archon was disappointed.

“i, too, would be disappointed if you didn’t notice, archon.” kinich dipped his head low and let out a bone chilling laugh that scratched his throat the wrong way. blood stained glove came to push his hair back as mavuika stares at the eyes that did not belong to the dendro user of the scions of canopy. 

“it was a shame for that brat to die, but oh well,” a twisted grin tugged at his lips as mavuika’s face remained passive. “it is i! the almighty dragon lord, k’uhul ajaw!”

he takes a deep breath before letting his host’s arms fall to his side. “per our agreement, i will stand in and make kinich the greatest hero for all of natlan to see!”

“and would you be satisfied with that?”

ajaw’s gaze hardened as his lips tugged into a deep frown. the pyro archon’s eyes now held a fervor brighter than any hope this entity of chaos has ever seen. was she still hoping that kinich would miraculously survive?

“are you implying that not even celestia is celebrating my return? their gift is now mi–”

“the gift you claim for yourself does not respond to you,” ajaw flinches back, eyes zeroing into the vision of his person as his fists shook in rage. “dreams will die if their master has fallen. there’s more to the contract between the two of you than you think.”

ajaw sees red. teeth snarling into a disgusting scowl as he readied kinich’s weapon—ignoring the way this too did not answer his call for blood. “are you mocking me, archon?”

much to the dragon’s surprise, the woman laughs. she laughs. at him? he’ll never know because he’s already zipping away from the scene. 

“this is merely a trial, a simple waiting game.” 

“why the hell am i using that servant’s party tricks!” ajaw screams as he lands in the far distance. he’s been using kinich’s grapple hook to come to and fro natlan these days as his mind flies back to this boy’s archon and her infuriating claims. “bwah! forget it, i have other things to deal with like–”

“kinich?”

like you.

the person from kinich’s life that he’s persistently pined over for years on end—ajaw even thinks kinich does it unintentionally, the boy was missing a few screws in the emotional department after all.

ajaw doesn’t answer back. he just blankly stares how your face is drained of its color. the way your fist grips at your chest like you're about to rip your heart out and the shaky–afraid–smile you flash him as you come to sit beside him.

you kept your distance—normally you’d sit so close your fingers would slightly entangle with kinich’s. ajaw observes you from the corner of his eyes before looking at natlan in the distance. back in his pixelated prison form, he could barely see natlan as a whole, just bits and pieces as he focused his energy to disturb and plan kinich’s untimely death.

“what are you doing here?” 

how strange, ajaw didn’t mean to voice that question out in the open. especially with the way you look at him as if your world had crumbled to dust, leaving no trace of your home to pick up. something tugs at ajaw after your blank answer. the great almighty dragon lords do not feel, they wreak havoc, instill control, so why? why was this heart beating in such a melancholic rhythm?

“let’s go,” he says as he slowly comes to a stand, trying to mimic kinich’s attitude and actions towards you to the best of his abilities. you look at him, tears threatening to spill, yet you still smile and take his outstretched arm. ajaw doesn’t voice how you immediately drop his hand when you stand—you always hold kinich like your final lifeline, so why are you letting go?

ajaw understands, he simply won’t accept this fact.

you loved kinich, not ajaw.

you wanted kinich, but you still treated ajaw with the same treatment.

you treat his wounds with care, apologizing whenever he winces and flinches, pressing soft kisses to the calluses of his hands and his forehead. you let him listen to your beating heart that drummed the same melancholic melody and wipe away at the tears he never acknowledges whenever the figure of kinich’s dismantled body haunts him at night. 

you acted as if you loved him and ajaw can’t live with this anymore.

so he runs away—punishes himself into confinement until you won’t be able to follow him. and then he thinks. sitting silently on a patch of grass as the sun slowly fades into another dreadful night. now that he’s left alone to grapple with all the uncontained emotions kinich himself couldn’t answer, ajaw finds himself at a loss.

“hey kinich,” he whispers to the wind, a bare hand filled with scars and scratches—free from the gloves that didn’t fit him—tug at the fabric of his shirt, right above his heart. “have you always been this lonely?”

ajaw hugs his knees, hand grabbing at his hair harshly–this body did not belong to him, he does not deserve your kindness or love. he won’t admit it, but now under the scrutiny or judgment of no one, ajaw comes to finally admit of his stretched jealousy for you and kinich. how come this insolent servant of him had someone who deeply cared about him despite his attitude? someone who was born to accompany him through thick and thin, to infuriate and fret over but still share whatever he or you could share with one another. neither of you left each other, and ajaw wanted that.

will ajaw have to live his life like this? chasing after the shadows of your relationship with kinich until his legs finally gave out? 

“ugh! i hate you kinich!” he screams into the wind as they howl back.

“don’t say that, ajaw,” his world stills and the already chilly breeze turned colder. there you were, under the light of a fading sun with a small smile on your lips. “you’ll hurt kinch’s feelings.”

he scoffs. grip tightening as he buries his head on his arms. “then he can stay dead if he can’t handle some words from me! my servant,” his voice quivers slightly. his breathing shakes and turns shallow as you step towards him. “don’t come near me!”

you take one step, then two, then you’re sprinting to ajaw before he could run away for a second time. you cradle his head to your chest as you let his iron grip bruise your arms and silent tears be soaked in your heart. 

“my kinich would not be offended by me!”

“i know he won’t,” you say in a whisper, hand rubbing circles to his back and ajaw finally comes to understand why kinich always sought you out each night when his past comes to haunt him. you kept his fears at bay with your overwhelming love for him. ajaw wonders if there’s also some love from you reserved for him. 

the following nights, ajaw spends his time in your arms as you tell him stories from your childhood. how kinich had saved you from a safety malfunction when you went bungee jumping, the kinds of flowers you press into your journal, and the many photos from your family in different nations.

“do you not miss them, human?” ajaw asks, another photo from your mother as she stands in front of a quaint flower shop in fontaine. you only smile and tuck away another album under your bed. the sight of ajaw curiously sifting through your photos—from family, friends, and kinich—makes something swell in your chest. it bloats and bloats until you’re sure it can hold all of natlan with ease.

“i do,” you reply, sitting by the edge of your bed and looking at the dates written behind each photo. “but at least they send me things so i know they’re doing well.”

ajaw frowns in contemplation. “will they come home?”

will kinich come home?

you don’t voice out the question that’s floating in ajaw’s mind and just smile. watching the flame from the small lamp on your bedside table flicker, your reflection staring right back at you as you meet ajaw’s gaze. 

“they will, we just wait.” 

ajaw frowns. “waiting means to waste your efforts to hope for a miracle.”

despite his harshness and pessimism, you chuckle. gathering all the stray photos, you put them back neatly in the album. as you make your way to the window to close the window, you turn back to ajaw. “an empty soul does not breathe, it waits. you’re waiting, too, ajaw.”

“i am not waiting for that vermin!” he protests with a huff. you laugh as he falls back on your bed, both hands behind his head as he stares at your bedroom ceilings. a contemplative expression falls on his face as the furrow of his brows from embarrassment finally eases. “is he even still alive?”

you hum as you lay beside him. your eyes gaze at the still blazing vision on his pants and close your eyes. “a person’s vision is their ambition. they die out when it's been fulfilled or when its master passes,” ajaw looks at you with storm clouds in his eyes but you shift in your position and gently close them with your hands. “so long as kinich dreams, he’ll still live. he’s not the type to leave business unfinished.”

tonight ajaw dreams—he hopes that your belief turns out to be true. in the blanket of night he’s grown to be afraid of, he sees you and kinich. but strangely enough, he sees himself in between you two—not as an obstacle, but as a part of your happiness. ajaw finds himself really liking this dream. 

the night kingdom, like its name suggests, is a perpetually cold and dark landscape with only the wayob in front of him casting a faint light. small engravings of his ancient name glows in a light purple as he gazes at his hazy body. surprisingly enough, his bandana still stayed securely on his head. 

“seems like i’m still under the wayob’s protection,” he says to no one in particular as echoes about a flame burning bright eases his worries. “if i’m still here then surely we must have won.”

kinich was about to turn and walk away—to where? he’s not quite sure. as he takes a step after another, the wayob—the original bearer of his ancient name—speaks to him in a voice he can only describe as all knowing; omniscient like his archon.

“you seem troubled, “malipo” kinich,” it said and this makes kinich stop in his tracks. “do you not trust your little companion to bring you victory?”

kinich doesn’t answer immediately. he takes his time to weigh out the answers he could reply with. “trust is a strong word. we’re only bound by a contract after all. i’m simply weighing the chances of my gamble.”

the wayob chuckles, deep and fatherly. kinich felt his shoulders start to relax a little more as the wayob continued to speak to him. “bearers of the “malipo” name are often accompanied by saurian companions through thick and thin. some, if not all, of them had an unbreakable bond between them.”

“so i’ve heard,” kinich says, arms crossing over his chest as he questions, “but a lot of people have questioned your judgment because of it.”

kinich hears a chuckle again as he hears something akin to glass breaking in the distance. 

“i’m well aware, “malipo” kinich. which is why i’m glad,” when kinich looks up to the dark sky, hundreds of shattered fragments rain down on him but he doesn’t shield himself. he feels his heart beat a little faster when he catches sight of his body—lacking his bandana and gloves—land a few feet away from him.

“my judgment was proven right, once again.”

“wait–” but the wayob had lost its glow. kinich doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it further as his own body possessed by a small dragon is grabbing him by the shoulders and screaming at his face.

“consider yourself lucky that i see some value in you “malipo” kinich!” the dragon shouts as he raises his hand, the same hand he always uses to summon ajaw’s power before being blinded by a green glow. “consider this an investment! so you better bring in some profit or i’m taking your beloved as hostage!”

a persistent series of knocks on your front door rudely awakens you from your slumber. grumpily leaving your bed, you try to rub the sleep out of your eyes as you prepare yourself to berate whoever is at your door at this ungodly hour.

“what is it—”

“you win this time, human!” a small dragon screams at you. you blink a few times as you hold out both your hands for ajaw to land on as he huffs and obliges. “i’ve fulfilled my end of the deal, so you better keep yours!”

“please don’t tell me you actually made a deal with him…” when you look up, you feel tears threaten to spill from your eyes again. kinich stands there, a sheepish hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you in distress. you let ajaw go and let your hands drift to kinich’s face, dragging them under his eyes and tracing over his lips as a ghost of a smile starts to form.

you chuckle in disbelief. “yeah, maybe i have.”

“i hope you know the consequences of your decision,” you sneak a peek at ajaw who has his little pixel arms crossed over his chest. you turn back to kinich, a smile on your lips as you tug him inside your not so empty home. “you’ll just have to wait and see.”

ajaw quietly watches as you make kinich some food, a homely ambience blankets the house as you and kinich catch up. he’ll never openly admit it, but he’s glad you agreed to his deal. he feels kinich’s eyes follow him like a hawk as he sits himself down on your shoulder. you offer him a spoon of food but he only huffs in decline. 

you’re waiting has paid off, though ajaw will never verbally admit. the other half of both your souls has come home and your statement was proven right: ajaw’s soul—as well as yours—will always wait for kinich to come home.

and kinich smiles, because like ajaw, he’ll never verbally admit how he’s been waiting for him to save him from the night kingdom all this time.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[newluvrs]

Wonbin ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎  mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: WE ARE MAKING OUT - YEULE, MURA MASA word count: 2.5k bb note: literally just wrote this bc I had the urge to kiss a man

Your fingers nervously fidget with Wonbin’s in the small space between you, too scared to look up at him.  The hints you’ve been sending him all night bold and obvious, a stark contrast to the way you’re behaving right now.  Your lip is pulled between your teeth, and you wish you could watch the expression on his face as you use your tongue to soothe the area you chewed on.  He thinks its funny how you can never just say what it is that you want.  Instead you throw him blatantly obvious gazes and touches.  

Like tonight as the two of you were out with friends you insisted you get SomiSomi, then when he wasn’t looking you purposefully made sure to get the SoftServe on the corner of your mouth, turning to him with a pout to help you wipe it off.  When his thumb slid over your bottom lip you puckered your lips to press a kiss to it.  And from there the hints only got more extreme.  Huffing when you saw the couple on screen kiss during the movie, constantly reapplying more gloss to your lips then asking Karina if you looked good, chewing on the straw of your drink until it was nothing but a shredded piece of plastic. 

Of course Wonbin got the hint ages ago, but he thinks its funnier to see the ways in which you’ll make a fool of yourself just to get him to kiss you.  He pretends not to get the hints, nonchalant as ever.  He likes how you react to him, how when he leans in too close you freeze up in anticipation.  He pressed his face close to yours earlier, he almost felt bad when you closed your eyes thinking he was gonna kiss you and instead he pulled an eyelash away from your cheek.  Life would be so easy for you if you would just ask for what you want, because he would always give it to you, no hesitation.  But he doesn’t mind doing this with you, he’d do it forever if you’d let him.

When you stepped through your apartment door and threw yourself on the couch he thought you might be upset, like maybe he took his private joke too far.  Your baggy shirt rides up your hips a little as you stare at the ceiling.  You think about just caving and asking him point blank, at a loss with how he can’t take a hint.  And you would just ask if you weren’t so nervous, this aspect of your relationship still very fresh.  You cover your face as you’re deep in thought, it should not be this hard to ask your boyfriend to make out with you.  You feel the couch dip next to you and you sit up, pulling your hands away from your face as you flex your fingers.  He hasn’t said anything since you got home, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him after your many failed attempts this evening.  Instead you choose to resign yourself to just playing with his hands as you pointedly try and not make eye contact with him.  

He leans forward, ducking his head down to try and get a look at your face, and you just turn it further away from him, sucking on your lip out of nervousness.  You’re not trying to pout, matter of fact you’re not even mad, he just makes you so nervous.  Every time you’re with him it feels like it’s hard to breathe.  Even when you were just friends, he always had a certain way of making you feel like it was easiest thing in the world to love him.  The air starts to feel a little charged as Wonbin gently pulls his hand away from yours.  You’re about to turn to him and tell him you’re not upset when he grabs you by your waist to pull you closer to him on the couch, the action catching you off guard.  Now it’s your turn to pretend like you don’t understand, playing coy as you continue to not look at him.  Wonbin wants to laugh now at how the roles have reversed, you always seem to switch up when you come face to face with the consequences of your actions.  A beat of silence passes and you think maybe that was it, that nothing else is going to come of this.  

“y/n..”

The way he softly calls your name makes you feel like you were dropped in ice water, making you feel wide awake.  His voice sweet with the way he calls it, you think your name fits perfectly in his mouth.  The letters and intonations coming together to make it your name but somehow sweeter.  When the initial shock wears off you bring yourself to look at him.  

Your first thought is that he’s closer than you thought he was, stomach doing cartwheels as your eyes travel down his features.  When your eyes reach his lips he notices how they linger there a little longer before you bring your gaze up to match his.  He can’t wipe the knowing smile off his face as he speaks. 

“hey”

“hi”

You want to cringe when you hear the way your voice shakes, but right now you’re too distracted, lost in the deep gaze of Wonbin’s pretty eyes.  He just looks at you so fondly it makes you feel like your chest is going to crack open.  An invisible string pulls the two of you closer to each other, until you might as well be on his lap.  He keeps doing the glance from your eyes back down to your lips, but each time he lingers a little longer, pulls himself a little closer.  The tension in the air burns your lungs with every inhale, anticipation and tenderness making your skin warm.  You’ve only been with him like this a handful of times, but already you’ve come to memorize the moves he makes before he gives in.  You suck your bottom lip between your teeth again, just out of habit.  Wonbin brings a hand to your face, using his thumb to pull on your bottom lip to get you to stop.  Your lips part at the action, quick and quiet breaths leaving you.  

Instead of removing his hand, Wonbin chooses to slide it to rest at your jaw, gently caressing your face.  When he leans forward, you close your eyes, remaining as still as possible.  He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling away again.  You pray that he doesn’t notice the way you try and follow him, the hand still cupping your face preventing you from doing so.  A furrow finds its way on your brow, impatience beginning to overpower you.  When you’re the first one to lean forward this time, Wonbin obliges, but this time all he gives you is a quick peck before he’s pulling away again.  Before you can complain he’s pulling you to be seated in his lap, legs resting comfortably on either side of him.  He smooths a hand up your leg, fingers brushing against the exposed skin.  As your caught off guard by the sudden motion, he feels like now’s the perfect time.  

You’re practically trembling by the time he finally leans in, the only thing heard being the sound of each other’s heavy breaths.  It kills you because you think maybe this is another one of his jokes.  Thinking that maybe this time he’s just gonna kiss the tip of your nose, or something infuriating like that.  So when he’s pressing his lips to yours, it takes you a moment to fully register it.  It doesn’t click until both of his hands are holding the sides of your face, deepening the kiss.  When you finally realize, you practically melt against him, pouring every ounce of your yearning into returning the heat of his kisses.   

Nothing about the situation is rushed, you revel in the slow press of his lips against yours, the feeling of his thumb stroking your jaw as he leans into you.  The contrast of the gentle brushes of his lips that quickly turn into deeper presses sends you reeling.  Your breathing speeding up when he starts to tilt his head to work into his kisses.  He always knows when something is too little or too much, knows when to pull away to leave you wanting or when to kiss you so intently it overwhelms your senses.  

His moves become more teasing the longer you spend like this.  He pulls back occasionally to nip at your bottom lip, gently sucking on it as you try and catch your breath.  When your breathing starts to even out slightly he begins pressing little kisses along your jaw.  He doesn’t let you rest for too long before he’s kissing you again, hands sliding from your face to rest in the back pockets of your shorts.  As he cups a handful of your ass, your breath hitches, the feeling of his hands on you making you part your lips in a silent exhale.  He uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, your hands coming up to rest against his chest in an effort to give yourself some stability.  

You’re starting to get greedy now, your hands trailing down his body, just touching and pressing against the muscle.  You notice a change in his kisses, slowly they’re starting to feel hungrier, hands kneading against the soft flesh of your ass.  When your hands reach the bottom of his shirt, you slide your cold fingers under the fabric, feeling the toned skin there.  His waist is so sensitive, your nails dragging along it making him shiver below you.  When you start to feel him harden beneath you it becomes harder to focus, falling out of rhythm with his kisses as your legs tighten around him.  

He grabs your ass again and you unintentionally push your hips forward at the action, grinding against him.  Feeling him groan into the kiss sets something off within you, rocking your hips forward again.  This time he matches the action with a roll of his own hips as his hands hold you steady.  The feeling of it has you pulling away from him, panting into the air as he starts to build a rhythm against you.  He pulls his hands out of your pockets and rest them low on your hips instead, encouraging you to rock against him. 

You risk a glance at him and when you do you see his heavy eyes, his pretty lips swollen and shiny with your combined spit.  A part of you feels cocky, heat burning within you at the thought of that being the result of you.  It makes you feel good enough that you initiate the next kiss, pulling him into you by his shirt collar.  The kisses are sloppy and slightly uncoordinated, both of you struggling to keep up when your focus is clearly elsewhere.  At one particularly good grind you gently lean your head back, staring up at the ceiling as you bask in the feeling.  Wonbin follows you, leaving wet kisses on your throat as he tries to copy the movements.  When you let out a whine he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven.  

He pushes a hand up your shirt, quickly slipping it under your bra and toying with your nipple.  He rolls it between lithe fingers as he watches your reaction, addicted to the way you arch your back to press your chest further into him.  It draws more sounds out of you too, your soft moans now permeating the once quiet atmosphere.  As he tugs on your nipple your movement starts to become more desperate.  You’re starting to become fueled by the achy feeling in your cunt, the wetness becoming uncomfortable as you try and chase the pleasure the best you can.  

Wonbin’s not faring much better either, movements speeding up beneath you in an effort to make the two of you feel good, practically trying to fuck you through your clothes.  When it’s just not enough, he flips your position on the couch, strong arms laying you beneath him as he settles between your legs.  He kisses you again briefly as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper into you.  When he resumes grinding against you the angle makes your brain go numb from the pleasure.  Something about doing everything with clothes on makes this feel so much filthier.  Especially when Wonbin is pushing your shirt up your chest and your bra along with it, your bare chest pressed against his clothed one as he grabs hold of your hips.  

At this angle you’re not gonna last very long, and he can tell.  He sees it in the way you can’t stop tipping your head back, your moans turning into whimpers.  The thought of making you cum in your pants drives him crazy.  He presses a hand by your head to steady himself, grinding as deeply as he can as he bites at your jaw and neck.  

“feels.. good..” 

The way your voice comes out sounds so broken.  If it were another time Wonbin would tease you for it, but in this moment all he can do is gasp against your skin as he nears his high.  He tucks his head into the crevice of your neck as you hold him close, hands tangling in his hair.  His movements start to grow uncoordinated, you doing your best to try and meet him with your own.  You’re almost there when he sinks his teeth into the right side of your neck, shuddering as he lets out a groan.  He fucks his hips against yours as he cums, trying to sink deeper into you despite the fabric barrier.  His hips become twitchy the longer he goes, stuttering against you as you pull at his hair.

The stimulation is starting to be too much for him, making him whine with each push of his hips but he needs to get you there.  He needs to feel you cum against him, despite all the clothes the two of you have on.  When he feels you finally tense up beneath him he doesn’t stop, rolling his hips as deeply as he can as you shake beneath him.  You bring his face up from the crook of your neck, lips desperately trying to find his and when they do, the kiss tastes sweeter than any of the previous ones you’ve shared tonight.  You can barely kiss back but you do the best you can, desperate to have him in every aspect.  

When you finally stop shaking he collapses on top of you, breathing in steady breaths to get yourself to calm down, your orgasm making your mind feel hazy.  His lips find the exposed skin of your neck, leaving small gentle kisses as you play with his hair.  He presses his cheek against you, eyes closing as he decides to speak up, teasing laced in his tone.  

“You could just ask for a kiss next time you know.” 

[romaritimeharbor]

HEIR. — In which Arlecchino's heir comes home after a tough mission.

— trigger & content warnings. references to violence and other dubious activities. mild blood.

— pairings & notes. fluff. arlecchino & heir!reader. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns used). reader is a member of the house of the hearth and is arlecchino's chosen heir. 2.5k words.

— author's thoughts. arlecchino is the best harbinger fr <3

       Being the Knave's heir came with many implications.

       It was, firstly, a role that was never forced upon them; it was more of an offer that Arlecchino extended to them, the child who she felt would make a worthy king and successor should something ever happen to her. It was no obligation—not until they actually inherited her title, that is. Up until that point, they would always be permitted to withdraw. They could withdraw until they literally could not anymore, until they were the director of the House of the Hearth.

       Shackles weighed heavily on their body, growing more difficult to escape from with every passing moment, slowly fusing with their flesh and bone until one could not identify where their body ended and the chains began.

       Their time to dispel the House's darkness from their veins was there, but it was gradually ticking down… not that they particularly minded.

       (They weren't sure that they would fully leave the House, regardless, so its darkness would always inhabit their veins in some way, shape, or form. It would simply be to a lesser degree, if they were to decide that they did not want to be the next Knave.

       ...But they weren't sure that they would do that, either. The spider's web was their home, entangled inseparably with their limbs; it simply felt right for them to become its next owner with how intensely it stuck to their skin, as if it was beckoning them and only them.)

       The implication that they had limited time to leave was not such a heavy burden to bear.

       What was quite the weight, however, was the nature of their missions.

       Missions assigned to them were those that were unsuitable for the other children; generally, "unsuitable" meant extremely bloody and shrouded in the pitch-black shadows of the vile secrets of nobility or political figures. The darkness that their missions harbored ran deep. Missions assigned to them were more than simple intelligence gathering—there was something far more sinister about their work.

       It was often about sending a message.

       It was often about silencing the cackles of boisterous, rich fools who wrongly believed they had won by sending one of the Knave's agents running home like a frightened dog with its tail between its legs, bearing wounds they had not worn before leaving.

       It was often about instilling the fear of those who lurked in the darkest shadows into unwisely confident people who'd only just stepped into the dark, new to the territory and unfamiliar with the dangers that prowled further within.

       Over and over and over again, it was about sending a message.

       Missions that other children failed, they would be sent to complete.

       And often, those missions resulted in them walking home drenched in blood that was not theirs.

       (They still were not quite as elegant as Father, and this was one of the most frequent things that she chided them for… but they were still learning. Arlecchino hardly thought it was worth holding against them when they could successfully complete the missions that others failed to. She was a bit harder on them in the beginning, typically subjecting them to difficult stealth trainings that often involved plenty of brightly-colored paint ready to drench them the second they made a wrong move.

       Much to the Harbinger's intrigue, they had little issue with her trainings. It was never their stealth that was the problem. Rather…

       'Things tend to get… physical quite fast, Father. The people I am sent after are often quite volatile, as I am sure you know, so I have few choices other than to get dirty.'

       'I see.'

       Now, all she usually did when they returned in a disheveled manner was click her tongue and tell them to go clean themselves up, followed by little to no tasks assigned to them the next day, unless there were absolutely necessary operations that could not be avoided or handed to someone else.)

       They supposed that—at the very least—missions of that nature were not common, so they rarely had to tread home tired, bloody, and, sometimes, in a poor mood. It was rare that Father deemed a mission too unsuitable for the other children, yet still appropriate enough for them.

       Unfortunately, however, this was one of those nights.

       Their mission had gone well, as per usual. Nonetheless, they did not return well, and instead came home with a distantly tired expression and rather neat clothes… should one ignore the blood soaking their shoes and the tips of their pants, of course.

       The sight of home only motivated them to walk faster and with more purpose, yet they kept their steps quiet and light to the best of their ability. It didn't take long to reach their destination when their veins were filled with newfound energy and enthusiasm.

       Before fully stepping inside, they took their footwear off as to not drag the evidence of their mission all across the floor.

       (Not that it couldn't be easily cleaned. The skills which their siblings possessed would make cleaning blood the simplest task in the world. No, they were not concerned that the blood would stain the floor or any of the carpets. In their mind, it was more about respecting the home that Father built and not tarnishing it with the blood of unworthy fools. That was what they were concerned about.)

       Once their shoes were secured in their hand, they peered inside. It was vacant and silent. The only sound that filled the room was the quiet crackling coming from the active fireplace.

       Most of their siblings were probably out, they thought, but someone had to be home if the flames were still burning. For safety reasons, everyone was required to put it out, should the House be completely vacant. Someone was home, then.

       They felt no particular need to hide themselves in this state; it wasn't exactly uncommon for a child to return either bruised and beaten or soaked with blood that may or may not have been their own, or some combination of both. Such was the nature of living in the House of the Hearth; everyone came home like that at one point or another. It was mere curiosity that made them wonder who was home. 

       The little ones, Foltz or Heloir? No, Father did not permit them to be home alone with the fire burning, since they were too young and small to handle fire correctly.

       Perhaps Lyney or Lynette, then? But those two had a show scheduled for tonight (one that they were a little upset to have to miss, but their sadness was met with reassurance by the twins, that they would both be more than happy to give them an exclusive show so that they would get to see what they missed).

       Freminet? Maybe, but he was probably with the twins or out diving. He had mentioned that he was going to go if Father did not assign him any new missions.

       With gentle steps, they made their way inside, closing the door behind them using their vacant hand.

       A smooth, elegant, and calm voice called out to them:

       "Welcome home, child."

       "Ah." That's who was home, then. They turned to face the Knave with a polite bow of their head. "Good evening, Father."

       Her gaze pinned them under the weight of scrutiny, eyes quickly taking in their disheveled appearance and tired disposition. "That blood is not yours, is it?"

       There was a vague twinge of something in her tone that they could not quite identify.

       Arlecchino was not a particularly easy woman to read, so it never much bothered them when they could not discern what she was thinking or feeling. Most couldn't. It was not a lack of ability on their part; it was simply a fact of life. The Fourth Harbinger was not a person easily understood.

       …But somehow, it almost felt like she was concerned.

       "No, it isn't," they replied.

       Whatever it was that took hold of her tone a moment ago had dissipated, snuffed out like the small flame of a candle.

       "Good. Go clean yourself up, then. You may deliver an oral report to me later. Worry not about a prompt delivery—concern yourself first with recovery." She turned on her heel. "Oh, and… [Name]?"

       "Yes, Father?"

       "You are not to partake in any missions tomorrow. Do not allow your siblings to include you in any of theirs, either."

       'Do not get roped into your siblings' messes,' is what she meant to say. Their lips twitched upwards in poorly-concealed amusement. She almost certainly could hear it in their voice. She said nothing, however—perhaps she herself was vaguely amused by the implication of her own statement, or perhaps she was endeared by their capacity to clearly and completely understand what she meant to say.

       "Yes, Father."

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       Flames and shadows danced and flickered on the walls, their dance of light and dark uniquely mesmerizing.

       The radiating warmth of the fire caressed their skin, kissing away any of the cold that they might have felt as a consequence of the remaining water droplets clinging to their hair.

       Falling asleep sounded so very tempting, surrounded by the hearth's warmth and safety, sitting… somewhat comfortably on the soft, red rug right with their back partially supported by the sofa behind them.

       It wasn't exactly… uncommon for many of their siblings to take naps here, though that was typically during the day when the golden rays of the sun filtered in through the open window.

       (Lyney and Lynette were notoriously fond of sleeping here in the afternoon when the sun streamed in so perfectly, bathing the carpet in its golden light until it became as warm and cozy as a blanket—they sometimes wondered if it had to do with those two's feline genes, though they dared not ask, in the case that either one would take their question the wrong way.

       They probably wouldn't, especially Lyney. They're certain he would find amusement in their musings… or maybe he would get terribly embarrassed?

       …Ah, well. They wouldn't pry. It was more entertaining to speculate nevertheless.)

       It was not daytime. It was nowhere near daytime.

       If they had to guess, it was more than likely the middle of the night; the only light that filtered in from that window was the cool moonlight, though it's cold light was largely drowned out by the flames roaring in the fireplace.

       Still…

       Sleeping right where they were sounded so much more appealing than getting up and making the lengthy trek to the room they shared with some of their siblings…

       Truly, honestly, they had only intended to rest their body for a moment.

       However, after what felt like a never-ending battle with microsleeps, they allowed their eyelids to flutter shut and finally succumbed fully to sleep, the crackling of the fire cooing its goodnights into their ears.

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       Arlecchino was a woman not easily fooled.

       That much was a given, of course, considering her status as the Fourth of the Fatui Harbingers. The fact that she was a Fatui Harbinger was enough of an indicator of her sheer perceptiveness on its own—surely nobody in such a high position could be anything other than observant. A Harbinger at all, let alone a Harbinger so highly ranked, could not afford to be anything besides calculated, cunning, and sharp-eyed.

       Her understanding of their state was instantaneous; the very moment they walked in the door, she knew.

       She had seen the utter exhaustion seeping into their bones, permeating their very being and making even the simplest tasks quite a bit more challenging. It was all too clear to the Knave, as clear as the most cloudless of days, visible in the way their shoulders slouched and the way their eyes drooped.

       She knew from the very moment they had stumbled—stumbled, their feet barely coordinated and legs struggling to support the rest of their weight—into the house, tired and dazed though still able to muster up respect and courtesy when faced with her. Had they been faced with one of their siblings, Arlecchino was certain that their formality would have quickly crumbled into nothing, but because it was her, they had maintained near perfect diplomacy and grace.

       Nevertheless, they still failed to hide how worn out they truly were (but perhaps that was because she was the person she was; had it been any non-Fatui member, their exhaustion may have slipped by entirely unnoticed).

       Therefore, it was only natural for her to check on them.

       That was part of her responsibility as Father—to know how her children were doing, physically or otherwise, at any given time. A healthy child made for a good soldier. An unhealthy child, less so.

       …But their state of being could only make her sigh as she walked over to them, steps light and soundless as to not disrupt their rest.

       They needed it. That much, Arlecchino was extremely aware of. She was nonetheless irked at their blatant lack of consideration for their own body; sleeping in the position that they were, neck craned uncomfortably against the edge of the sofa and body still incredibly tense, would only serve to strike their body with in great pain the following morning. It was simply unhealthy, but it was also inconvenient, considering the responsibilities that loomed over their shoulder like a shadow of the past that could never be shaken.

       The Knave slipped behind them, gingerly lifting their head with a pleasantly warm hand (though her rings were considerably chilly, but the sting was also a rather pleasant sensation against their skin) so that she was able to situate herself behind them.

       Then, she gently laid their head back down. Now, however, their neck was offered far greater support by her thigh, and her mind was soothed. No longer did the Fourth feel that they would awaken sore and stiff.

       Nails raked across their face and delicately brushed at the hair slightly sticking to their forehead; it had mostly dried by now, but there was still residual moisture clinging to their hair, causing it to adhere—albeit weakly—to their skin. Their eyelids seemed to twitch somewhat. A soft hush from their caretaker, however, and they ceased stirring.

       Mad and cursed. To an extent, perhaps those labels were true; Arlecchino was mad and cursed, but then maybe her children found comfort and safety in her madness and her curses.

       They most certainly did, for despite the brief consciousness they regained, they were quick to allow themselves to be lulled back into a peaceful sleep under the watchful eyes of Father.

       Perhaps "madness" was subjective.

       ...Or perhaps her heir was simply following in her footsteps, slowly descending the same path she did, gradually growing to be as mad as she.

       "Dearest child of mine…" she mused aloud, the tones of her voice soft enough to ensure that they would not begin to rouse once again yet not quite faint enough to be regarded as a whisper. Something one might call fond flickered in her voice as she went on, hand coming to a slow stop and settling on the top of their head: "How foolish you can be."

       The darkness creeping up Arlecchino's arms day by day, indicative of her curse's growing severity, was sated, ceasing its ascent for the time being.

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[fluentmoviequoter]

Tim Testing

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After transferring to the Mid-Wilshire division because of toxic male officers harassing you, you find yourself partnered with Tim Bradford. When you are injured during a Tim Test, you hide the injury so he doesn't think less of you.

Warnings: angst to fluff, misogynistic comments and actions toward reader (from police officers), reader is injured and passes out, Tim is a softie

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

A/N: This was such an amazing request!! Tim (and everyone at Mid-Wilshire) would be so welcoming after dealing with something like this, so I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

You knew from the beginning that it would be different for you, that being a female cop would have its pros, cons, and tough moments. What you didn’t expect was the men who were supposed to be your equals harassing you and making each moment far worse than it should have been.

Between the crass comments about how your uniform fit, questioning whether it was your time of the month whenever you tried to stand up for yourself, and their inability to trust you in the field, you learn your place quickly.

“I’d like to request a transfer to a different station,” you tell your commanding officer.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because there is no respect, no trust in this station. Looking over my shoulder while I’m trying to work, and having to defend myself against the very people who are supposed to have my back is exhausting and it makes me unable to do my job.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he slides a form to you. “Your decision. Though showing how weak you are by moving around every time things get hard, or your feelings get hurt isn’t plausible.”

“And you had to ask why,” you mutter, snatching the paper off his desk and walking out to fill it out in private.

“Hey, princess, before we leave on patrol I need to know you don’t have your gun at the front of your belt,” someone calls. “Don’t want to risk getting killed by your poor aim.”

You remain silent, which makes them quit or spurs them on to push you further. As if your day isn’t going poorly already, they take your silence as a weakness.

“Just her gun? You should be more worried about how her attitude changes if her bra rides up or her hormones spike,” a second voice adds.

“You’re on your own today,” you reply. “I’m on desk duty.”

“Finally, someone put you where you belong.”

The men laugh as they walk toward their shops, and you take a deep breath as the quiet settles over the station. Once your paperwork is complete, you take it to the captain. You can only hope it goes through quickly before you get fed up and quit forever.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your commanding officer yells your name as you walk in, intercepting you on your way to the locker room. 

“Your transfer just came through, you’re expected at the Mid-Wilshire division for roll call first thing in the morning; today’s PTO while we complete the paperwork,” he informs.

You accept the paper he hands you and pretend not to hear as he adds, “I hope they know what they’re getting into and have the patience to deal with you.”

Smiling as you empty your locker, you hope things are looking up. Although, you know it will be hard to open up to new people and trust new cops, even if they are different than your previous team.

✯✯✯✯✯

Entering the Mid-Wilshire station, you cross your fingers that transferring was the right decision. Sergeant Wade Grey is your new commanding officer, and your day (and your future) relies on this meeting going well.

“Sergeant Grey?” you ask, knocking on his open door.

He looks up, smiling as he beckons you inside. Saying your name, he opens a folder and compliments your arrest record. “I was surprised to hear you asked for a transfer, it seemed like you were doing well at your previous station.”

“The environment was making it difficult to do as well as I know I can, sir,” you answer.

Grey nods. “I can understand that. Our people are good, though, so I expect you will fit in well and succeed in all you do here.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“And you can drop the ‘sir,’ we’re not as formal as some other stations.”

Blinking in surprise, you look away from Wade when another cop enters the small office. 

“Sergeant Bradford, I’d like to introduce you to your new partner. I will warn both of you this is likely a temporary partnership, but one I trust will do you both some good.”

You smile at Bradford, who tilts his head to the side as he looks you over. It’s clear that he isn’t thrilled about having a partner, having grown used to working alone since becoming a sergeant. As long as he doesn’t treat you like a boot, or worse, like a girl who doesn’t have what it takes to be a cop, you can survive working with him for a few weeks.

What you don’t see, though, is that Tim can look at you and tell you’re a good cop. He reviewed your paperwork and arrest record with Wade yesterday, and he’s impressed by you. You’re good, but you have the potential to be better with the right help. And, for some reason, Wade is convinced that Tim can give you the push you need to be your best.

“Okay, let’s go,” Tim says, turning away as Wade tells you to have a good day.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim acknowledges that you’re not a rookie but warns you from the beginning that you still have something to prove.

“I know you’ve been a cop for a while, but I haven’t seen you in action. Your records are admirable, but I need to see proof that you’re still that good,” he explains. “So, I will test you and challenge you while we’re riding together, but don’t view it as starting over, more like proving grounds than qualifications.”

You nod, remembering something Wade muttered about “Tim Tests,” which you’re sure are unique to Bradford.

“I understand. I’ll do my best, and I want to learn to be better.”

Tim doesn’t reply, and you raise your guard, unimpressed with how shut off he is with you. In general, your past has made you wary around men; after Tim’s insistence that you have something to prove, you are determined to hide everything that could be taken as a sign of weakness. You will do whatever it takes to show you are a good cop, worthy of respect.

Slamming on the brakes, Tim yells, “We’re being ambushed; what do you do?”

“Radio for backup, stay in the shop, stay low, and fire only if necessary,” you answer, nearly robotically, as he catches you off guard.

Tim eases back onto the road, ignoring you once again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Just before your scheduled lunch break, something which you haven’t actually enjoyed in far too long, Tim parks between two old warehouses.

“There’s a suspicious package in the gray building, you’re riding alone and need to check it out,” he explains. “Radio any information as you find it.”

You switch your radio to a private channel with Tim, accepting the call as you exit the shop and enter the building. It’s dark and wet, but you refuse to accept any comments or disdainful looks from Tim if you fail this test, so you will find the package and impress him as quickly as possible.

“7-Adam-9, located suspicious package: brown paper bag situated between steel beams,” you radio.

“Dispatch, requesting additional information,” Tim replies.

You sigh, moving forward to look at the bag because you can’t touch it. When you move, the beams sitting upright in the warehouse shift. Stepping back a second too late, one side of the heavy structure hits the back of your shoulder, shoving you forward into the crate holding the package.

Pain radiates through your shoulder as you move to the side, pulling yourself away from the mess you made with a sharp inhale.

“7-Adam-9, false alarm. Suspicious package is empty. Code 4.”

“Copy 7-Adam-9.”

Taking a step toward the door, you hiss in pain as the pain moves from your shoulder around to your ribs, where you fell against the crate. It seems likely that you broke something or at least got a deep bruise, but telling Tim would be like admitting that you’re weak. So, as you level your expression and cover your pain by walking normally, you decide to hide your pain.

Being labeled weak or incapable, or as before, giving Tim a reason to view you as less than is not an option anymore. Buckling your seatbelt, you press your lips together to keep your pained sounds muted, and the feeling of the seat on your shoulder makes you count down the minutes until you can get out of the shop.

✯✯✯✯✯

As the day goes on, your pain grows in intensity. Each breath causes immeasurable pain, and your stomach turns when you move your shoulder in any direction.

“Wade’s going to ask me, so how’s your first day going?” Tim asks, turning down a residential street to respond to a noise disturbance.

“Fine,” you answer quickly, clenching your jaw to stay quiet.

“Good,” he replies, though his voice sounds different. “Glad you found a station that works for you.”

You can’t tell if his comment is passive-aggressive, implying that you are the issue rather than the station you transferred from. The overbearing pain you’re feeling makes it nearly impossible to care.

“You take point on this one,” Tim offers as he parks by the curb.

“Yes, sir.”

Asking questions and explaining the city’s noise ordinances to the tenant, you’re momentarily distracted from your pain. The moment you turn to return to the shop, though, you’re reminded that your new position isn’t quite as enjoyable as you were expecting.

“Take us back to the station,” Tim says, tossing the shop keys to you.

When you raise your hand to catch the keys, your shoulder screams in protest, and you close your eyes momentarily to hide the pain.

“You alright?” Tim asks.

Nodding, you release a sigh when Tim climbs into the passenger seat, too easily convinced by your answer.

✯✯✯✯✯

After a quick meeting with Wade, discussing your new role, and signing a few documents, you head for the locker room. When you pull your shirt off, you glance in the mirror, surprised to see the size and color of the bruise; your entire shoulder, over to your neck and down around the front of your ribs, is a sickening purple. The yellowish tint around the edges is a sign that it will only worsen before it begins to heal. Attempting to raise your arm again, you feel something shift under your skin and step into one of the bathroom stalls, kneeling as you try to keep yourself from being sick. When you lean your head against the metal wall, the coolness is soothing, and as you finally let yourself acknowledge the pain, it becomes all you can feel.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim opens Wade’s door, furrowing his brows when he sees you’re not there.

“She left a few minutes ago,” Wade answers.

“Her car’s still here.”

“Must be in the locker room then.”

“Why’d she transfer?” Tim asks, stepping inside to close the door.

“I don’t know, Bradford. You’re going to have to ask her.”

Tim nods, turning away to search for you. He knocks on the locker room door, and when no one answers, he opens it and says your name. Once again met with silence, he steps inside and looks around. Your locker is open, but you’re nowhere to be seen. As he rounds the last row of lockers, he sees someone sitting on the floor in one of the bathroom stalls.

Tim says your name, knocking on the door. It opens at his touch, and he catches it before it hits your arm. Kneeling beside you, he looks across your face, pressing his hand behind your neck as he tries to find the source of your unconsciousness. His hand dips to your upper shoulder, and you groan, opening your eyes.

Tim ignores you as you wake, gently leaning you forward as he surveys the bruise where it’s visible past your tank top.

“Stay awake,” he says, moving you again. “Just your shoulder?”

You nod, and he demands to know: “Home or hospital?”

“Home,” you whisper. “But I can-“

“Obviously you can’t,” Tim snaps, his arms gentler than his voice as he lifts you from the ground.

✯✯✯✯✯

You stay conscious, fighting against the pain as you give Tim directions to your home. After getting you inside and as comfortable as possible, he leaves your side to gather a few things before returning. He gives you a glass of water and a few pain reliever pills, waiting until you’ve taken them to lay an ice pack across your shoulder. You take a deep breath at the cold before catching yourself.

“What else hurts?” Tim asks.

“My ribs,” you admit.

He leans you back gently, pushing your tank top to your sternum as he surveys the darkening bruise across your lower ribcage. Gently moving his hand across your skin, he doesn’t feel anything obviously broken, apologizing as you whimper at the pressure. Pulling the first aid kit he brought from your kitchen to his side, he places several cooling packets over your ribs. 

Satisfied that he’s done all he can do for you, Tim moves to sit across from you, making himself comfortable in your living room.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m not leaving,” he answers quickly, “what if you collapse again?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Tim silences, closing his eyes as he leans back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’ve heard that question dozens of times, but previously, it was asked in a much different tone. Always an accusation that you hadn’t handled something correctly or that you should have let someone else do whatever it was that needed to be done. 

When you look back at Tim, his eyes are on you, and you shrug. His eyes narrow as his gaze intensifies, demanding your answer.

“The last station that I worked at made me nervous to tell people things, especially other cops. All of the guys that I worked with harassed me constantly, and they tried to convince me that I wasn’t a good cop because I was a woman. So, I have trouble trusting other police officers with personal things. During your Tim Tests, I thought that if I acknowledged something had happened, you’d see me the same way.”

“Which way?”

“Weak, incapable,” you answer, trailing off.

“They were bad people,” Tim explains. “They may have been okay cops, but no one deserves to be treated like that.”

You nod, licking your lips as your gaze drops to the blanket across your lap.

“Want to tell me what happened today?” he pries.

“The steel beams around the bag?” Tim nods, so you continue, “They fell. One of them hit my shoulder and knocked me forward.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known that would happen. Besides, you helped me. My last partner would have found a way to blame be.”

“Like I said, bad people. But you… you’re a good person and a good cop,” Tim continues. “I’ve known that since you walked in, but I needed to know that you knew. Getting hurt or being unable to do something on the first try doesn’t make you less of a person, or a cop. Being a woman doesn’t either. And if they didn’t see that, it’s their loss.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.

“And my gain.”

You furrow your brows at Tim, but he leans back and closes his eyes instead of elaborating.

[ateezinmymind]

secret

seonghwa x reader

fluff, smut

warning: fem! reader, unprotected sex, cum play, fingering, alcohol + marijuana mentioned

word count: 2.5k

tag list: (let me know if you want to be on it)

the way he stared at you from across the fire made you flush - and not from the burning flames. his gaze hard and seductive, his bottom lip tucked loosely between his teeth. his wet jet black hair splayed across parts of his forehead from the deep ocean he had been night swimming in.

you and park seonghwa had a little secret to keep from the others

something only the two of you knew about, and something your seven other friends couldn’t know about.

“you all good y/n?” yunho pipes up beside you, making your concentration pull away from the man across the makeshift driftwood bench you seated yourself down at. yunho’s features displayed with worry and confusion, “you haven't even touched any of the food - this is a bonfire girl, get livin’!” his little shoulder groove made you let out a small laugh and shake your head just slightly.

“oh no yuyu, i’m all good, i’m sorry. my mind is all over the place” you say while you raise your hand that has a hold of your bottle of alcohol and joint between your two fingers. “just me and my high ass”

this makes him laugh and shove your shoulder in a friendly manner, and you peek a quick glance at seonghwa once again - finding him staring back with a smirk, his own hand coming up to bring his drink to his parting lips. “well, just had to make sure” yunho adds after he finishes snickering. “you should go out for a dip, it might clear your head”.

this piqued your interest as you began to nod your head with a growing smile, “yeah yunho, that actually sounds really nice.”

“of course babe, just make sure to not go out alone - we can’t have you drifting too far off in the night” and with letting out one last chuckle, he dips his head and jogs off to where mingi and hongjoong were debating - probably about the right way to roast a marshmallow or something of the sort. (you didn’t even bother to look)

perking the arch of your brow up slightly, your eyes catch seonghwas one final time and you decide to take control of the situation. having grown tired of sending flirtatious notions towards each other for most of the night. so, standing up from the driftwood below you, a single nod of your head has seonghwa lifting from his seated position swiftly with an all knowing smile.

“shit!!!” you hiss out, elbows flying out to keep your arms lifted - your face pulling with a clenched jaw. “its freeeeezing”

submerged to your lower ribs, t-shirt halfway soaked, you watch seonghwa dunk below the moon reflected and rippling surface. subconsciously taking a breath in and holding it until he emerges once more.

only then, you let out a small shriek as you feel his nimble fingers just barely dip under your shirt. right above your navel, causing a flutter of excitement in your stomach

“how’s it goin?” he asks you dumbly with a big grin, the glimmering water droplets running down his face. you try and refrain from watching one trail all the way down his chin as your gaze just barely drops down to peek-

“y/n?” he asks again, finally succeeding at getting ahold of your attention, you lift your eyes up and let a small giggle pass. your body submerged in the moving water, yet going nowhere under his soft hold - merely swaying in intoxication. “i'm having fun,” you blankly say with a know it all look, taking in another deep breath - only for an involuntary shiver to chatter in your jaw. his eyes soften at this, and his fingers slide up and around to caress your back and lower shoulders. the feeling makes itself very apparent on your goosebump covered skin. “oh yeah?” he asks, biting back a laugh just watching your eyes squint with yet another infectious snort. “why are you so giggly” he joins.

it was a dumb question really, but that was all part of the fun

lifting your chin a bit higher, your lips just inches away from his - you take your arms over his bare shoulders and lift up off your feet, bringing them around his waist. “i dont know, maybe because im high?” your obvious response made him roll his eyes and finally lower his hold, and support your new position. one hand on your lower back and the other unapologetically on your ass, the contact in turn making you naturally sink more into him.

“o-oh” a small moan escapes your throat as your panty covered heat brushes against his now hardening bulge, having seonghwa let out a responsive grunt.

then silence.

“whatcha doin now” he pipes lowly, slowly closing the distance between the both of your lips and stopping just before you connect. under his close proximity, you adjust strategically and almost deviously - by fully grinding down on his erection. “trying to get you hard” you simply reply, earning a full on moan from seonghwa just before you close the space entirely. swallowing his sounds, the taste of the salty water and alcohol mix with your fighting tongues.

arousal floods your system as your hips continue their grinding motions, seonghwa’s hold on your ass helping guide by tugging and pushing away. and it wasn’t until his hard on painfully strained against the thin suctioned fabric of his boxers he pulled off your mouth, unable to take any more torment. lifting your hips off of him, you whine out from both the loss of pleasurable sensation to your cunt, and the temperature difference of being pulled off his own body heat. though seonghwas hold still on you, your legs drop back down and your feet land down into the sandy ocean bottom.

“okay, y/n, you got me hard” he laughs, exasperatingly. trying to calm his own lust and desire despite the very apparent aroused state. this only makes you roll your eyes and pout.

“you dont wanna fuck?”

seonghwa shakes his head quickly and for the first time looks back at the small group of boys back on the beach yelling back and forth. then back to you - and you're shivering, leading him immediately into decision.

releasing his hold on you completely he leans in for a moment before trudging his way back to shore - “let's get you out of the water and continue, yeah?”

making your way past the scattered friend group was easier than you had initially thought, it just took one look from hongjoong, yunho and yeosang for them to assume the both of you were headed to the parked cars in order for a change of clothes. (the other boys were very immersed in their game of longest handstand, which jongho and san currently battled for the first place it seemed).

the night sky still bright with the lunar glow, you're drawn out of your thoughts when seonghwa gently caresses the back right side of your waist, speaking with a soft tone while closing in towards the vehicles by the beachgrass, “are you wanting to continue?”. looking up, you smile excitedly and nod in response. turning your body to press up against him again once you two disappear behind the car's cover. only this time are you grounded, your intoxicated state backing you up - tongue wetting your lower lip seductively, seonghwa’s grip tightens on you after he chokes out yet another moan. your hand placed over the top of his trousers, palming the (very prominent) hard on he had from moments before.

“please”

how could he refuse such a plea, especially from you - nimble hand between his thighs, your eyes merely staring up into his- almost doe like. taking a look down to watch your hand, seonghwa gives some time to deliberately roll his hips into your opposing touch. “fuck y/n,” he curses, his free hand going down to grab your wrist, “you drive me crazy”

you politely giggle, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “enough talk,” taking the lead once more, you lift up onto your toes and lock lips with him. the both of you in yet another fight for control, moans get swallowed and your positions naturally change. lifted up from the ground, seonghwa slows down the kiss and with one hand (not holding your straddling thighs up) opens the backseat door of his car.

the distant conversations and game shouts from over by the bonfire fade out as he sits you down carefully on the seat. “can i take your panties off?” he questions while casually dropping his trunks, or rather peeling off the wet almost plastered fabric - your eyes dart up before you can catch sight of his cock. your blood runs hot and you feel your pussy clench in anticipation, arousal already leaking from your core, “of course” you confirm, readily lifting your hips to help him grab the waistline. silently smiling, your heart swells from hearing his usual ask for consent.

“i love when you smile,” seonghwa cheers, confidently sliding off your underwear and tossing them into the front passenger seat. the remark makes you roll your eyes, “you always say that, come on i’m getting impatient” you groan out, wiggling your hips and slightly opening your legs with a knowing intention. “we can confess all we want after you fuck me, ‘kay?”

seonghwa laughs at this, and you don’t even have time to realize ‘confess’ was your word choice before lips latch to the nape of your neck and an awaited sigh falls from you. his tongue gently swiping across the smooth skin, seonghwa leans over more into you and when his prominent erection brushes against your inner thigh you snake your hand down to fist him.

he immediately shutters under your touch, pausing his peppering to your pulse points. his heavy and shaking breathing only pushes you further, so beginning to fully jerk him off you watch him attentively from below.

“so handsy” he teases with an airy voice, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows hard, “why don't you help yourself baby, yeah?”

wetting your lips another flutter of excitement confines in your lower stomach, and with an agreeing nod you guide him into position. seonghwa swiftly moves in motion with you and does the go ahead and carefully inches himself completely in your cunt.

feeling his dick glide deeper with ease from all your slick, your walls dilate around him and you both moan in unison- followed with a shared giggle.

“much better” you snide, your voices pitch slightly higher as your body adjusts to his size, making his cock twitch. he smiles and once again dips down to kiss you passionately.

sliding himself out slowly he then- with deliberate ease, thrusts back in. your legs wrap around his waist in response and the sounds of pleasure spill out of both your mouths when he breaks from your lips. “so perfect” he huffs out in an awe-like manner, speeding up. the quicker and harder force makes your tits bounce and high pitched cries flood out your open mouth, his dick reaching deep inside your cunt, kissing your cervix with pleasurable ease.

“oh fuck seonghwa” you mewl, looking up with knit brows at the man above, “yes, right there!!” you watch as he smirks and lowers his eyes down, clenching around him tightly in response. feeling your high near closer and closer with every quick thrust. a hiss of buckling euphoria comes out of seonghwa’s clenched teeth, his dick twitching at the sight of him disappearing inside your tight spasming wetness. his thrusts faltering slightly.

“god- y/n baby, where do you want me to come?” he chokes out as he grabs your hips, slowing down his movements. the grip on you shoots to the pit of your stomach and more arousal floods just hearing him all whiny for you, “anywhere please just don’t stop now.”

with your green light, it had seonghwa pounding into you yet again, his hold getting tighter as he burrowed deep with every rut of his hips.

neither of you had time or care to realize the whole car shifting with your bodies.

grunting, seonghwa gives two more rapid thrusts and pulls out just as he reaches orgasm. his cum spurting out on your cunt. he moans heavily while watching it drip all over, “fuckkkk” he curses, and you whine with your bottom lip between your teeth - hips bucking up for more, “im so close hwa, please don’t stop” you tell him again.

his dick used and twitching, seonghwa is quick to carefully slip two fingers inside your pussy. his release mixes in with your slick as he fucks his cum deep with every thrust of his digits. curling his fingers and stimulating your g-spot repeatedly, your jaw goes slack and your body begins to shake with your climax. “yesyesyessss” you cry out, bundle of pleasure snapping. your thighs clamp around his wrist and hips grind down desperately against his wet knuckles as you ride out your high.

heavy breathing is the only sound once the two of your highs come down and he slides his fingers out between your thighs. carefully spreading them for him again, only now he reaches over and grabs a beach towel from the seat behind you- bringing it down to clean up the sticky mess you both created.

smiling, you thank him and sit yourself up, “of course pretty,” he says as he reaches his arm over the passenger seat and grabs his spare change of boxers under your damp panties, bringing them through your ankles. “thank you” he says in return, sliding them up and over your bottom.

he stops and takes a long look at your face.

“you're so beautiful, y/n do you know that?”

this makes you smile shyly and flush, yet you nod- “yes.. you tell me often-”

“i love you” he blurts out, his own face turning a light pink- “and i know this is a weird time to confess but i-” kissing him before he rambles on, you bring your hands up to his face and slowly part with a giggle. “i love you too hwa”

you see his eyes light up with that and his lips fighting a big smile, so you tilt your head back and tease him

“it's okay seonghwa, you can smile at your girlfriend.”

hearing that he complies happily and laughs “i like that sound of that”

“so do i” you reply, “pull up your trunks so we can go back to the boys?” you ask and seonghwa follows, helping you out of his car after his bottoms are back around his hips.

“do you think they suspect anything about us yet?” he says with a joking snort, “oh please, i doubt it” you reply with a wave of your hand.

as the both of you walk your way back to the group, wooyoung is the first to notice your appearance in the dark distance (still in your wet shirt) and says something- or rather screams to the whole group right in yeosang’s ear,

“I THINK Y/N AND SEONGHWA JUST FUCKED!!!”

[arjwrites]

The Space Between- Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: GN!Reader breaks their arm on a hunt and needs a little assistance. This is a Dean version of my other fic Close (Sam x Reader), as requested by @the-scream-story !

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Injury, nudity, strong references to sex. MDNI!

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE! I had so much fun writing this. This is officially the end of my writer's block- I am back in business, baby. I hope you all enjoy!!!

“DAMN IT!” Your voice echoed out of the bathroom from behind the closed door, punctuated with the contents of your toiletry bag crashing to the floor. Instantly regretful of your outburst, you prayed that no one had heard your voice above the dull whir of the bathroom fan and the rushing water cascading against the floor of the tub. The last thing you wanted was for one of the boys to come try to play the knight in shining armor to your damsel in distress.

After making some brief mental calculations, you figured Sam would still be out grabbing food, leaving only Dean in your shared motel room. There was no way he heard you, and even if he had, you doubted he would stir from his current position. When you had headed in for your attempted shower, the man was already reclined in a chair, beer in hand, and engrossed in some sub-par TV show. 

Attempted truly was the best word to describe the shower experience so far. Last night’s hunt had landed you with a broken arm, and a long wait at the ER had delayed your return to the motel into the wee hours of the next morning. At this moment, it was 4am and none of you had slept. And you, covered in a mix of dirt, and blood (yours and the creature’s), figured that a quick shower would be the best catalyst for sleep. 

But twenty minutes had passed since you had holed yourself up in the bathroom. There were several obstacles that sat between you and a warm, clean nap. Your dominant arm was confined to a cast, providing a myriad of challenges. First was getting off your clothes. Next was wrapping your cast with the ziploc bag and duct tape combo you had armed yourself with. Then was navigating your shower routine, somehow shampooing your hair and scrubbing blood off your body with your weak hand while trying to keep the other clear from the water. 

It was an impossible task, but asking for help was not necessarily your forte. Plus, you felt horrible having kept the boys up all night because of your injury. Of course, they waved you off, used to the sleepless nights, taking the late hours in stride and going about their usual post-hunt routines (Sam’s supply run and Dean’s beer and motel TV marathon). Though neither of them would ever admit it, you could see the exhaustion radiating off their every movement, and the guilt ate at you. The last thing you wanted to do was to ask either of them to do you any more favors.

But your hopes of soldiering on independently were crushed in an instant. In a valiant effort to singlehandedly take off your shirt, the tight fabric had become twisted over your head, covering your eyes and trapping your free arm against you. And when your balance was thrown off, you stumbled back, foot catching the shower curtain and bringing the tension rod down with a decisive bang. Shit. There was no way Dean hadn’t heard that. 

Your suspicion was quickly met with a firm knock on the bathroom door. 

“You alright in there?” Dean’s voice harbored no sign of annoyance, simply concern. So after a few deep breaths and a moment to wriggle your head free from its trap, you conceded to what seemed to be your only option.

“Dean, can you come in?” 

Nothing could have prepared Dean for the sight behind the door. There you sat, in a pile of shower curtain and shampoo bottles, one arm pinned to your head and the other pinned to your chest. The shower, still running and void of its curtain, had started to spray down on your fully clothed body, adding insult to injury. Dean’s mouth gaped open for a moment, searching for the words, eyes blinking as he took in the scene.

“Look, I need your help. Please don’t be weird about it. Can you just help me get this shirt off and then I’ll just wrap the cast and hop in-” Your nervous rambling was cut off as Dean lifted you from the floor and sat you down on the closed toilet seat. 

“Sweetheart, you’re not doing this by yourself. You’re gonna mess up that cast and I am not going back to that goddamn hospital.” You cringed at the memory of the long hours you, Sam, and Dean had spent under those horrible fluorescent lights. Though his remarks dripped in frustration, nothing about his appearance did- his eyes and lips were graced with the softest echoes of a smile.

You mumbled a few protests but Dean had already set right to work. In a few, swift movements, he had popped the shower curtain back into place, pulled it aside, plugged the drain, and shifted the source of the water down to the bathtub spout. When the water began to pool in the bottom of the tub, he turned back to you. 

“Dean, I really don’t need you to do this. I’ll be fine if I can just get this damn shirt off,” you huffed, punctuating your complaint with a few pulls at your restraint. This was exactly what you had feared, and it made it all the more embarrassing because it was Dean. You felt vulnerable and looked ridiculous, and here he was cleaning up your mess and drawing you a bath? Your nerves wound tightly in your stomach as Dean lowered himself to sit on the lip of the tub across from you. The tiny motel bathroom left little room between the two of you, and your knees brushed against each other in your seated positions. 

“You’re hurt and I’m helping you. Take it from me, you don’t need to pull the tough guy routine all the time. It’s not gonna help anyone.” It was as if the intensity of his eye contact had taken hold of your entire body. You were frozen in front of him, caught off guard and melting quickly as warmth swelled in your heart. This felt different than the usual Dean. In a way, him helping you in your vulnerabilities seemed vulnerable of him, too. And there was no denying your feelings for the man. In the short few years you had hunted with the brothers, you had developed a soft spot for the older Winchester that you had vowed to never let see the light of day. But your heart was beating hard and fast against your chest, because here he was, right in front of you, reaching in to unbutton your shirt…

You shook the thoughts from your head, recognizing the tenderness of the moment. Off came your shirt, which Dean haphazardly folded and placed on the counter. The intensity that buzzed between the two of you raged on unencumbered for a while. It made you nervous to look at him even a second longer, so you turned your gaze to your jeans, working at the button with your free hand. Dean sat back, letting you work for a moment, before stepping in to help and to dissolve the tension with a joke. 

“This might be the longest it’s ever taken someone to take their pants off for me,” he chuckled to himself as he popped the button free with ease.

Your head snapped up to him, your expression tinged with annoyance, but Dean didn’t miss the blush that tinged your cheeks and the smile that threatened to breach the surface. He knew you were unhappy with the situation, a bit anxious and uncomfortable, so he figured he would do what he did best- crack a few jokes. Plus, he had come so close to kissing you right then and there that he needed a way to distract himself. 

Dean always knew how to make you laugh. It was one of the things you liked most about him. So any nerves you had about being naked in front of Dean Winchester were easily melted away because you couldn’t help yourself from laughing the whole time. Like head-thrown-back, full-body-shaking laughter. What had started as a challenging and tense situation had boiled down to just simply hanging out with Dean. 

He had lowered you into the tub, you clinging to his arm for dear life, until you were sat down, the bubbles in the water providing you just the right amount of coverage to make you feel even more secure. Once you were settled in, Dean took a step back, sitting down to let you get to work. He knew you would want to retain a bit of independence, so he let you work on scrubbing whatever you could with the arm you had, only stepping in when you needed his help. The time was filled with conversation about the previous hunt, wonders about what Sam could possibly bring back for food at this hour, and plenty of shared laughter at Dean’s jokes. 

“So I see you don’t have a lifeguard here at your beach,” Dean said, taking on a dramatic tone as if he were playing a character. 

“Dean, what are you-” 

“No, no, no. You’re supposed to say, ‘I’m not at the beach, this is a bathtub.’” He wagged a finger at you as he corrected your response. 

“What the hell are you talking ab- Oh my God! DEAN!” Realizing the origin of the joke he was making, you used your free hand to splash him with the warm soapy water. But you couldn’t even feign frustration- your laughter gave you away. 

Things continued on like this for a while- you and your washcloth scrubbing dirt and blood from every corner of your skin, Dean cracking jokes, and occasionally stepping in to offer a hand.

“Look, let me do your hair for you. How the hell are you supposed to do that with one hand?” Dean interjected as you attempted to lather shampoo in your palm. 

He kneeled on the floor next to you, taking the bottle into his hands. As he worked, you took time to notice the sensations around you, to ground yourself in the moment. You watched soap bubbles take flight as you moved through the bath. You felt the warm water lapping at your skin, and the gentle circles Dean’s fingers made on your scalp. You could smell the clean scent of the soap that filled the tub, the floral perfume of the shampoo, both mixed with something you could only describe as Dean. He smelled like some combination of the beer he was drinking, his usual cologne, and the lingering sweat and dirt of the day’s hunt. Rarely were you close enough to Dean to be able to smell him, but whenever you did, you relished in the moment. But at this particular moment, his proximity was drawing all of the nerves back into your system. Dean was hovering over your naked body- you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he worked his fingers through your hair. Beyond feeling his touch on your skin, you felt as if you could feel him- his presence, his essence. It was so intimate, so romantic, that your heart swelled and your mind raced to a million and one places. Nevertheless, you remained anchored in the bath, the water and bubbles serving as a shield and the only thing that served to separate the two of you. 

When you were finished, all the suds rinsed off your body leaving you squeaky clean, you weren’t sure how to feel. Dean had slipped out of the room to grab you a towel, and though you remained in the tub filled with the warm water and the air hung hot and heavy with humidity, the lack of his presence still made the room feel cold. Sitting alone with your thoughts, even for such a brief moment, you had realized the extent of your feelings, the irreparable mark Dean had left on your heart. In your head, you rifled through a library of moments you two had shared, picturing this morning’s events sliding into place on the shelf as the newest edition of the series.

Stepping back into the room with the towel, Dean handed it over to you before plucking the plug from the drain and helping you rise to your feet. You braced the towel underneath your broken arm and used the other to wrap it around yourself, hoping to restore even a shred of your decency- though there was little point in that anymore. Now there sat a power imbalance in your relationship with Dean- he had all the cards in his hands. So when you stepped out of the tub, you stood square in front of him, determined to level the score somehow. 

You lingered for a moment, both of you locked in an intense stare, feeling goosebumps radiate your entire body. At first, you attributed these to your drastic change in body temperature since stepping out of the water, but when you noticed a similar sensation rising over Dean, your perception shifted. Dean cleared his throat.

“So, uh, you want me to help you get dressed?” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck to settle the hairs that had been raised under your intense look.

“Not really.” You murmured in response, looking to him through lidded eyes. The unusual burst of confidence in your system inched you closer and closer, until there was nothing that separated the two of you but the thin towel you had wrapped around your frame. 

You channeled every ounce of what you were feeling into your gaze, praying Dean could read your thoughts through your eyes as if you were an open book. When he reached a hand up to cup your face, you knew the message was received. With a slowness that was almost painful, he leaned his forehead against your own, drawing his lips nearly to yours before rerouting them to your cheek, just slightly above their initial destination. After planting the softest kiss, his lips lingered, hovering ever so slightly above you. Dean was in limbo, as if he couldn’t decide whether to pull away and return to safety, or lean in to seal the deal. But you made the choice for him when your hand snaked around the back of his head and pulled him down to you, closing the gap between your lips. 

The kiss was everything you had hoped it would be, and yet, nothing you could have ever imagined. Dean was soft and gentle, so cautious of your injury, but you could feel the intensity so thinly veiled below the surface. The energy flowed from both of you, as if you were cautiously exploring something so new and dangerous, yet so incredibly desirable and magnetic. Something needed to break the seal, to throw your cautions to the wind.

You wanted to kiss Dean Winchester forever, and he shared the sentiment. So the only thing that could break you two away was the brief moment when you took a calculated step back. Confusion twisted into Dean’s face, before melting away into desire when you let your towel fall to pool at your feet. He took his own step back, reaching behind him to turn the lock on the bathroom door, before closing the gap between you- the very last time there would ever be space between you and Dean Winchester.

[another-lost-mc]

Solomon isn't just immortal. He's a vampire and we find out by accident. The moment MC sees the fangs and it's like the monster fucker light switch flips on. Wanting to see if it's true we feel pleasure as he feeds and feeling him take us til hes empty and full.

If you knows what I mean 😏😉

➤ temptations | solomon x afab!reader

solomon knows all the secrets you try to keep from him. it's only a matter of time before you learn his secret too.

content: nsfw (18+). afab!Reader (gn!pronouns). vampire au. canon-typical vampire behaviour including biting/blood drinking and possessiveness/jealousy, past killing/murder, minor angst, pining, pet names, teasing, thigh riding, overstimulation. 2.5k+ words.

Vampire!Solomon who hides his true identity from you because you’re overwhelmed adjusting to life in the Devildom. He wants to be your human exchange student friend, someone you can trust and turn to. He swears to the others that he’s no danger to you, and they agree to keep his secret in return.

Vampire!Solomon who offers to cook for you sometimes, and you’re absolutely stunned by how terrible his food is. (It’s too bitter, or too salty, and the meat he serves you is so raw it's inedible.) You accept the food with a grimace because he’s so enthusiastic and sweet when you visit him and the angels at Purgatory Hall. You notice quickly that he doesn’t eat when you do—he sits across the table from you with a soft smile and tells you that he already ate or, "Don’t worry, darling, I’ll eat later."

(You don’t remember when he first started calling you “darling” but you realize that you like it, and he knows you do, too.)

Vampire!Solomon who notices the collection of vampire-themed books and movies in your room. He pretends to be curious about what you’re reading, even though he knows the book in your hand is an explicit romance novel about a human and vampire having a steamy love affair. You squirm in your seat and tell him it’s just a silly vampire book, and he doesn’t bring it up again when you awkwardly change the topic.

Later in the privacy of his dorm, he wonders what it is about vampires specifically that you find so appealing. Is it the danger of being approached in the darkness by a handsome stranger? Do you want to be claimed by someone who will protect and worship you in exchange for your blood? There’s so many different versions of vampires in human pop culture, it’s impossible to guess without more subtle investigation.

(He tries not to think too hard about why he cares so much.)

Vampire!Solomon who doesn’t realize that his feelings for you have grown into something beyond friendship until its too late. He follows a delectable scent to the RAD library where he finds you studying by yourself. He tries to convince himself it’s just a new fragrance you’re wearing, or perhaps Asmo has given you some bath products to try.

(He’s been so sensitive to smells lately, and it’s only now that he realizes it’s because of you.)

Vampire!Solomon whose nose nearly brushes against your neck when he approaches you silently from behind. His eyes flutter shut in wanton bliss at the mere scent of your blood, thick like honey and just as sweet, pumping through your veins. He salivates at the thought of sinking his fangs into your skin, and he swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. His fists clench at his sides as he resists the urge to touch you and he steps back quickly, just in time for you to turn around and finally notice his presence. He stumbles through an awkward greeting before he makes his excuses and flees to the safety of his dorm, far away from you.

(He feels betrayed by his own desires. He swore to himself that he would be your friend—but that’s not enough. Not anymore.)  

Vampire!Solomon who tries to ignore his feelings for you, stomping them deep down into the black chasm where his soul used to be. It’s a futile effort—he’s enraptured and tormented by you, the one person in the three realms he shouldn't want but he craves so much. He tries to find relief for his bloodlust in the human world, but there’s none to be found.

When he arrives in the human world to try to satiate his thirst, he tells himself he’s just hungry. Maybe a proper meal instead of bagged blood will alleviate the bitter hunger swirling inside him.

Before he met you, he liked to play with his food. It used to be such a rush, fucking them or choking them on his cock before feeding from them. He doesn’t seduce his prey tonight, even though they try to entice him—the human’s sultry smile and wandering hands across his chest do nothing but make him shudder in revulsion.

The clouds part and moonlight peeks through. He realizes the human he chose looks like a poor imitation of you, and he didn’t even realize it. He’s tempted to bite them anyway, to rip out their throat and bleed them dry in his frustration—but you wouldn’t approve if you ever found out, would you? 

(He stopped killing for fun a long time ago, and he refuses to let this break him.)

He mutters a spell to jumble the human’s memory and lets them wander away from the alley unharmed. He returns to the Devildom hungry and frustrated, and he's determined to fix this problem once and for all.

Purgatory Hall is dark and quiet when you let yourself inside. Solomon called you earlier and claimed he didn’t have anything in particular he wanted to talk about, but he sounded strange. His voice was rough and bitter, so unlike the friendly sorcerer you’ve grown fond of.

“Sol, are you okay? You sound upset about something.”

“Oh, darling,” he sighs heavily into the receiver, “you have no idea.”

“I can come over if you want company, unless you’d rather be alone.”

“You’re so sweet, aren’t you? Very well—the others are out at the moment and I'd rather speak to you privately. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

There’s a flicker of candlelight coming from underneath his bedroom door, and you knock softly before entering. There’s only a single candle lit on the mantle and most of the room is shrouded in darkness. You can’t even see Solomon at first, but you hear a noise near his desk and realize he's watching you from his wingback chair. He crooks his finger for you to come closer when you hesitate just inside the doorway.

He grabs something off his lap and tosses it on the desk haphazardly. The book slides across the smooth surface towards you, and your cheeks flush when you recognize the cover of one of the erotic vampire novels you’ve read.

“It wasn’t as bad as I expected,” he admits, tone far too casual to be sincere, “but like most books, this one isn’t very accurate when it comes to vampire lore.”

You laugh nervously to try and cover your bashfulness. “I suppose you know more about vampires than most humans do?” 

He rises from his chair and walks around the desk so that he's in front of you. He leans back against it as he picks up something that reflects the moonlight—a wine glass, one you didn’t notice before in the dark room.

“You could say that,” he murmurs as he swirls the liquid in the glass before lifting it to his lips.

It would be easier to pretend the red liquid he drinks is wine, if it weren’t for its viscous texture and the metallic scent filling the air. You stare at him as he licks away a smear of blood from his lip; his eyes glow unnaturally bright in the dark room as he stares back.

“You’re…you’re a—“ you're stunned into silence, barely able to utter the word as you try to process what's happening.

He sighs and sets the nearly empty glass on the desk. “A vampire, yes.” He scrutinizes your expression. “You don’t seem afraid, darling—but maybe you should be.” 

It suddenly makes sense now, how the others always warned you to stay away from him. He treated you so kindly, you didn’t believe he was dangerous. Somewhere along the way, your feelings for him changed into something more. You’ve thought about what it might be like to go on a proper date with him, to kiss him and invite him to your bed and feel him move inside you.

You should be terrified, but you’re not.

You think about his sweet gestures and gentle touches, and the way he says your name with so much fondness. You don’t want to doubt him, but you have to be certain you’re not mistaken about his intentions for you. “You're not going to hurt me.” It's not a question because you already know the answer.

"No, I would never hurt you. Quite the opposite, really." His gaze softens, but he still seems uncertain about something. "I’m not sure you can truly understand what it's like to be with someone like me."

You walk towards him before you lose your nerve, and you place a shaking hand on his chest, over the empty place where his heart should be. “Then help me understand, please? Because I like you, as more than just a friend—and learning about this hasn’t changed that.”

He says nothing while his eyes search your expression, and it feels like he’s picking apart your soul until he unburies the truth behind your words. He must be satisfied by what he sees in your eyes because he takes your hands in his and leads you around the desk to his chair. He sits down and tugs you down onto his lap.

You straddle his thighs nervously, trying hard not to put too much weight on his lap while you grasp his shoulders for balance.

“There must be a lot of things you’re curious about,” he says softly as he strokes the side of your face. He brushes your warm cheek with his thumb. “Let’s start with the basics, shall we? At least your book got something right.” He opens his mouth wide enough for you to see the fangs he normally conceals from view. 

You lean closer to inspect them in the dim lighting of his room. They don’t look that sharp and you reach out curiously to touch one. The tip of a fang pricks your finger and you pull back with a hiss. He grabs your hand before you can wipe away the little bloom of crimson where his fang cut you.

“There’s something else you should know before we go any further, darling.” His tongue laps at the droplet of blood pooling on your fingertip, and his chest rumbles with a purr at your taste.

“I don’t like to share.” He watches another drop of blood slowly ooze from the cut. He pops your finger into his mouth with a quiet hum, twirling his tongue and sucking gently before pulling your hand away again. “I won't share your blood.”

His hand on your cheek slides down your neck and pauses over your pulse before smoothing over your cotton shirt. His hand stops on your breast where he feels your heartbeat thrum rapidly beneath his palm. “And I won’t share this.”

His hand glides over the curve of your belly before he dips into the space between your legs. “Or this,” he breathes, spreading his fingers as he rubs you through your pants. He exhales sharply through his nose, surprised at how damp you are already. He teases you a little more with his fingers, mesmerized by the heat of your arousal against his cool fingers. The scent of your slick permeates the air when he pulls his hand away.

“You’ll be mine alone, and no one else’s.” He holds you in place as his fingers clench possessively into the soft swell of your hips. "Can you accept that?"

You don’t know the words to express how overwhelmed and captivated you are by him. He might be a monster, but you’ve never wanted someone more in your entire life. You lean forward and kiss him, and you hope he understands all the feelings you can’t say. 

He groans into the kiss as he tilts his head to slot your lips together. His kiss is hard and demanding and passionate. His tongue flicks at the seam of your lips and you open your mouth to him. You taste blood when his tongue curls with yours, but for some reason it makes you want him even more. You break the kiss with a gasp when you start to feel lightheaded.

He wraps an arm around your back and pulls you to his chest in a tight embrace. “Did you know that I could smell how wet you were when you read those naughty books of yours?” he whispers against your ear.

His lips graze along your jaw as he starts leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. “Did you ever fantasize that I was one of the monsters from your stories?" A gentle flick of his tongue against your pulse point. "Did it make you come, thinking about me biting you as I fucked you?”

He huffs in amusement against your throat when you squirm in his lap. "Oh, you did, didn't you?" He licks up your neck and tugs on your earlobe with his teeth. "Don't worry, darling—I thought about it too."

“Solomon, please,” you whine in his ear as you wind your fingers through his hair and to try pull him closer. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” he asks as he nips lightly at your neck. “Fucking you senseless, tasting your pretty little cunt, feeding from you after. I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

You whimper when his hand grasps the back of your neck and tilts your head to allow him better access. “Will it hurt?”

His eyes flick up and meet your hesitant gaze; you look so lovely with lust-darkened eyes, brightened with a hint of fear. “Oh, you’re going to love this,” he murmurs darkly, voice thick and full of promise, just before he bites you.

You cry out in surprise when the sharp pinch of his fangs break your skin. The slight pain dissipates and leaves behind a warming sensation that builds where his greedy lips drink from you. Waves of molten pleasure spread down your neck and courses through your veins, and you moan loudly and unashamed as desire pools in your belly.

Your thighs are warm and sticky from the slick soaking your underwear and your clit throbs with need. You grind down against his thigh in search of friction, and he moans appreciatively as he continues to slurp noisily at your neck.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you chase your pleasure, riding up and down his thigh as slick seeps through your pants and eases the glide. The wet fabric of your underwear pulls taut against your folds and adds a hint of friction to your clit every time you rub yourself against him. 

He grunts and pushes your hips down, encouraging you to move even faster as he rocks against you. He relaxes his jaw and pulls his fangs from your neck, but the sensation of his tongue licking over the small bite marks is enough to send you over the edge. You hide your face against his shoulder when you cry out his name when you come, another surge of slick coating your folds and seeping through your clothes onto his.

He grabs at your ass and encourages you to keep moving against him, riding out your orgasm and wringing every drop of pleasure from your body. You fall limp against his chest and tremble from sensitivity, exhausted but so satisfied.

“You did so well for me. You’re perfect, darling.”  He rubs your back and waits for you to catch your breath before he tilts your head up for a kiss. It's softer and sweeter than the kisses before, but it still stains your lips crimson.

You groan uncomfortably when you shift in his lap, and you realize just how wet and sticky your underwear and pants are now. There are dark streaks of your slick on his thigh and the pant leg underneath your dribbling cunt is soaked.

He looks delighted when he glances down and admires the mess you made of him. “You smell so delicious, I might never wash these again,” he teases, “but for now, perhaps we should move this to the bedroom? There’s so much more I want to show you, and I’m still hungry.”

read more: the vampire event masterlist | obey me masterlist

[0bticeo]

jonathan sims | get some rest (tomorrow is already here)

summary:

“what do you propose?”

you take in a sharp inhale. you should leave. drag him away from his desk. but jonathan sims is a stubborn man, so he must be coaxed into doing so. 

“a massage.”

"a what?"

wc: 2.5k

tw: massage, making out, reader being a horny mess, jon being exhausted and a cranky bastard, hinted at elias' voyeuristic tendencies, usual tma ominous feelings, fluff (shocking, i know)

the analog clock reads 3:27, stark red embedded upon your retina. you sigh, fingers rubbing at the back of your neck as you step into the archives, weary bones aching.

it’s not your fault if you fell asleep in a secluded corner of the archives departement, squeezed between two shelves and piles upon piles of unlabeled statements. scratch that: they’re labeled. chronologically.

they do not make sense, however, because jonathan sims’ predecessor - whose name you curse with every breath and sleepless night you spend organizing her damn mess - left the whole department in such a state of disarray you might spend the rest of your life making sense of it. damn her. and damn your boss for being so uptight about it all.

you feel the weight of the institute, a looming force of knowledge pressed at the back of your neck, sweet pinprick of pain. you’re watched. oh, orwell, how right you were.

you make your way towards your desk, stepping over sasha’s pink slippers and picking up an empty mug. grab your keys, get out, and walk home. you’re not too far away from the institute. no trouble.

as you lean forward, palm pressed flat against a manila file, something catches your eye.

light. 

thin rays of it crawl, seep out from under the wooden door of the head archivist’s office, stark golden in dull gray penumbra.

he’s there, jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute. holed up in his office, recording a statement, voice poised and measured and controlled in every way he isn’t upon being confronted with his poor sleeping schedule. 

you should leave.

you hear the soft click of a tape recorder being stopped. a long, deep-suffering sigh. a drawer opening, more muttering, some shuffling, rustling papers - oh no he won’t.

in three decisive steps, you’re before his door, your sharp knocking rinnging like gunfire in the quiet of the office. 

“who-who’s there?”

unease. suspicion.

you’re quick to answer with a long suffering sigh of your own, forehead pressed against the door.

“it’s me, jon.”

a pause. an exasperated sigh.

“what do you want?"

you take it as your cue to step inside his office, dimly lit by a lone desk lamp, dust particles turning midas-gold under its rays. your foot catches on a discarded paper - another statement, this one regarding a gambling fool of a soldier. 

(he who tries to cheat death gets the fruit of his labor and weeps upon tasting it.)

you pick it up, and let your gaze roam about the place.

a cork board takes up the majority of a wall, red strings twisting and turning in a web of confusion.

bookshelves align themselves in neat rows, cramped against one another, overflowing with statements, indigestions of facts made up and real.

a cluttered desk - a switched off tape recorder, manila folders, an open computer casting its blue glow upon the sharp edge of jon’s face.

he’s glaring at you.

“have you grown deaf since the last time i saw you?”

you let out an amused breath and make a move to put the statement on his desk. finding an uncluttered space is harder than it proves to be.

jon all but snatches the damn paper from your grip. if looks could kill, you’d be in bad shape. you lean back, arms crossed over your chest, hip pressed against the edge of his desk.

“no, merely mute with shock upon your wretched appearance.” you smile, teasing edges fading into concern. “seriously, when was the last time you slept?”

“that does not concern you-”

“it does, actually. you’re my boss. i can’t let you waste away, who would pay me otherwise?”

“elias pays all of us-”

“and he probably would have me promoted as a glorified secretary if you were to overwork yourself to death. i hate accountance, jon.”

he pinches his nose with long, deft fingers, glasses riding up ever so slightly. they reveal the deep circles under his eyes, embedded in his olive skin. you can practically see the tension oozing from him, the knots in his shoulders.

“if you’re determined to waste my time-”

“i came to help, actually.”

he raises a quizzical eyebrow, the living embodiment of judgment.

you feel his gaze rake your form, the own dark circles under your eyes, the crumpled shirt, the dust that clings to your skirt, what he’s sure is the imprint of the shelf you fell asleep against on your cheek.

you raise your hands in mock surrender. (you miss the way his gaze softens a little.)

“you’re exhausted. hell, i can feel your nervous energy from here.”

he opens his mouth, frowning, protest ready on his tongue. you cut him, merciless.

“when was the last time you’ve gotten more than three hours of sleep?”

that shuts him up. his frown deepens. you want to smooth out the wrinkles on his forehead.

“that - look, if you have nothing better to do than pester me-”

“it’s three in the morning and we’re the only living souls in this institute.”

maybe. you don’t really want to know what lies in the tunnels. or in the artifact storage. or what’s watching you.

“you’re not going to sleep at all at this rate - no, i know you’re not, because i know you. kinda.”

he sighs, exhaustion crawling out of his very marrow, and leans back in his chair. you take in the wrinkles in his shirt, now exposed because lo and behold, jonathan sims’ jacket is not sewn to his body and - 

and he’s loosening his tie, two fingers digging in his windsor knot, smooth silk gliding away under skilled fingers. you wonder what they might feel like slipping under your shirt.

“what do you propose?”

you take in a sharp inhale. you should leave. drag him away from his desk and into bed. but jonathan sims is the living embodiment of stubborness, so he must be coaxed into doing so.

“a massage.”

“a- a what?”

you laugh a little.

“don’t pretend your neck isn’t stiffer than the stick up your ass.”

“i do not have-”

“jon, please let me help.”

silence. again, he pinches the bridge of his nose. at least, he’s considering it.

you eye the piles of statements on his desk, half-discarded, half-classified. there’s a pattern in the way jon operates, even if he’s not conscious of it.

he only ever calls for your help when he’s sure the statements at hand are lelgitimate. this means he rules out those he deems written by lunatics and madmen. this means he does most of the work. this means-

“all right. but under one condition."

you tilt your head to the side, curious.

“one last statement.”

“only if i massage you while you record it.”

a glare.

“we’re wasting time, jon.”

“fine. get over here.”

you smile, palms smoothing out the pleats of your skirt as you make your way behind his desk.

he pays you no mind, long fingers selecting a manila file from a pile, opening it with care. there’s a certain stiff grace with which he carries himself, you muse as you step behind him. 

you watch the ripples of tension in the back of his neck, the fine strands of auburn hair tainted penumbra-dark brushing against his nape, and gently run your knuckle against his skin. he’s warm.

“whenever you’re ready,” you breathe, fingers resting on the back of his chair.

he coughs a little. composes himself. hits record.

“continued statement of trevor herbert regarding their latter years as a vampire hunter. original statement given july 10th 2010, audio recording by jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute.”

you watch with fascination as the calm, composed, formal voice slips into something… else. something between jonathan sims and trevor herbert, and it’s fascinating, because for a brief second, split second instant of Knowing, you can See him, the tramp and his collapsing lungs, writing away his youth and hunts on bland institute paper.

you blink and it’s gone. 

there’s only you, the “lofi charm” of the tape recorder, and jon. his nape is bare. intimate knowledge settles in your mind, the fragility of mortality. bury a sharp needle there and his body collapses. 

you frown. push it back. roll up your sleeves and rub your hands together, warming them up because they’re always cold, and the least you can do is give him a modicum of comfort.

slowly, carefully, you put your hands over his shoulders. he tenses at that, briefly, until you start rubbing away the years of tension gnawing at him.

slowly, surely, you knead poor, exhausted muscles. slowly, surely, he relaxes under your touch, head leaning back ever so slightly.

from this close, you can smell him, you realize. cold coffee, dusty paper, cedarwood aftershave and something like a hint of sweat. 

“good?” you whisper, almost silent, voice lost in the quiet static of the tape recorder, in the dust-soft penumbra.

he nods, cheek brushing your wrist. your heart hammers in your chest. a strand of hair brushes the back of your hand - they’re graying a little. you wonder why he exhausts himself so. why he spends nights buried in his office, burrowing himself in piles and piles of files. 

hypocrite.

the only reason as to why you’re here, massaging your fucking boss and growing desperately wet at his deep sighs of content, is because you, too, spend much more time than reasonable trying to make sense of it all. 

the only reason as to why you’re here, taking in the gentle mess that is jonathan sims, is because you both leave at ungodly hours. because he can keep his eyes on you and so he knows that you cannot be responsible for gertrude’s murder.

you think he might trust you.

his hand settles over yours, and you startle.

he’s warm, palm large enough to cover the entirety of your hand, from wrist to fingertips. you don’t know what to do with this knowledge.

you don’t want to think of what you might do in the quiet death of the night, your hand slipping under your covers, down the apex of your thigh-

he slides your hand lower. oh. oh. 

you lean forward, until your cheek brushes his, skin on skin, and unbutton the first two buttons of his shirt. you think he might be leaning into your touch. you think you might cut yourself on the edge of his jaw, on the sharpness of his words. 

your hands meet his bare skin and you feel like you’ve caught fire, breath stolen away as you feel him in a way the cotton of his shirt didn’t allow. there is a sharpness to him. you can feel his jutting clavicles under your fingertips, sharp angel wings of bone, and your heart tightens. 

he works too much.

it’s quiet, for a while.

you don’t know what sets it off. one moment, you’re massaging him, relishing in the feeling of his skin under your hands. the next, your fingers catch a particularly tight spot in his shoulders and he groans , and fuck, you should not feel familiar heat curling in your lower belly but you do. 

you should stop. bid him good night and leave him with his precious recording. 

you don’t. 

instead, you rub at that spot, tentatively, and watch as he bites his lip mid-sentence, voice catching on a word. he’s a little breathless.

you are, too, heart hammering in your ribcage, hummingbird trying to flee its bones.

his hand wraps around your wrist and tugs you forward, free hand settling on your lower back, guiding you until you’re in his lap, looking up at him.

you think you might be dying of a heart attack with the way he looks at you, with eyes so dark you can barely make out the beautiful green of them.

“just what do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

you feel like you're on fire with how close you are. how his hand still encases your wrist in an iron hold. how you can feel warmth of him. how you can see the fluttering pulse of his throat, adam apple bobbing up and down as he swallows and fuck you want to take a bite.

your mouth feels dry.

“i- i don’t-” 

his grip tightens on your wrist. 

“answer me.”

somehow you’re closer. close enough to feel his breath on your lips, to find yourself staring up at him through hooded eyes, to find him staring back with parted lips. 

whatever’s left of your resolve dissolves into a puddle of desire. 

“jon, please, let me kiss you.”

a pause. the faintest glint of disbelief in his eyes.

then his lips crash on yours. 

you startle, hand shooting forward to grasp the nearest thing for purchase and find only him, him and the crisp cotton of his shirt, all exhaustion and boiling frustration.

he puts his mouth to you like one would to a lover’s and kisses you slowly, deeply, unraveling you like a beloved mystery. 

your body sings for him, and it’s so right you dismiss the ever-present pinprick pressure at the back of your neck. 

his palm cups it, your nape, warmth consuming that pinprick pain, until the only thing you can do is sigh in his mouth and press yourself closer.

his lips part from yours, briefly, a breath away, and it’s too damn far, so you tug at his cravat and pull him down. your fingers dig in his shirt, his hair, and he groans at the way your nails rake his scalp.

your lips part for him in a soft, whisper-quiet moan of his name, and he swallows it down almost greedily. you feel his tongue brush against yours and let out a low, needy sound, molten desire coursing through your veins.

his hand slips under your shirt, reaches for the soft skin of your side and presses up, up, up until it meets your breast and his thumb presses against your nipple in tight circles and you’re almost sobbing against his lips. 

you’re not aware that your hips are grinding against the hardness of him until his hand settles on your hip, slowing you down to a stop, and you part from him, breathless, and so, so needy.

there’s a thread of saliva between you, thin little spider-web intertwining your fates.

he looks at you, disheveled, glasses slightly askew, their lenses foggy, shirt half-opened for your gaze to meet tantalizing skin. a feast for the sore eyes.

“you might want to make me breakfast instead.”

“not like this,” he mumbles, thumb swiping against your bottom lip. “not- at least, let me treat you to dinner first.”

he chuckles at that, a little breathless, a little exasperated, definitely fond.

“cheeky.”

you peck his lip, sweetly. his hand tightens over your hip.

“look at the time, jon.” 

he rides up his sleeve ever so slightly to reveal his watch and with it, the tantalizing softness of his pulse, beating wildly against the tender skin of his inner wrist. almost four in the morning. you press your lips there, feel the yearning of his beating heart. 

he doesn’t think he’s seen you this beautiful. you, disheveled, on his lap, almost chest to chest with him, bringing his palm to your cheek and pressing fluttering kisses to his fingers. you, smiling up at him, exhausted, worn to the bone, but happy, and -

“oh.”

“what is it?”

your gaze lands on the tape recorder. oh.

“still recording. i should -”

“go home, get some sleep and finish what you started - me included - later.”

he sighs. there’s still a smile on his lips, exhaustion melting down to affection. 

"fine. end recording.”

[syntheticavenger]

Splinter - Two

Hehehe. Worlds are COLLIDING.

One

Dark! Alpha! Thor x Omega! Female Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, world building, Alpha/Omega dynamics, intimidation. This is probably the last tame part for a while.

Summary | Your dream job provides prestige, security and a chance to shape your future. When one little mistake leads to Thor saving you in a time of crisis, his past promise comes back to haunt you.

“It was a star-studded night as two of the Avengers attended a charity gala for the Omega designation. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes made their red-carpet debut with Captain Rogers’ ever elusive wife attending. Though she was not pictured alongside her husband, eyewitnesses report that Captain Rogers may just have a new role on the horizon: becoming a dad,” the reporter says with a cheerful smile.

Your slingback heel falls to the ground from your hand when you see Steve Rogers, posing with Bucky Barnes, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen before another clip of the gala is shown, Steve giving a speech.

“It is my duty, my one guiding principle in life, to stick up for those who can’t. I hope that I have done so thus far,” Captain Rogers says, charismatic smile on display.

“Do they know how you found your wife?” you mutter, picking up your shoe and slipping it on your foot, reaching for the remote and turning it off, Steve’s smug face disappearing.

You could never prove it, of course. Little whispers that the most advanced surveillance specialist had just given away her career was unheard of, even in your circles. No one questioning why, to this day, the position had never been filled.

Too many unspoken rules, too many hushed conversations that hid the truth.

Forcing yourself to file it away for later, the notification that the car has arrived pops on your cell, grabbing your purse and coat to head outside, locking the door and verifying that its closed. The half-run, half-walk to the waiting car is purposeful and with good reason.

Your first opening comments as a National Advisory Council Member of Intergalactic Diplomacy. Despite your sweaty palms, you’re prepared, going over your remarks at least five times since you had opened your eyes this morning.

“As a reminder,” your assistant Paloma interjects over the phone. “There will be Asgardians in attendance. I know you probably won’t mind but with the Intergalactic Alliance, there is a chance that he -”

“Thank you, Paloma.” Your hand grips your phone tighter. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s been months since you’ve seen him, since that fateful afternoon when you had ordered him out.

He had obliged, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces, rumors swirling that he and Jane had found their way back together. The nuisances of their relationship did not concern you, throwing yourself headfirst into work, learning all you could for it to lead up to this moment.

Asgardians or not, it doesn’t matter. You’ve worked hard to find a seat at the table and no one, not even an Asgardian God, is going to take that away from you.

“T-minus forty minutes until we go live,” Paloma reminds you. “You’re going to do great.”

⚡️

Paloma was right.

Asgardians clamor to be in attendance in the hall, their eyes on you when you walk past them.

They whisper your name, hushed voices fading once you reach the podium. You’d visited Asgard once in your life, when you were deep into wanting to know everything about Thor and his people. It was a world so much alike and unlike Earth that it unnerved you to think that one day he was planning to come back and rule as king.

You’d never be a queen.

You aren’t even sure if you ever wanted to be one as a child.

The audience quiets, multiple cameras on you, not a hair out of place when you finally lift your head to speak after being announced, applause quieting after a few moments.

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary General, your Excellencies, and ladies and gentlemen in attendance and beyond. I am here today to discuss our worlds and our role in creating an open dialogue of trust,” you begin, taking another breath. “With the newly formed Intergalactic Diplomacy Division, I am pleased to be a part of such an important agency as we recognize that our world is unique. It presents many challenges as we all work toward an understanding of what intergalactic diplomacy looks like in an ever-changing universe. It is crucial that we listen to understand, to listen for solutions and not to listen to react.”

The door opens, Thor strolling in his Asgardian garb, his red cape flowing out behind him, cameras panning to him as you swallow, ignoring him and the delectable scent that reaches your nose.

He keeps his attention on you, the cameras panning back to you.

“It is my hope that we share our strengths, our challenges and our opportunities for a bright future ahead. For us to be strong together, we must first be vulnerable with what we do not know, be willing to be educated and to open our minds and hearts to others that we may not readily understand. Our future is bright and will only become a reality when we work together. Thank you for your time.”

Thunderous applause erupts, with Thor standing up, Asgardians following suit.

Paloma’s voice is in your ear, telling you that you did a fantastic job, multiple people surging forward to shake your hand, the room slightly spinning with how often you have to greet well-wishers.

You try to block Thor’s never fading smile out of your head and his direct eye contact that seemingly burned into your soul when you’re ushered into a conference room for a talk through.

⚡️

“I didn’t expect the future King of Asgard to be in attendance,” Robert chuckles, looking up from his notes. “It’ll do wonders for media. You know Thor can’t be bothered to show up to these events.”

“I think I know why,” Susan says with a wink in your direction. “Did you tell him you were speaking?”

“No,” you reply through gritted teeth. “I did not.”

“Well, it worked out for us. Great job with the pace. I could really feel your passion in the message,” Robert praises, sitting back in his chair. “You aren’t with him anymore, are you? I think he was dating that physicist, Dr. Jane something, I believe? Whatever happened with you and him?”

“I’m sure she doesn’t want us in her business,” Susan answers for you, noting your discomfort. As Omegas go, she’s astute. “You did a great job today. You should be proud.”

“Now that it’s over, I can relax.”

Robert laughs at your comment, shaking his head.

“Not by a longshot. You embody our cause. Your journey is just beginning. I hope you’ve dusted off that passport.”

⚡️

Paloma meets you outside the conference room, beaming with pride as you walk out together. 

“The Asgardians being present? That was wild!” she exclaims. “How did you pull that off?”

“I didn’t,” you respond, seeing her confusion.

“So then… Thor…”

“That was all him.”

“Romantic,” she sighs, clutching her clipboard.

“Romantic that he broke up with me months ago to stare me down during my first media spot? I think we differ on what romantic means.”

“Oh, I just, I didn’t,” Paloma mumbles, her cheeks going red. “I didn’t realize how that sounded. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be better when I’m in the car.”

“Then let’s get you there.”

By the time the door opens, Paloma’s steps halt at the sight of Thor, surrounded by throngs of his people.

“Ah,” he says with a wave of his hand. “There she is.”

The Asgardians begin to applaud, Paloma looking over as you force a polite smile,

“I wanted to extend my appreciation for your comments today. It is my hope that we come to a strong understanding of interstellar people and Midgardians as well,” Thor continues, cameras flashing as he smiles, giving you a sly up and down gaze. “We are in your ever capable hands.”

“Thank you,” you respond quickly, Paloma ushering you into the car, seeing Thor watch you as Paloma waves for the driver to take off.

Looking out from the backseat, Paloma picks up her phone, dialing a number.

“I think it might be helpful if you have some security, don’t you?” she asks nervously.

You don’t have the heart to tell her that it’s pointless to fight against a god.

⚡️

Your phone rings twice, enough for you to answer it, a towel wrapped around you when you answer.

“Hi.”

“Thor,” you respond, unable to hide the irritation from your voice.

“I wanted to ask for a truce.”

“We weren’t fighting.”

“Is that the wrong word? Bruce told me to ask for a… branch?”

“Olive branch,” you respond tersely. “You already showed up to my media spot.”

“You needed support. Asgardians are excited for the news. They were happy to come.”

You feel a ripple of guilt for being irritated when he frames it that way, remembering the little children in attendance. 

“Well… thank you. I appreciate it.”

“And I wanted to ask about the olive branch. Have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, chewing on your lower lip. 

Dinner means a chance to relive the memories – good and bad – and make small talk about things you know either of you won’t care about. He’s moved on and you have too, in your own way. Dating hasn’t been an option, neither has even thinking about uploading a picture of a dating site, let alone signing up for one.

It seems harmless, this ask, to have one dinner and have it be done. Your confidence from the media event makes you wonder if you’re allowed to ask him questions about things you’ve only wondered about.

Maybe you shouldn’t wonder anymore.

Maybe you should demand.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you around seven? I’ll give the details to your assistant.”

“Seven sounds fine.”

“See you then.”

⚡️

Gone is the red cape, replaced with a black sweater and black pants, his blond hair tied in a loose bun as he listens intently on what you’ve been working on.

You’ve tried to keep it light, ignoring the ways he sneaks in comments of how he misses you.

“I saw Steve on TV,” you continue, trying to change the subject. “The news says his wife is pregnant.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?” you press gently, Thor taking a bite of his dinner. 

“Hmm as in… hmm. Interesting.”

“So you will not confirm or deny.”

“It is not my business to share. That is Steve’s.”

He has a point. You try another angle, hoping to get some traction from it.

“I’m sure you’ve seen her. Does she ever miss her old job?”

Thor sighs, looking at you as he swallows.

“Why does she interest you so much all of a sudden?”

“All of a sudden? She was on TV, they mentioned her.”

“She’s Steve’s wife, why wouldn’t they?”

“She allegedly gave up her job for him? She was the surveillance director! That’s a big deal.”

“Is it?” he asks. “Or was it that she rearranged her priorities? Maybe Steve came first and then work fell to wayside.”

Frowning at his assumption, you shake your head.

“Didn’t seem like the sort.”

“Well, she was.”

You both eat in silence for a moment, background conversations taking over while you seemingly retreat from asking any additional questions about her. There’s no point if Thor is going to be so tight lipped, which only makes you more suspicious.

After a moment, he sighs, placing his knife and fork down.

“I want to talk about us.”

You sit still, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t like being apart. I know I hurt you and I hurt myself in the process. I think we need a fresh start.”

“A fresh start,” you repeat, nodding at his words. “A fresh start before or after you were seeing Jane?”

“I wasn’t seeing Jane until we were completely done.”

“And what changed?”

“She’s a Beta, for Gods’ sakes. We were incompatible, you know that.”

“Didn’t exactly stop you from dumping me.”

You can see the flash of anger in his eyes, quick but palatable. He doesn’t like your tone – you can tell that by the tick in his jaw – but that doesn’t stop you from feeling free enough to speak your mind. You aren’t his anymore and there are no boundaries you need to be mindful of.

“I didn’t dump you, you left me no choice but to leave a once fulfilling relationship because you wanted to chase a dream. A dream that has come true and while I am happy for you, you know that you and I belong together.”

“You could have thought about that before you cleared out your things.”

“I need you to listen and understand me clearly,” Thor counters, his tone low. “Listen to me very carefully.”

At your silence and the set of your jaw, he lifts his head with a smile.

“You have made your point. I hear you loud and clear. I want a reconciliation. You and I make sense. You need me, especially with this job you’ve decided to take on.”

“I did need you, once,” you agree meekly. “I appreciate the dinner, Thor, I really do. I’m glad we had a chance to catch up and I wish it was under a better circumstance. But I can’t go through that again. I’m sorry.”

You can see his eyes darken when you stand, placing your napkin on the table.

“Goodnight,” he bids tersely, seeing you walk away.

Smiling to himself, he cuts into his steak, popping a piece of meat into his mouth.

“As if you have a choice in the matter,” he muses to himself.

⚡️

Paloma seems pleased with herself when she enters your hotel room with a paper drink tray filled with coffees.

“You’ll never guess what I managed to do,” she greets you excitedly, plopping down on a chair.

Packing the last of your things, you stop for a moment.

“What?”

“I got you twenty-four seven, around the clock security.”

“From where?”

“After you left, I was able to talk with some security agencies and before I knew it, they were able to offer three names. I have them on retainer but we can move onto a contract since it’s covered. They’re on their way up to be interviewed. I figured you’d want to have the final say.”

The knock at the door sends Paloma running, looking through the peephole before she flings the door open.

Your phone rings at the same time, Thor’s number popping up as something tells you to answer it.

“I was hoping to catch you before they arrived,” Thor says, your eyes going to the opened door. “But I forgot to tell you. Inked a security detail for you. Robert and Susan were overjoyed to know you would be in such great hands.”

You recognize them, the burly and massive men standing in a straight line.

Fandral, Volgstagg and Hogun.

“I trust you won’t be looking for any additional security since they know how important their job is to protect you by any means necessary.”

Paloma turns around, nodding her head excitedly as you swallow hard.

“What do you think? They’re great, right?”

[little-diable]

The Game is Won - Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 9/9)

I decided to end this story here, because I want to focus on a few other ideas I can't let go of. Thank you so much for your love on this fic! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, some angst due to the kidnapping, regular CM stuff, a happy end

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (2.5k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest. Every step she took felt like a risk, with the room closing in on her. Her fingertips were bleeding, her head pulsing in pain. She was driven by her determination, driven by the need to escape. And she was close, so very close.

Deep down she had feared the man, deep down she had wondered how far he’d take it. But as she had noticed that he hadn’t locked the door to the room she was held hostage in, everything had begun to clear up. He was stuck up, did believe too much in himself, not even thinking about the possibility of (y/n) trying to leave. This was her chance, probably her only chance. 

With a shaky breath, (y/n) let her eyes wander. She was now in what appeared to be his office, eyes focused on the window to try and figure out where she was. It took her a moment to read the street name, but the second she managed to focus on it, she reached for the corded phone. 

Her hands trembled as she dialled Aaron’s number, no longer sure who she could trust – especially after her kidnapper had dropped Penelope’s name. (Y/n) counted the seconds passing by, eyes squeezed shut to try and keep calm. Aaron would get her out, he would come to her rescue. 

“Hello?” The sob that left her at the sound of Aaron’s voice was almost violent, shaking through her whole body. (Y/n)’s hand shot out to stabilise herself, clinging to the nearest chair to try and stay on her feet. 

“Aaron, it’s me, (y/n).” She inhaled a shaky breath, and had to wipe her face to try and get rid of her tears. (Y/n) heard him shuffle around, heard the deep breaths leaving him. “Listen to me, Aaron, he’s working for the FBI, and somehow Penelope is involved in this.”

“What? What’s his name? Where are you, sweetheart?” A groan left her as she sank down on the chair, limbs no longer able to support her weak frame. The room was spinning, she was close to being swallowed by darkness, but now wasn’t the time to give up, not when she was so close to disappearing from this hellhole. 

“I,” another sigh left (y/n), eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know his name, but he’s about the same height as me, brown hair, dark eyes, he’s wearing round glasses. He told me Penelope helped him, I don’t know how, but she has something going on with him. The street’s called Jerwick Road, but I- uhm I don’t know which house I’m in.” 

“I’ll get you out. He’s working on the case, I’ll have him arrested in a minute. Hold tight, sweetheart, I’ll come get you. I always will.” 

……

“Morgan,” Aaron had his fingers tightly wrapped around the handle of his office door, trying to keep his composure as he let his gaze wander. (Y/n)’s words kept ringing in his ears, repeating them over and over again. How could he have been so oblivious? He should have trusted his gut, and should have picked up on the uncomfortable feeling the guy had emanated.

“You alright, Hotch?” Derek stood close to Aaron, concerned eyes wandering over his hard features. 

“Where’s Garcia and Kayce?” He quietly murmured his words, eyes still not meeting Derek’s. Aaron kept trying to figure out if Kayce was close, knowing they had to work fast. He needed to get to his woman, needed to hold her close as soon as possible. 

“Hotch, what’s going on?” Only as Derek didn’t answer his questions did Aaron dare to look at him. Could Penelope be involved in this? The woman Aaron loved like a sister? The woman who loved (y/n) with all her heart?

“(Y/n) called, it’s him. He told her that Garcia helped him get to her.” Derek took a step away from Aaron as if he had been pushed, eyes growing darker. For a second neither of them spoke, but then they both began to move, quick steps carrying them down the stairs. Aaron called out to the others as he followed Derek to Garcia’s office, hand wrapped around his gun. 

None of them spoke, guided by the tense atmosphere, knowing that something was going on, something that left their boss shaking with what appeared to be anger. Derek came to a halt in front of the door, he let his eyes wander back to Aaron, waiting for the nod that would give him the go. And within seconds, they burst into Penelope’s office, forcing a gasp out of her as her wide eyes found her team, guns drawn. 

“Where is he, Penelope?” She flinched at the sound of her first name rolling off Derek’s tongue, eyes instantly turning glassy.

“Who? What is going on?” Aaron could instantly tell that she was just as confused, not understanding why her family was standing close to her with their guns drawn. But he had no time to lose, especially when Kayce was no longer with Penelope.

“Kayce, where is he?” Her eyes flickered to Aaron’s, not used to him speaking with that harsh tone he only used on unsubs. A sight that left his heart clenching. Tears ran down her cheeks, seemingly spurred on by her confusion and her shock. 

“He left almost ten minutes ago. What did he do?” 

……

She must have passed out, swallowed by darkness after Aaron had ended the call. Perhaps it had simply been the fault of the safety she had felt for the first time in hours, knowing that Aaron would come and save her. Whatever it was, it had instantly forced her out of this reality.

But now she woke with a groan, eyes struggling to focus on her surroundings. She was still in the office, no longer sitting on the chair, but lying on the ground. It took (y/n) almost a minute to set into motion, knowing that she needed to get out of the house while she was still alone. With a sigh leaving her, (y/n) shifted on the floor, eyes squeezed shut because her surroundings were still blurred. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed.” Her eyes shot towards the door, her heart coming to a stop as her eyes met the ones of her kidnapper. He was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed in front of his chest, lips pulled into a smirk. “I didn’t think you had it in you, (y/n). It’s a shame it has to end like this, I wanted to keep you around for a while longer.”

“They’ll be here any moment now, you lost the game, because you got sloppy, because you underestimated me.” Her words seemed to swallow him wholly, drowning in waves of anger now flushing through his system. (Y/n)’s gaze was forced down to the gun he had cocked, pointing it at her with a sinister smile glued to his lips. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, (y/n). You’re in no position to defend yourself.” He took a step into the room and didn’t take his eyes off her features as he closed the door. A shudder ran down her spine, goosebumps covered her limbs in fear of dying in a room with a man she hated more than any words could ever describe. She needed to drag this out and give the team a few more minutes to find her. 

“You won’t kill me, it was never the plan to kill me.” She murmured her words while slowly rising to her feet with aching limbs. (Y/n) carefully watched his every expression, trying to stay calm as she reminded herself that this was the situation she had been training for. And now, as she watched him with tired eyes, she knew that he wouldn’t kill her, not when he still hadn’t shot her, even after moving around. 

“You messed it all up! You were supposed to stay in the room, wait for me like a good girlfriend would do. But I misjudged you, you’re no longer worthy, I have to get rid of you to free myself from your spell.” Confusion swapped through her, words she couldn’t pay any further attention to as the loud sounds of somebody calling out her name echoed through the house. 

She was safe, she was safe, she was safe. 

……

“Here, let me.” Aaron stood behind her, arm wrapped around (y/n)’s waist. Their eyes met in the bathroom mirror as he carefully watched her wipe her face clean, struggling to get rid of the blood covering her skin. 

It hadn’t taken the team long to find her, within minutes she had been freed, ripped from the man’s grasp who had been shot by Aaron the second he had moved closer towards (y/n). The sobs that had wrecked through her as Aaron had pulled her into her chest had been violent, shaking up the whole team as they engulfed her, all but Penelope and Derek. 

“Can I ask you something?” By now she had turned around in Aaron’s hold, staring up at him as he cleaned her face and neck. The hum that left him vibrated through her, once again reminding (y/n) that she was safe, that she was right where she belonged. 

“Did you figure out why he had ties to Penelope?” She watched a frown tug on Aaron’s features, taking his time to answer her question. It seemed as if he was still as shaken up as she was, reminded of the past trauma he had been forced to endure. 

“He befriended her and got access to her system, and from then on he managed to get into her system to watch you. She’s shaken up, Derek’s currently with her.” (Y/n) shifted her weight onto her toes to meet Aaron’s lips for a slow kiss, needing to feel him close, desperate to feel him pressed against her body. 

“I’ll visit her tomorrow, I can only imagine how awful she’s feeling.” Aaron pulled her in for another kiss, placing the wet towel down to wrap both his arms around (y/n). The moan that left her allowed a grin to widen on his lips, enjoying the feeling of having her back here with him, the only one who’d ever be able to make her feel like this.  

“Take me to bed, Aaron.” Her whispered words rang in his ears, forcing them to part as Aaron pulled her into his bedroom. Carefully he pushed her down on the mattress, pulling her shirt over her head, and her jeans down her legs moments later. 

“God, how I missed you, how I missed having you in my arms, I won’t ever let you out of my sight again.” His words left her chuckling, forcing (y/n) to pull him down, unable to reply with words. Aaron kissed his way down her throat as his hands did quick work on her bra, letting it fall down to the ground. “My pretty girl, how I feared that I wouldn’t ever get to see you like this again. I would have burned earth to its ground for you, everything to have you back with me.”

“Aaron,” she choked on his name, eyes finding his as she parted her lips once again. (Y/n) was overcome by her emotions, unable to stop herself from speaking what she had wanted to say for years. “I love you, so goddamn much.”

“I love you too, and I always will.” Aaron kept holding eye contact as he sucked on her hardening nipples, forcing groans from (y/n) that made his cock twitch. Both wouldn’t waste any time tonight, it had been too long, too many hours had passed without feeling one another close – hours they wouldn’t get back.

“Love me, Aaron. Fuck me, please.” His hum vibrated on her skin, shooting shudders down her spine. (Y/n) watched his every move, how he rose to his feet to undress, how he reached for the nightstand to pull a condom free. Only as his cold hand found her heat, panties ripped from her, did her eyes fall close. He brushed his fingers through her slit, collecting drops of her arousal to spread on her folds. It felt as if she was reborn, finally freed from the grasp darkness had on her.

“I got you, pretty girl, let me take care of you.” He aligned himself with her heat, slowly pushing into her to leave them both breathless. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke, needing to adjust, allowing her to let go of a heavy moan. With a small nod thrown his way, (y/n) allowed Aaron to move, clinging to him as he began to build a fast rhythm. 

Her nails scratched at his skin, begging for more without finding the strength to speak up. But Aaron seemed to understand everything her body was telling him, fucking her even deeper. Their eyes met as she reached for his hand, wanting to feel every part of him on her, guiding his fingers to her pulsing bundle. 

“I will always love you if you let me. You’re forever mine.” Tears welled up in her eyes, her throat was too choked up to reply, (y/n) could only hope that he could read the emotions swimming in her pupils. God, how she wanted to be his till the end of their time. How she wanted to cling to Aaron till their last breaths would leave their frail bodies. 

Aaron dipped his head down for a slow kiss, tongues moving together as he fucked her into the mattress, set on burning his touch into her skin. He could almost hear the racing beat of her heart, he could almost feel her passing out beneath him due to the intensity of their touches. All for the man she loved, all for the woman he adored more than words would ever be able to describe. 

(Y/n)’s walls fluttered around him, already close to the edge, begging Aaron to give her the last needed push. With his fingers adding more speed to their movements, he watched her fall apart, pleasure-drunken features staring up at him. It was a sight so raw, a sight so beautiful, Aaron followed her down moments later, letting go with a groan. 

Slowly he pulled out of her, getting rid of the condom before he pulled (y/n) into his chest. Neither of them spoke for a while, hung up on their thoughts, wondering how they had ended up right here. Brought together by their shared interest, forced to meet as student and professor, guided by their emotions for one another. But yet it had always felt awfully right as if they had been made for one another.

“I love you, Aaron Hotchner.” (Y/n) shifted in his grasp, staring up at him with a smile. 

“I love you too, (y/n).”

[eyesthatroll]

GIVE ME AN ANSWER!

pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

warning(s): cursing, angst(??), not sure what else, not edited

word count: 2.5k

author’s note: not super happy with this, it feels a bit underdeveloped, but i can’t watch it sit in my drafts any longer. i didn’t write this with a part ll in mind, by the way. this was supposed to turn into something else, but that didn’t work out + i lost inspiration so it is what it is. sidenote, if you have any angsty/sad prompts/requests, pls send ‘em in, it’s my favourite thing to write! sending love, —mari

You couldn't help but feel like a creep, huddled in the corner of the dimly lit booth, your gaze fixated on them from across the bar. In front of you, a nearly forgotten gin and tonic sat, its ice cubes melting as you absentmindedly swirl them around with a small black straw. If anyone were to inquire, you'd insist that your attention was solely on the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall behind them, broadcasting a wrestling match you had zero interest in.

You wondered if He was somehow aware of your unwavering gaze fixed upon him from across the room. It crossed your mind that perhaps he was deliberately flirting with the stunning redhead as a sly ploy to put on a spectacle, fully cognizant of your watchful eyes. Did He hope to incite jealousy within you? You nearly chuckled at the absurdity of the idea. The notion of feeling envious over a girl with her hands lightly grazing his arm seemed laughable. After all, just a few days ago, he had been lying naked between the sheets in your bed. So, no, you weren't jealous, and you certainly weren't about to let jealousy rear its head.

Yet, there was a gnawing irritation within you. He had, after all, extended a personal invitation your way, urging you to join him and his teammates for what he touted as their "one last hurrah" before the start of the new season. It irked you that he was lavishing so much attention on someone else, given this context. The annoyance was unmistakably etched across your features. Your poker face had long deserted you, and you didn't care to conceal your disdain. Several drinks deep, with a pleasant buzz now enveloping you, you found yourself in a carefree state where your demeanor wasn't a primary concern.

You eventually shift your gaze from him, an uneasy feeling retreating in your stomach. You instead direct your attention to Baby Hughes, who is engrossed in a game of darts with John. A small smile graces your lips as the younger boy, with his earnest enthusiasm, throws a dart that sails far wide of the board, disappearing into some unseen corner. John throws his head back in laughter, and it's evident that he's playfully ribbing Luke, who responds with a melodramatic explanation for his errant throw, punctuating with wild hand gestures. You contemplate joining them, when a towering figure looms over you, casting a shadow that demands your immediate notice.

"Is this seat taken?" You find yourself under the scrutiny of a tall, attractive blonde who's looking down at you. A hopeful smile adorns his lips, revealing dimples that only add to his charm. His right hand holds a beer, while the other rests casually at the nape of his neck, lightly tugging the hair. Your eyes travel appreciatively from his warm gaze, down his well-dressed figure. Blondie sported black slacks that complement a maroon long-sleeve dress shirt neatly tucked in, with the top buttons lazily undone, revealing a small, glimmering gold cross. The choice of attire piqued your curiosity; he seemed a bit overdressed for a local, family owned bar.

Your minds flickers back to Him, and you contemplate stealing a quick glance in his direction to see if he's still in conversation that girl. However, you are somewhat physically trapped behind the man standing in front of you, preventing any discreet surveillance without making your intentions obvious. Opting for a polite smile instead, you gesture with a welcoming hand for the handsome stranger to take the seat in front of you.

You observe the visible sigh of relief escaping him, his eyes momentarily betraying his unease. With a sheepish smile, he gently places his drink on the table and eases himself into the booth.

His voice, raspy and honestly deeper than you expected, breaks the silence. "I'm Anthony, by the way." He extends his hand toward you, but halts for a moment, perhaps feeling slightly awkward at the formality.

You respond with a light chuckle, reaching out to meet his hand with yours for a firm handshake. "I'm Y/N, nice to meet you."

The conversation with Anthony flows effortlessly, each word weaving a tapestry of connection that unravels the initial awkwardness. You discover that he's in town for a friend's wedding, which explains the formal attire, and that he's a native Rhode Islander. He confesses his nervousness about approaching you, and when you jest about whether it's due to your so-called "resting bitch face," he denies it vehemently.

He smiles, his eyes sincere as he offers, "It's always a bit nerve-wracking to approach the most beautiful girl in the room."

You can't help but snort at his compliment, your hand quickly covering your mouth in embarrassment.

Unbeknownst to you, your surprised snort captures His attention, and his head snaps in your direction, drawn by the sound of your voice cutting through the bar's lively atmosphere. His gaze lowers at the sight of a guy in front of you, and the smile on your lips as you laugh again at something he's said. He watches, as the guy's hand moves to rest on yours, and his jaw tightens, his mind racing with questions about what could possibly be so amusing in your conversation.

"Jack, are you listening to me?" A manicured hand slides into his view, weaving through the air in a bid to recapture his attention. Clearing his throat, he absentmindedly runs a hand through his unruly brown locks before reluctantly refocusing his eyes on the redhead before him. She beams at him, her lips quickly resuming what she had been saying before his lost concentration. The truth was, he hadn't been listening to her at all.

He can't focus on her words, not with the image of you and that guy now engraved into his mind. The mere thought consumes his every breath, causing him to bite at his bottom lip out of agitation. He racks his brain for a way to gracefully escape the everlasting conversation with the redhead, and as if on cue, the universe seems to answer his silent plea, when the girl in front of him glances at the clock. Her eyes widen in alarm as she realizes the time.

"Shit, I didn't realize it was this late. I've got to get going," she apologized, her lips forming a slight pout. Jack sends her a reassuring smile, nodding his head in understanding.

"It's cool, it was fun while it lasted," He replies plainly, standing up from his barstool with a nod.

She frowns, mirroring his actions. "Did you want to maybe exchange numbers, or something?" Her voice holds a glimmer of hope.

He pauses, pretending to think for a moment, even though he doesn't really need to as the answer was always going to be the same. "No, sorry. Have a good night, Isla."

You don't even notice Him walking over to you, too consumed in the vibrant conversation that you shared with the man in front of you. It's only when Anthony's gaze travels past your head, his lips pausing mid sentence, that you finally catch sight of him. You follow Anthony's gaze, angling your body around in the small booth.

You open your mouth to speak, but His cold palms cup your cheeks, drawing you into a passionate, yet utterly unexpected and somewhat unwelcome kiss. Your eyes widen, caught off guard, and your lips don't have time to react before he gently pulls away. His fingers tenderly brush aside a stray strand of hair that had fallen across your face, and he looks down at you with an innocent smile. "Hi, my love. Is everything okay?"

You're too dumbfounded to formulate a response, still struggling to register what just transpired as Jack gently nudges you aside and smoothly settles into the booth next to you. As you lock eyes with Anthony, it's evident he feels extremely uncomfortable, his gaze darting uneasily between you and Jack.

"Hey, man. How's it goin'?" Jack asks with a casual grin, his tone laid-back as he eases into the booth. His arm naturally drapes around your shoulders, as if it's a habitual gesture that's been repeated countless times. You go to shrug him off, but his grasp tightens, pulling you even closer against his side.

"Hey... hi," Anthony's gaze leaves Jack, focusing solely on you as he speaks again. "You didn't say you had a..."

Jack interjects, cutting off Anthony before he can finish his sentence. "Boyfriend? Yeah, she does."

Your elbow makes sharp contact with Jack's side, prompting a quick release of his arm from around your shoulder. He winces, but swiftly regains his composure, though not without a slight scoff escaping his lips. "He's not my boyfriend."

"You weren't saying that last night?" Jack didn't come to yours last night, and even if he had, he was the one requesting that whatever was happening between the two of you to remain casual.

I don't have time for a full blown relationship, he said.

All of my focus needs to be on hockey, he said.

Things are fine as they are, let's not ruin it, he said.

And what? He gets to flirt and fuck around with as many puck bunnies as he wants, but the minute you try and do the same, it's suddenly a problem? Not only was he not your boyfriend, but he didn't even want to be, he had no right to get jealous. And he especially had no right to rush over here and kiss you the way he did.

You pivot towards Jack, your fury emanating from every pore. His T-zone area has a faint reddish tint, and his breaths come fast and heavy. "Aren't you busy entertaining Jessica Rabbit?"

He tilts his head back in laughter at your nickname for the redhead he's been conversing with all night. Clearing his throat to regain composure, he gazes at you with a grin, teeth lightly grazing his lower lip as he tries to suppress a smirk that manages to break free regardless. "Jealous?"

You scoff, an incredulous look overtaking your face as you stumble over your words at his accusation. "Me? Jealous? Jealous of what? Listening to you talk about yourself for an hour? God, you're so full of it."

"Wouldn't you like to be?" He mumbles under his breath.

His perverted insinuation prompts a gasp to escape your lips, and your face ignites with embarrassment. Anthony's eyes are locked on the awkward exchange, his expression a mixture of horror and discomfort. You hurriedly bring your hands to your face, rubbing your eyes intensely, yearning for this nightmarish moment to come to an end.

"I don't... I don't know what's happening," he stammers, slipping out of the booth to rise to his feet. Anthony takes a final sip of his beer, his head shaking in disbelief. "But clearly, there's... something between the two of you."

You find yourself at a loss for words because, in a way, he isn't entirely wrong. You and Jack weren't in a defined relationship, but there was undoubtedly something brewing between the two of you, despite both of you attempting to ignore it. It wouldn't be right to involve Anthony in the midst of your complicated situation, no matter how appealing and genuine he seems.

"I'm sorry." You apologize.

He shakes his head. "It's alright. It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Maybe I'll see you around." With those words, he walks away from your table, heading toward the exit.

Jack shifts next to you, a content sigh escaping his lips. "He seemed nice."

"What's your problem?!" You hiss, jabbing your finger into his chest. "You invite me out with you and then completely ignore me the whole night? What the fuck, Jack!"

He meets your intensity head-on, responding in self-defense. "You started it!"

"How, Jack, how? How did I start it?"

"You were flirting with Dawson!"

A scoff escapes your lips, followed by an incredulous laugh. "I was not flirting with Dawson!"

You needed to escape the bar. The conversation had spiraled into a heated exchange, and the air in the crowded space felt increasingly suffocating. You were determined not to create a scene, but it was clear that staying any longer would only escalate tensions.

Without hesitation, you start pushing Jack, who reluctantly lets his body be forced out of the booth. He struggles to regain his footing as you forcefully move past him, heading straight for the exit.

As you pass through the door and step outside, the brisk New Jersey air envelopes you, offering a welcome contrast to the heated atmosphere inside. The chill grazes your exposed skin, providing a refreshing respite from the intense emotions swirling within. Jack hastily follows you, his fingers gripping your arm in an attempt to halt your departure, but you had no intention of walking away this time.

You pivot to confront him, your gaze unwavering and filled with a determination that mirrored the intensity in his own eyes, which held an enigmatic spark you couldn't quite decipher.

"It's not fair," you assert, your hands gently settling on his chest, seeking the warmth of his presence. He remains silent, leaving you to fill the void with your thoughts and emotions, or leave, and say nothing.

You stand there, torn between two choices. The option to say nothing and simply walk away, leaving behind all the headaches, the arguments, and the pettiness, but also bidding farewell to the good days, the shared laughs, and the nights spent wrapped up in each other. It's a choice to say goodbye to Jack Hughes, the one who has become the only constant in your life for the past three months.

Or the second choice, the most daunting path to take. It's the option where you stand in front of him, your heart pounding in your chest, and confess everything you've been holding in. To leave it all on the floor, a vulnerable offering for him to accept or decline. It's the scariest option of all, baring your heart to the boy on the hockey team, even after he's made it clear many times that he isn't looking for anything serious.

"We're not exclusive, Jack." You begin. "You can't keep swooping in and acting like you have some sort of ownership over me when you don't even want to be my boyfriend."

He waits, the stillness between you heavy with unspoken words, expectancy etched across his features. When your silence lingers, he takes the initiative. "Let me take you home," he offers.

"Either you want me, only me, or I'm done."

He pressures. "Let me take you home."

"Give me an answer!"

He sighs, a deep and exasperated sound, his fingers instinctively tangling in the roots of his hair as he grapples with the complexity of the situation. "I can't give you the answer you want."

[cinnbar-bun]

The Heartless Giant Pt. 4

Pairing: Crocodile x GN! Royal! Reader

Rating: SFW-ish (some suggestive comments wink wink)

Word Count: ~2.5k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 AO3

Taglist: @gingernut1314 @fanaticsnail @leafyturtle @pookiesnatcher @lolom

You can’t help but be attracted to his eyes. Those dark eyes that promise nothing but pain, that hold nothing but emptiness inside. His words repeat in your mind over and over. 

“But don’t keep me waiting too long, dear.” 

His insistence that you did not need an excuse to visit him and that companionship was desirable replayed. You wonder briefly what it would be like if those eyes of his could have some light. If those eyes could ever reflect anything besides apathy, coldness, or arrogance. 

How wonderful it would be to be the reason his eyes have light again… 

To be the one to bring it back to him…

It’s shameful, wishful thinking, but in your rather boring life, he colors your mind with fascinating thoughts. Some of them are morbidly curious, but they are far more interesting and stimulating than anything from before. With only a few visits, he had imprinted himself in your mind and made you start to dream of things you never dared to before. 

One could start to get the impression you were becoming fond of Crocodile. 

Oh, Crocodile… what a strange name. But the more you say it, associate the word with him, the more it fits him. 

Big, imposing, quiet, yet so, so ferocious- his name fits him far too well. 

Violent tendencies contained within a barely held monster of a man. It’s far too dangerous but also brings a certain amount of imagination you cannot deny yourself. 

You wonder how he fought your father. What he was like in Alabasta. What he looked like when he was younger. Who gave him those scars? Who cut his hand off and made him need the hook? Just what havoc could he have wrecked upon your brothers if he was not occupied caring for you and giving them the opportunity to escape? 

These thoughts plague you, morning and night. You almost want to go ask your father directly about Crocodile, but you know the dangers of that. You know you could be inviting something awful by bringing up that man’s existence in front of your father. He’s already been suspicious of your behavior the last few days, you didn’t need to hand him the reason on a silver platter. 

That thought reminded you of just how silly you were acting over Crocodile. If you couldn’t even discuss this with your own father for fear of his reaction, you shouldn’t even be down there in the first place. 

So you waited. A few days pass, forcing you to occupy your time and acknowledge the pros and cons of seeing Crocodile again. The cons were clear and obvious, but the doubts, the ‘what-ifs’, the copious amounts of hope you were attempting to have in order to possibly justify another minute of him, always overshadowed the rational parts of you. You were already in too deep to back out now. Not when you couldn’t shove away all the questions you had wanted to ask him about. 

It was now the sixth night since you last saw Crocodile. If you went down now, would he possibly chastise you for not visiting in a while? Would he assume the worst? Or would he be grateful? 

Well, he’s a lonely prisoner, you think, it’s not like he has any other people to talk to. He would probably appreciate your presence, if anything. Although the moon is at its highest point in the sky, you can’t possibly sleep, not with these thoughts. This time, you go to your closet and quickly grab a wrap to cover your shoulders over your nightclothes. 

You do the same thing as before, taking a peek out the door before dashing to the bottom cellar. Thankfully, the freezing air is not as sharp thanks to the thicker wrap around you. You take more careful steps down the stairs towards him, before you hear a low chuckle. 

“Well, well, well… long time no see, your highness,” Crocodile’s voice reaches your ears. 

“How did you know?” You ask, seeing as he’s sitting with your back towards you and the fact that you did your best to be quiet. Crocodile motions to his ears, still refusing to turn around. 

“I can recognize your footsteps,” he answers. “You have?” 

“I don’t hear much else. Your footsteps at least mean I will see something nice for a change,” he laughs, again with that same humorless laugh. 

You nod and take a seat on the stone floor in front of the bars. An offering to him. 

He freezes then glances at you over his shoulder. 

“You’re getting comfortable,” he comments rhetorically. “So, why did you come today?” 

He still hasn’t turned around. “I felt bad.” 

“Heh. You felt bad? You felt bad for a criminal? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” “I can always just leave you alone,” you retort. “I thought you were the one talking about ‘companionship’ and what not last time.” 

“Oh please, you didn’t come down here just because you felt pity for me.” 

“I didn’t say pity-” 

“My point still stands,” he interrupts. This time, he turns around, and you notice his eyes look more exhausted while his smirk is more cold. “You weren’t really feeling bad. You desire my presence much more than you want to admit, huh?” 

His bluntness makes you red while you grimace and grip your wrap tighter. “I absolutely did not ever say or imply that.” 

“You don’t need to. You keep trying to act tough around me, dear but I’m not the kind of man you can just lie to so easily.” He leans in closer to you and tilts your chin up with his hand through the bars. “You missed me, didn’t you?” “I did not,” you huff. You internally scream at the fact he’s making you act like a petulant child. 

“Sure, sure, your highness. Just couldn’t admit the fact that you were starting to want me.” 

“Well, continue to be that way. I’m going,” you say as you begin to stand up. His right hand reaches out to grab your wrist while he shakes his head. 

“Oh no, your highness,” he tuts. “I’m not letting you go so easily now that you’re here. Come on, take a seat.” 

“With how you’re talking, I don’t think I want to sit with you,” you argue. A low rumble from his chest again makes your face heat up. 

“Don’t be so cruel… I began to miss your presence here. I don’t want to go back to that loneliness, you know?” “So you admit that you wanted companionship?” “Well, now you’re putting me in an awkward position, your highness,” he smirks. “Making me have to admit my feelings so suddenly.” 

You wait to hear what he has to say while Crocodile rubs his thumb around your hand in circles. “Well? What are your feelings?” “So demanding,” Crocodile flicks his eyes towards yours briefly. “Well, since you’re so desperate to know-” 

“I’m not desperate,” you glare. He looks deep into your eyes and chuckles. 

“My bad. But I have to admit that I’ve been missing your company. You forced your way down here and then didn’t even come see after almost a week? I thought for a moment you would have forgotten me already.” You’re taken aback by his confession and stare while he strokes your hand. 

“Prisoner got your tongue?” Crocodile flashes his hook at you while you avert your eyes. 

“No, I… I was just taken aback for a moment. I didn’t expect you to be that forward now.” “You simply forced my hand. Don’t question my feelings again if you aren’t ready to hear what I really mean. Otherwise I’ll keep having to make you squirm.” 

“You’re too much,” you groan as you take a seat on the floor again. “I don’t understand how you can say something like that with a straight face.” “Try being more honest, your highness. It might get you where you want instead of putting you on the defensive.” 

“That’s rich coming from you,” you say. “You can’t tell me to be more honest when you were busy hiding your secrets until I ‘enticed’ you enough.” 

“What can I say? I’m a hypocrite, your highness. That’s not my problem to solve.” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t help but laugh. “Maybe you should take your own advice. Be more honest and open.” “I don’t think you could handle my honesty.” “I doubt that. You should just tell me.” “No, no, no, that’s not how this works. You can’t have only me admitting and spilling my life to you. You have to give something in return,” he points his index at you. 

“Fine. What would you like to know?” “Any relationship experiences?” Crocodile bluntly asks. 

“Wha- seriously? That’s your first question?” You reply, unimpressed. 

“What? I’m just curious, is all. It’s a normal thing to ask someone attractive, isn’t it?” Crocodile raises a brow at you with a smirk. 

“You-!” You cover your face with your hands. “You go first.” “Fine. Hm… relationships… can’t say I have.” “You really haven’t?” You ask in disbelief. “I mean, you seem like the type to have experience.” “Don’t mistake my words. I’ve had plenty of flings, if that’s what you’re curious about. But actually courting another? No, I have not.” “Why not?” “Why would I?” Crocodile runs a hand through his hair. “None have impressed me before. Especially not when I was so busy attempting to take over.” 

“One-track minded, huh…” 

“Hmph. You could say that. I prefer to label myself as ‘committed’ to my goals.” 

“And what are those goals?” 

“You haven’t given me your answer,” Crocodile reminds you. 

You roll your eyes at his attempt to redirect your question. “None.” 

“None, you say? Interesting,” he nods with a smile. “Not even a bed-warmer?” “You’re so crass. No. Nobody.” “Now that’s impressive. How did no one come along and attempt to woo you?” He chuckles, reaching out to hold your face in his hand. 

“Well… a few have…” you admit, avoiding the deep examination Crocodile is giving you. 

“And why have they not turned into an opportunity?” Crocodile questions. 

“I wasn’t interested. The suitors who tried were vapid and dull. I’d much rather have continued reading and studying than bother trying to keep a conversation with them.” 

“So, you’re just as ‘one-tracked minded’ as I am, hm?” Crocodile teases. 

“I think I prefer ‘hardworking’ instead of that,” you correct with a smile. 

“And what do you tend to study and read about?” “Any and everything. Whatever catches my eye at the moment, I like to read about.” 

“A good trait to have. Continue chasing more knowledge,” Crocodile replies. 

Your eyes widen. “You mean that?” “I told you before, you may be physically weak, but your brain can mean the difference between life and death. Power means nothing if you cannot effectively think for yourself,” his voice lowers, suddenly returning to their normal tone. 

“That’s definitely true. I know I’m behind my brothers and my own father when it comes to strength, but I’ve valued my mind. I may not be able to fight head on, but I can do plenty of others things,” you confess. 

“I know. They don’t appreciate and understand that, do they?” “No, not really,” you shake your head. Your brothers have teased you plenty about your tendencies to bury your face in a book. Even some of your suitors have been mortified that you knew things they didn’t- feeling threatened by that knowledge. Crocodile was the first man besides your father to encourage and be impressed by it. It made your chest feel lighter. 

“What a shame. But that’s their way of bringing you down to their level. To make you feel lesser than and to settle for less,” Crocodile looks sternly at you. “Don’t you dare let them do such a thing to you. You’re a smart person, and your worth is infinitely larger than whatever they think it is.” 

“Thank you,” you quietly reply, touched he would say such a thing to you. “Truly. I haven’t gotten support like that before.” “Heh. Don’t go thinking this makes me a saint or anything. I’m just saying the truth, so don’t accept what pathetic dogs try to tell you.” 

“I guess I shouldn’t,” you agree, a smile creeping on your face. “I know what I’m capable of.” 

“Good. And maybe you can find a more suitable partner for you then,” Crocodile chuckles. 

You look at him briefly, your mind starting to wander as you think about what he could possibly be like as a- 

You shake your head and try to remove the thoughts. It’s a crazy one that doesn’t make sense. 

His eyes opens slowly as he hums at your expression. “You look lost in thought again. What’s on your mind?” “Oh, nothing,” you lie. You don’t look at him out of fear of making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“You’re a terrible liar, your highness. How do you expect to be diplomatic if you’re going to expose every emotion on your face?” “I don’t do that. I’m just not wanting to share that.” “Now why is that, hm?” He tilts you face to him and leans in, smirking. “You’re not thinking of me are you?” “I would never!” You shout, your face exploding with heat. “I was just thinking of… of…” “Still showing it on your face,” he pulls you closer and whispers into your ears. “If you’re that desperate to see what a man of my caliber can do, you can always just say so. I certainly wouldn’t be offended.” 

“I don’t want that,” you cover your mouth, knowing your face is exposing the truth. Especially with how hot his breath is against your ears, you can barely handle the close proximity. “Besides, even if I were to hypothetically want that, you’re still cuffed and locked away.” “Oh, your highness,” he chuckles knowingly into your ear. “I don’t need anything but my hand to show you something wonderful.” 

Your eyes drift to his right hand and you notice how large his fingers are. If they were to just- 

You shoot up and cover your face. “You are- you are a cruel man!” 

“I can’t deny that,” he shrugged, the smug look on his face not leaving. “But, when you stop playing hard to get, I can give you what you really want." “You’re frustrating. Good night!” You yell, turning around and ready to walk back to your room. 

“Wait, your highness,” Crocodile calls out to you. You look, curious of what he wants to say. 

Crocodile gives you a small grin. “Dream of me, won’t you?” 

[jiyansthesis]

ESTOY ENLOQUECIDO POR TI

GEKKO (MATEO) x reader pt.2

pt.1

summary — you and gekko have been officially dating for five months, and you've been. . . thinking about things. from what was once, "he's so strong" when he's carrying something developed into "could he throw me on the bed?". of course, you never knew how to initiate it. do you just ask him? does it just escalate? do you have to plan it all out? those questions have been bothering you for so long that you straight up decided, fuck it, and searched it up on the internet. well, that was one way to get it started.

note — this is my first time writing smut LMAO. this might be extremely mid or decent, but i hope i don't disappoint with this!! i couldn't stop thinking about mateo yesterday so i decided i would start making this today. I ALSO CAN'T LEAVE THE MATEO SMUT TAG HAVE ONLY ONE FIC, on that note go check it out its so fucking good i love it.

w/c — 2.5k

warnings — (bad) smut, oral (f receiving), rough (ish), praise, tones of dumbification, kitchen sex, undertones of dom reader but mostly d. gekko and s. reader

not proofread + i am not responsible for any minors interacting w this post

you were done with it.

you were done waiting for your own confidence to go up just so you could. . . have sex with mateo.

just thinking about it had you red.

now that the two of you had finally moved in together, there was even less of a time that you could just do things yourself without him noticing. before you could masturbate whenever you wanted, as loud as you wanted. now you couldn't risk him hearing out of embarrassment.

it's been five months since the two of you had got together, and not once had either of you escalated past a few brief touches under shirts while kissing. mateo hadn't even seen you naked, or even with just a bra and underwear.

you knew that it would be this way until you did something about it. but the thing is, you don't know how.

and that led you here, legs crossed on your shared bed. you took a deep breath and began typing into the laptop on your lap.

"what the fuck do i even type?" you muttered under your breath.

"how to start sex? no, that sounds weird as fuck. how to get in the mood for sex?" you typed that, and instantly glanced towards the door, feeling as if mateo would walk in at any moment.

you were really picky about what websites you went on. you didn't need a whole porn video, but you also didn't need tips on how to get yourself horny.

researching harder than you do for homework, you didn't realize that the door creaked open.

"hey, chica. are you okay with a sandwich for lunch?" he said, alerting you of his presence.

without thinking, you quickly slammed the lid of the computer shut.

he gazed at you questionably, raising his eyebrow. "what was that?"

"it's nothing," you lied terribly.

his eyes narrowed. he could usually tell when you were lying, and it was obvious.

"but i'd love a sandwich," you tried changing the subject, hoping that he'd take the hint you wouldn't tell him.

"whatever you say, hermosa," he gave you a two-finger salute as he walked out the room.

you sighed in relief and opened the laptop again. so far, you had no luck. you did find some tips, but there was no way you were asking him, "hey, wanna fuck?"

you rubbed your hands against your face and let out a long groan. all this trouble just to ask him to destroy you? you flushed thinking about it.

deciding that you needed a break, you set the laptop down, angling the screen so that it wasn't wide open, but it wasn't quite closed.

you made your way downstairs, walking in the kitchen to see mateo with a big red stain on his shirt.

"holy shit, are you okay?" you ran over to him.

"i'm fine princesa. it's just ketchup. did you think it was blood?" he laughed.

you scowled and grabbed the sandwich on the counter, taking a big bite.

"hey, you're the one who thought it was blood, not me." he put his hands up in defense when you glared at him. "thanks for worrying about me though."

you rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face contradicted your irritated behavior.

"yeah, yeah. but if you're ever covered in blood don't expect me to come running."

"my heart," he pouted as he held his hand to his heart.

"don't you have to go get changed?" you questioned, trying to wipe the puppy-eyed look off his face.

"i probably should. look at you with the big ideas," he left the kitchen after giving you a peck on the cheek.

by the time he'd come back, you were busy washing the plate that you had used. he was silent, so when he wrapped his arms around your waist, you jumped and yelped in surprise.

"holy shit mateo, don't scare me like that!" you splashed him with some water, earning a chuckle.

"my bad chica," he apologized.

he stayed still for a few seconds, before he buried his head in the crook of your neck and start giving you little kisses.

"teo?"you questioned him while your face turned hot.

he hummed in response, continuing to trail open mouthed kisses along your neck. you tried your hardest not to gasp and tilt your neck.

"c'mon mateo, at least let me put this on the drying rack." you didn't trust yourself not to drop the plate and immediately go wild on this man.

that got him to stop, and you quickly put the plate on the rack and dried your hands.

"okay, hermoso. what are you doing?" you faced him, and he immediately caged you in against the counter.

your back hit the curved ledge, and his arms were on either side of you.

"what were you doing?" he asked instead of answering, inching closer.

"what do you mean me?" you were trying to convince yourself that he didn't know what you were doing upstairs, and that instead he was tricking you into saying it.

he didn't reply, but used one of his hands to pull you in, your arms automatically wrapping around his neck.

you'd never get used to how soft his lips were, the routine bite he always does to your lips whenever you make out. but this time was different. there wasn't more passion, but there was another emotion in how he pulls you closer to him

you could feel his smile, and when you pulled away, he had the goofiest grin on his face. his hand trailed up your thigh, stopping right before it got where you wanted it.

"teo," you frowned at him.

"what? is there something you want?" he teased you, inching closer to your core.

you averted your eyes, finding sudden interest in the ceiling. a sudden force tilts your chin back to face him.

"i asked you a question," he cooed.

you looked up at him through hooded eyes, and decided what's the worst that can happen?

you leaned your hips forward and grinded against his waist, letting out one long moan. he quickly stopped you with a harsh grip on your hips.

"does that say enough?" you said cockily.

"you have to use your words, hermosa. maybe i'll reward you."

you were tired of waiting, squirming at how uncomfortable it was in your shorts. from what you could see, he was too with the tent in his pants.

"i need you. i want you so bad." you whimpered, locking eyes with him.

he thought about it.

"what do you want?" he asked, his fingers making their way to your waistband and slowly inching it down your thighs. it left shivers coursing throughout your entire body, even though you felt on fire.

"i just want you. i want you to fuck me until i can't think anymore." you started rambling before you felt a pressure at your entrance.

he slipped a finger inside and curled it, and you slumped forward and found purchase on his shoulders.

"holy fuck mateo," you breathily said. "a little warning?"

"not my fault you weren't paying attention," he chuckled as he inserted another finger.

you've never bothered to use more than two fingers, but when mateo does it, it feels. . . different. you knew that you would never be able to replicate the same feeling that he makes you feel.

you could hear the noises as he went faster, along with the noises steadily pouring out your mouth.

"wait, fuck. . . mateo," you started speaking only to be interrupted by him sliding his fingers out and holding them up.

"damn chica, you're wet as fuck."

you almost died of embarrassment right then and there, but before you knew it, mateo dived between your legs.

you whimpered at his warm breath making contact with your folds, and just how you dreamed of, mateo went straight to work.

"fuck! teo, it feels so good," he hummed in response to your praise, pulling your legs over his shoulders while keeping your legs spread.

you threw your head back, letting out the most pornographic moan you've ever heard as your hand shot to his hair.

little whimpers and moans filled the room as you began to grind against his mouth. usually you'd last a lot longer than this, but either because you had been waiting months for this moment or the fact that mateo was eating you out, you felt something in your stomach tighten.

"mateo, stop, please." you slurred out, trying to use your hand to push him away. but he wouldn't move. he wanted to feel you cum around his tongue, and he stood by that.

he made a little motion with his head, shaking it side to side, still eagerly lapping away at you.

"i wanna cum with you, please i want it so bad." you blurted out, and that caused him to stop. you whined at the sudden cold air. well, he couldn't exactly pass up that offer, huh? especially when you begged so nicely and deperately.

"you always know what to say, chica," he grinned as he began unbuckling his pants.

"well, i didn't know what to say for it to come to this." you didn't know a single word that could've cause this to happen. not that you were complaining, but you might need that word for future reference.

"me about to fuck you stupid? i wouldn't know what to say either," you heard his pants fall to the floor and he angled you on the counter for you to be comfortable.

"this alright babe?" he asked, looking into your eyes for a clear answer. you stared back, impatient.

"just hurry up and fuck me," you nodded.

"i could stop right now."

"you wouldn't dare," you narrowed your eyes and before he could respond, you slammed yourself onto his cock.

he let out a groan his hands making their way to the bottom of your thighs to lift you up. although the beginning was rough, he started off slow.

"you know how long i've wanted to do this to you?" he said while picking up speed. your hands instinctively went up to cover your mouth to muffle your moans, but he pulled them away and pinned your wrists behind your back.

you shook your head. he watched as you didn't know where to look, eyes darting everywhere. from his chest, to his eyes, all the way down to where he was currently destroying you. then you'd get embarrassed and look away to start the cycle all over again.

"hey princesa. eyes on me," he loved seeing you not know what to do. as obedient as you are, you immediately locked eyes with him. "good girl. always so good for me, hmm?"

you nearly came as soon as he said that, tightening around his thick cock.

"oh, you like that?" you knew he'd use this against you forever. but now wasn't the time for you to be worrying about that. in fact, you couldn't think at all. you were understanding what he was saying but couldn't form a single response.

"i asked you a question." he began slowing down as if you didn't answer, he'd stop entirely. and you didn't want that.

quickly you answered, "i- mm, i love it," you slurred out.

"what was that?" he went back to his ungodly pace, and it took you even longer to piece a sentence together, letting out a moan every single time he hit your g-spot. you could swear you saw a little bump in your stomach every time he was fully in.

"i fucking love it, teo," you whimpered out, every word emphasized by the slapping of his hips against the apex of your thighs.

he would've blushed at this, but considering that he had in fact, been waiting so long for this, he attempted to go even faster and harder.

you were borderline drooling, if it wasn't for mateo holding you, you'd be lying back as far as you could. you went to grab for his back, before you realized that your wrists were still in his grasp.

"need to touch you," you whined.

he contemplated for a moment before releasing his constraint on you, and while you went straight for his back, his hands went up your shirt. the cold feel against your burning skin made you jump.

he had been letting out little moans and whimpers, but you could tell he was getting close with how they increased in volume and he began rutting into you like his life depended on it.

your moans were quieted but his lips on yours, and you began to feel that telltale knot in your stomach. it was as if he noticed this, as he broke the kiss and asked, "are you gonna cum?"

if you weren't in this position getting fucked until you couldn't think, you would've said, "isn't it obvious, dumbass?" but considering the fact he had you drooling on his dick that probably wouldn't be the best response.

you hurriedly nodded, and you could see the beginning of a smirk on his face.

"c'mon hermosa, you can do it. come for me," he trailed off into a long moan as you creamed around him, feeling as mateo did one last hard thrust and buried his head in the crook of your neck to mask his sounds.

the two of you stayed still in silence, only hearing each other's heavy breaths.

"did you mess up my hair?" you asked, blowing away strands of hair from your face.

"i think if your hair was fine, it wouldn't be much of a good time," you closed your legs as soon as he slid out, feeling something hot drip out of you.

"well, i think that i need to take a nice long shower." you attempted to get off the counter as mateo put his pants back on, but he stopped you.

"let me carry you, mi princesa. don't need you tripping." he gestured to you slightly trembling thighs.

you closed your thighs tighter together in embarrassment, as if didn't just cum in you a few minutes ago. he laughed at this and went to pick you up bridal style.

"y'know, this was what i was talking about when we first met. how we could be doing something else instead of dancing."

"why the fuck did it take you so long then, hm?" you jokingly punched his chest.

"well, why did you have to search up how to ask?" he shot back.

you totally forgot you left your laptop on the bed. it was open enough for anyone that goes by to glance at it and see at least half of what was on the screen.

and he went into the room to change his clothes.

"oh, fuck you teo," you hmphed and crossed your arms.

"you just did," he winked.

I HAD TO REWRITE THIS THREE FUCKING TIMES BECAUSE TUMBLR DIDN'T SAVE. THREE. I ACTUALLY LOST IT.

also how tf do u talk about pussy. like do you say pussy? vagina? entrance? core? heat? THIS IS SO HARD. btw i was so embarrassed making this that some parts might not make sense or be repetitive. im sorry

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[percervall]

Mamma mia, here I go again {pt5}

Summary: A summer of poor decisions leads you to having to face the consequences of your actions —and the men involved. Pairing: Kevin Magnussen x fem!reader, Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: talk of pregnancy, mentions of a past relationship, Mark being a dick Word count: 2.5k Taglist: @ashy-kit @averagef1fansblog @barcelonaloverf1life @bradfordbantams @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @exotic-iris13 @goldsainz @iloveneteyam @jaypreshpresh @laura-naruto-fan1998 @monzamash @norrisleclercf1 @opheliaas-stuff @roseseraj @szobosz @vellicora

Part 5 of the Mamma Mia series

Despite the fact that you had just had the summer break, not having a race weekend after Monza comes as a welcome breather. It allows you to catch up on tasks you had been neglecting. You finally managed to clean your flat and had just finished the last load of laundry that morning. It also allowed you time to finally schedule an appointment with a clinic to get a scan done. It had felt surreal, getting the black and white confirmation of the pregnancy. You’re still not sure if having a baby is the smartest move right now, but the relief you felt when you saw that the pregnancy was where it’s supposed to be and the heartbeat left you feeling even more confused about the whole situation. Trying your hardest to push all of that to the side, you change into your workout clothes and roll out your yoga mat. At this point you just need 15 minutes of not thinking about anything and you had found yoga to be a great help. As you centre yourself, focussing on your body and breathing through the poses, you begin to feel calmer. Taking another deep breath, you move into the next pose. The calm energy is rudely interrupted by your phone ringing. For a second you consider just letting it go to voicemail but the sound of the phone buzzing on the table is too much of a distraction to ignore. Huffing in annoyance, you get up from the floor.

“Hello?” 

“Hello to you too, sweetheart. Am I interrupting something?” 

“Yes, my workout,” you retort, rolling your eyes at Mark’s tone.

“Mm, if you need a hand let me know,” he says and you can just picture the look on his face. Smug son of a bitch.

“For fuck’s sake..” you mutter, “Get to the point or I’m hanging up.” 

“Oh sweetheart, I’m only teasing.” 

“Mark, I’m not doing this. Again, get to the point or I will hang up,” you reply.

“RIght, yes. I’m in your neck of the woods this week for some meetings and I was wondering whether you’d like to come over for dinner on Thursday? I know typically you’d take a girl out on a date, but I think there’s a few things that have gone left unsaid for far too long.” 

“I-.. I’d like that very much, Mark.” Despite his constant flirting, you’re grateful that he offers the both of you an opportunity to talk.

“I can pick you up if you want or you can drive so you have an out if you need it. I don’t-.. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You can hear the sincerity in his voice and it breaks your heart a little bit that this is what is left of the relationship you once had with him. 

“Thanks Mark, I don’t mind driving. Not because of the reasons you named, but I don’t want to inconvenience you by having to drive this way twice. Just text me the address and a time and I’ll be there.” Your phone buzzes against your face, indicating you have received a new message.

“You should have it now. Okay, I’ll let you get back to your workout.” You both say your goodbyes before hanging up. You put the phone down on the table and stare out of the windows in your living room, lost in memories. 

Mark and you met in 2012, while he still drove in Formula 1. You had just graduated university with a degree in Mathematics and Engineering, and your thesis had somehow made its way to the desk of Christian Horner. And so, there you were: 23 years old and bright eyed, using the tool you had developed for your thesis to analyse simulator data and translating that into adjustments needed to the set up of the car to extract its maximum potential. While you mainly worked on Sebastian’s side of the garage, you often bumped into Mark during race weekends, always ready with a comment that should’ve gotten him written up. Mark was everything you needed in a man at that point in your life and it felt so good to feel wanted, to feel desired. And then 2013 happened. 

You have to physically shake your head to stop going down that rabbit hole, only now noticing how hard you’re gripping the back of a chair. Exhaling deeply, you let go, flexing your fingers to get rid of the tension. Despite knowing you need to have this conversation before either of you can even think about second chances, you’re not looking forward to reliving how it all fell apart. 

+

Thursday approaches a lot faster than you had anticipated, work keeping you busy even if there wasn’t a race. Having already showered, you’re now standing in front of your wardrobe trying to decide on what to wear. The old you would have gone for something frilly and short. Mark loved seeing you in these tiny summer dresses, and you loved how his hand felt on your bare thigh, allowing him to easily slide up under your dress while you were out for team dinners and tease you mercilessly. Chewing your bottom lip, you peruse your options. Despite it being September, it’s still a balmy 22 ℃ although it will probably cool off during the course of the evening. Feeling the need to reclaim a part of you that Mark stole from you, you decide to go for a dress. Even if you no longer wear those short, cutesy dresses, you still love how dresses make you feel. There’s a femininity that you sometimes feel out of sync with because of your job. It feels empowering, dressing up in a world built for men. Your eyes fall on a recent purchase –a flowy midi length dress in a gorgeous burnt orange. Slipping it on, you brush your fingers over the soft linen fabric, admiring the way the gold buttons catch the sunlight. It’s casual enough for tonight, but it gives you that little boost of confidence that you know you will need to make it through Mark’s relentless flirting. Closing the door of your wardrobe, you slip on a pair of sandals and grab your purse before heading out. 

It turns out that Mark lives a lot closer to you than you had expected when you first looked at the address he sent you. You park the car on the paved driveway in front of the detached house in the outskirts of Oxford, taking in its grandeur. You remember Mark telling you about how his family would come over for the holidays sometimes and so the extra bedrooms make sense. As you slam your door shut, you spot Mark in the door opening.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets you and you let him pull you into a hug.

“Hey,” you reply softly, following him inside. Mark leads you to a large open kitchen-dining space before offering you something to drink. 

“Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to eat outside or not,” Mark says as he hands you a glass.

“Might as well make the most of this warm weather,” you reply with a smile. Mark returns your smile and takes you outside through the large French doors in the kitchen. 

“Dinner’s almost ready. Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll join you in a moment.” 

You do as he asks, taking in the landscaping from your spot on the patio. It doesn’t take long for Mark to start bringing out the dishes, refusing your help. 

“I might’ve gone a little overboard,” he admits sheepishly as he brings out the final dish. The grilled asparagus should’ve been a giveaway, but you can’t help but feel touched when Mark places a lamb roast on the table.

“I can’t believe you remembered,” you say, throat closing with tears.

“How could I forget? It’s not every day you find a pretty girl crying quietly in the corner of the garage after a race –which we won by the way– because she missed her nan’s Sunday roast. She always made lamb, right?” Mark says. You nod and try to swallow back tears.

“Thanks Mark, this-.. This means a lot to me,” you whisper. Mark smiles softly and gives your hand a squeeze. 

During dinner, the conversation mainly revolves around catching up. Mark tells you all about managing McLaren’s rookie driver and how he’s finding it to work at Channel 4 with David. You update him on your appointment, showing the little sonogram picture. 

“So everything’s okay with the baby?” he asks, an anxious look in his eyes.

“Uhu, so far so good. They estimated that I’m about 7 weeks along now.” Mark looks back down at the picture on your phone, a large finger tracing it gently as he smiles. Seeing him so enamoured by the tiny blob on the sonogram brings up a mix of emotions for you; it warms your heart to see him like this, but it also terrifies you that those feelings for him never went away and how easy it is to fall back in step with him. 

“You’d look so hot in those maternity dresses,” Mark comments, his tone flirtatious, “You always look hot in a dress. I still dream about that pink one with the hearts you wore to dinner after Silverstone. You looked so innocent in that dress, but we both knew you were anything but.” 

And then he goes and says shit like that, and it all comes tumbling down like a house of cards. 

“I no longer dress for you, Mark. You lost that privilege a long time ago,” you retort, voice even but there’s an edge to it. You remember the dress he is talking about, remember what he is referring to. Before your food even arrived at the table, Mark had dragged you into the bathroom. He had made some comment about how pretty you looked but how you’d look even prettier on your knees with your mouth wrapped around his cock, and so that’s what you did. That was how your relationship worked: Mark would make a suggestive comment and you would obey without a second thought. Of course he always made sure he took care of you; he was the one who helped you discover you could experience multiple orgasms, would always clean you up afterwards and run you a bath. But despite all this, he always took what he wanted from you first. You wish you could have protected your younger self against the heartbreak that was headed your way, against the feeling of being lost at sea after Mark left you alone in that hotel room with nothing more than the remnants of his fingerprints on your skin. After the dust had settled, you had promised yourself never again; you would never allow yourself to be in that position again. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, breaking you from your spiralling thoughts, “for- I’m sorry for how it all went down, how I treated you. You deserved so much better than that,” he adds, referring to the note he left you after that final race in Brazil. 

“Why did you leave me?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Because I couldn’t drag you into my mess. You had your entire career still ahead of you while I needed to get out. That last season was a shitshow, despite the fact that Seb won the Driver’s and RedBull the Constructor’s. I was sick and tired of how the team favoured Seb. I had nothing left to give..” 

“You shut me out, I thought we were in it together.. Or was I just a means to get back at Sebastian?” It’s impossible to not sound bitter, hurt evident in your tone.

“No, Jesus, no sweetheart. You know it started out as a way to annoy him, but my feelings for you were genuine; I loved you, and in many ways still do.” Regret is written all over his face when your eyes meet his. You know your relationship back then was complicated. Of course there was the age gap –Mark is a good 13 years older than you– which somehow trickled into the bedroom where he showed you things that made your previous boyfriends look like clueless little boys by comparison. And as every naive 20-something-year-old with daddy issues would have done, you fell head over heels in love with him, giving him your heart and your body. 

“You broke a piece of me that day that I might not ever get back,” you whisper.

“And I will spend the rest of my life regretting the way I handled things. You’re right, I should’ve been open and honest with you instead of walking out on us,” Mark says, taking your hand in his.

“I’ve spent ten years avoiding you. The ghost of you haunted me in that garage and so when Mercedes called, I took it with both hands. I was a mess those first years, somehow still hoping you’d come back for me. And then it became painfully clear you weren’t and I mourned the loss of you all over again. I hated you for what you did to me, hated myself even more for ever allowing you to get close enough to hurt me, for still being in love with you despite it all. The last ten years I’ve spent building up walls so I wouldn’t have to feel like that version of me again, and look where that’s gotten me.” You laugh humorlessly, biting your lip to stop the tears from falling. “I have become the very definition of a cliche, entangled in a love square and too scared to let any of them in.” 

Before you really know what’s happening, Mark pulls you out of your seat and into his lap. Your legs dangle over the arm of the chair and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. 

“I need you to listen carefully, okay sweetheart? If anyone deserves to take the blame for what happened, it’s me. And if you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of my life showing you just how worthy of love you are. I know all three of us will. You might have a hard time letting us in right now, but baby you need to know that we’re all in if you are. You are worth waiting for.” You take a deep breath, inhaling his cologne. The scent of it helps to calm you down, it reminding you of the lazy mornings spent in bed cuddling. 

“You’re the second person to tell me that,” you mumble as you look up at him. Mark smiles, brushing away your tears with his thumb and cradles your cheek in his palm.

“Then it must be true.” 

You smile back at him, albeit timidly and snuggle into him once more. Alice’s words from a week prior echo in your head. “Keeping your heart shut like this, it’s safe but also lonely.” You’re beginning to wonder whether the cost has been far greater than the benefits of keeping romance at bay. Doing so hurt a good man; had you been able to allow Kevin in completely, you know he would have made you feel safe and loved. You also know Kevin deserves better –hell, you deserve better, but knowing and doing are two very different things, and right now you’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready for this level of love –from any of them.  

Welp, there you have it. Date no.2 🙊

Again, a massive thank you to @curiousthyme and @szobosz for being my beta readers for this chapter, and a shoutout to @monzamash for helping me with figuring out the details for this date

Please feel free to let let me know what you think; your comments, tags and likes mean the absolute world to me 💜

I'm gonna take the holidays off from posting this fic to just relax (and maybe get some more writing done, who knows?), so the last date will be posted in the new year on the 6th. Wishing you all a merry Christmas and all the best for the new year!

[emsgwenstan]

Personal or professional?

Chap 1 | chap 2

Larissa Weems x fem(carpenter/joiner) reader

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Violet Hastings is a feminine and strong willed woman, who also has a lot of secrets, from her unconventional job to her personal issues, Larissa may be the one who opens violets heart but what is the price?

Warnings: eventual swearing, self criticism, hurt/angst, body issues| this chapter, none?

There it’s a lot in store for this just bare with me it’s only the intro. <3

———

“Violet get in here!” My boss called out into the work shop. “Coming!” I yell back, setting down the sand paper on the bench. Quickly making my way to his office I manage to scrape my leg yet again on a protruding piece of timber, with no time I decide against cleaning off the blood that’s now dipping down the length of my leg, when he wants me he wants me now.

Opening the door my breath was caught in my lungs upon laying eyes on the most beautiful woman i had ever seen. “Violet this is miss Weems, she’s looking to have a few cupboards made.” He said half assed with a sigh as if he’s so hard done by. The woman gleamed up at me, uncrossing her legs and extending to her full height. She was tall, very tall but not to much taller than me, already so captivating.

“Larissa.” She said with a deep voice holding out a delicate hand for me to shake. ‘My Larissa you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever gazed at’. I thought as i took her hand and gently yet professionally greeted her properly. “Violet.” I breathed hardly remembering if that was right. The touch lingered a little long, but I’m aching to be eligible enough to feel her hand once again.

“So… what exactly are you looking for.” I asked after clearing my throat. “She wants to get some tall cupboards for classroom storage at that school outta town.” He interjected. I shot him a glare at his rude behaviour. “As I recall I believe I asked miss Weems.” I snapped with a smile, returning my gaze back to her. “Well that is correct, but I was wondering if you had any ideas for the design, I want it to match the interior of the rooms if possible.” She said timidly, her English accent clear and alluring. “Of course I’ll take you to the show room.” I said turning to hold the door open for her.

On the short walk, the air was filled with a comfortable silence, which was nice because I’m not one for small talk. “Here we are, go nuts.” I chuckled. Larissa paced about the room and went from each item on display running her finger tips along the edges. I admired her for doing so, sometimes feeling something is far more important than looking, although that to is quite necessary, but I also admired her, her posture and height, her beauty and kindness, Larissa seems to be the epitome of grace, to which I envy.

“Oh my goodness these are incredible.” she said turning to look at me over her shoulder. I blushed and tilted my head down slightly flustered. “Who ever made all of this is very good, just look at the detail.” smiling and saying nothing, Larissa faced me probably observing my silence. “Did- did you do all of this?” She asked. “Guilty.” I responded returning her gaze. “Well, you very talented, your skill is remarkable.” She said, making me smile in thanks.

“So anything in particular catch your eye?” I wondered. “All of it honestly, but…personally this is my favourite.” Larissa walked a few steps to a vanity i made a few years back, not one that goes in a bathroom but the free standing one’s that go in a bedroom or foyer. I could see how her face contorted into awe at its presents, her eyes scanning over the fine details scribed into marble tops edge and the vintage gold handles, the mirror frame also a painted embellished gold. Larissa looked at me and began to speak again. “You know, this is off topic but… it was quite refreshing to see you walk in before, I thought I would be dealing with another incipient man.” She said not bothering to care if it caused offence. It was absolutely taken as a compliment.

“Well, if I’m being honest, it was lovely to see you to, we get all sorts of different clients who may I say are a handful to deal with, especially since they get palmed off to me considering I’m the only worker.” I replied in hopes of showing my gratitude for her compliance. “Your the only other person who works here… apart form your boss?” She asked almost in a concerned manner. “Yes, no body else finds him tolerant enough to stick around, so really the only reason I’m here is because I have some freedom over what I do, a little blackmail of me leaving and him shutting down for good always seems to do the trick.”

Larissa grinned at my words understanding that you need to play a little dirty if you want to survive in the business industry, something Larissa knows very well. “I tell you what… It’s yours, I have no use for it, I just have to tweak a few things before I deliver it for you.” I said hoping she would like the offer. “Oh no… I couldn’t.” She muttered but her face said otherwise. “Cant or won’t?” I asked almost as if i were daring her just to say yes.

Larissa eventually accepted the offer with much reluctance, her blush didn’t go unnoticed when i grasped her bicep smiling at her when she obliged. “Well, when would you like me to come and take some measurements?” hoping it’s soon so i don’t die of anticipation. “Does tomorrow evening work for you? It’s probably best that you come when students aren’t in the way.” She spoke. “Tomorrow it’s just fine how is four o’clock?” I asked. “Perfect.” She said.

Larissa looked down at her feet for a moment to avoid her crimson cheeks being displayed, but quickly her eyes found my shin. “Oh what have you done? Your bleeding.” She uttered, a look of worry washed over her features. Looking down remembering that i had in fact cut myself. “It’s nothing look at all the other scars, I’m sure you can tell it’s not the first time.” I laughed, shrugging it off as no big deal. Larissa opens her purse and pulled out a plaster holding it out for me to take. “Here.” She said. I sighed and took it thanking her and saying it’s not necessary. “It’s absolutely necessary, you need to look after yourself darling, I have to make sure the woman I need is in good physical health now dont I?” She protested. ‘Darling!? her charm is going to kill me!’.

Walking back to the office I said goodbye and good luck dealing with my boss to finalise some paperwork, Larissa let out a breathy chuckle at the statement and bid me farewell also. I paced back to my bench and resumed the task with only one thing on my mind, a beautiful woman called Larissa Weems.

———

The next morning was a drag, it honestly couldn’t go any slower, excitement pulsed though my body as well as butterflies in my stomach, just thinking about meeting Larissa again I’m torn between nervousness and the trill of seeing her, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt so giddy just because of a simple conversation or over anything for that matter.

After securing a few shipments of board to make a wardrobe for another client and doing some required maintenance on machinery it was finally time to drive to nevermore, that in its self was exciting. Before I started the twenty minute drive, i went to the weathervane to get a hot chocolate and a pastry on the way and hesitantly bought another set to offer Larissa. I have never done anything like this before. ‘God is she going to think I’m weird for buying her this? Does she even like this stuff? Let’s hope she’s not lactose intolerant or a gluten free person. God Just. Calm. Down’.

The drive down the road leading to the school was in some way magical, the trees making a canopy was surreal, the sunlight creeping through the branches and casting flickering rays along the windscreen, the cool breeze that was gently blowing the leaves was a beautiful sight. Anything that wasn’t four walls and loud noises was remarkable, it feels like when i take a step outside of the work shop and back into the world I’m alive or regenerated again.

Arriving through the iron gates my face dropped at the sight of the imposing school, it was huge and the architecture was to die for, it had a gothic aesthetic yet a warm nature to it. ‘My kind of place’. Parking in the staff lot, i made my way out of the car taking the drinks and paper bag holding the food and walked to what seemed to be the front entrance.

It was very quiet the only sounds were light howling of wind through the stone halls and hushed conversations of students bathing in the sun sitting in what you assume is the quad, even if it shaped as a pentagon. Walking aimlessly through archways and openings I found myself In front of a staircase, my gut is telling me to at least try to see if I’m in the right direction of her office.

At the top of the stairs there were plenty of painted portraits of people who were obviously previous headmasters and important alumni, all seemingly men to, that was until my eye was caught by a flurry of light colour. Just as I thought it was Larissa, her bright hair pinned to perfection and blue eyes radiant, i give credit to whoever captured all of her beauty, especially that little scare above her lip that i somehow absolutely adore.

My staring was cut short when I heard a door open and heals clicking against the marble floors, whipping around I immediately remember she’s far more beautiful in person. “What a horrid experience that was.” She said nodding towards the portrait. “Looks pretty incredible to me.” I said giving her a grin. “Yes well, sitting in silence for six hours without a break wasn’t very ideal, not to mention having to go back the next day to do it again was dreadful.” She chuckled. She tilted her head to look at herself and grimaced at it. “To be quite honest I try so hard to avoid it every time I step of of my office.” She said softly and turned her gaze back to me. “You shouldn’t it’s beautiful.” I said. With a huff Larissa straightened her posture and regained her mask of professionalism. “Hello violet.” She said realising she hadn’t greeted me properly. “Hi.” I responded.

Larissa turned and placed her hand on my shoulder walking me to her office. As we stepped inside the amazement came back tenfold, her interior was impeccable every colour and material held a rich aesthetic, from layered curtains to thick rugs and simple yet eye catching memorabilia that was effortlessly critiqued into place. She has wonderful taste, the only downside was her desk, a small crappy little thing that I’m sure she has trouble fitting under.

Larissa rounder her desk and sat at her throne of a chair and wordlessly asked you to sit by motioning her hand. “Oh, by the way I wasn’t exactly sure if or what you wanted but I brought you a hot chocolate and and a croissant.” You said holding up the goods. “You didn’t.” She said a grin appearing on her face. “I didn’t know what you liked or if you could eat or drink it, but I just thought I shouldn’t be selfish and offer you something anyway.” You shyly stated. “No I want it, that’s my usual actually.” She said. “I hope Your not lying to not make me feel bad are you?” You asked. “Not at all.” She smiled. “Ok well I have one that’s just plain and one that has whipped cream and marshmallows in it so take your pick.” You said pointing to the designated cups. Larissa bites on her bottom lip as she inches toward the drink with the toppings. “Don’t tell anyone but I have the biggest sweet tooth.” She giggled, the sound alone was a melody you wished to hear forever.

“So tell me about the process of making and installing the cupboards? Is it difficult? How would you manage to trek them into the school? Especially by yourself, I’d help you but I’m afraid I’m rather weak.” Larissa asked after she let out a hum at the taste of the drink, getting lost in her own mind wondering about the questions. You chuckled at her slight concern. “Well we figure out what colour or patterned board your looking for, order it and manufacture it in the work shop and I deliver and install it, as for bringing it here I’ll figure that out.” I said taking a sip of my own drink.

Larissa nodded at my words and seemingly scanned my figure, her eyes ran over the expanse of my body from hair and eyes to my clothes, crossed legs and shoes. I broke the silence feeling a little self conscious under her piercing gaze. “I’m afraid my uniform isn’t nearly as impeccable as yours I’m sorry.” I laughed nervously snapping her back to reality. “No, I was actually admiring, I think florissant pink looks great on you and I adore the pink laces on your boots.” She said politely pointing at your feet. “Oh thanks I guess, I decided that if I were to work in this industry I wanted to look quite feminine, what ever that is right?” I chucked. “Yes I see.” She smiled taking another sip.

After a few conversations about little bits of information and other steps, Larissa guided me back down stairs to a classroom. The whole time I spoke with her I realised how easy she is to talk to, Larissa comes across as sweet and charming, charismatic and intelligent, I do feel like slowly she’s peeling layers of professionalism back and being a little more personable and vulnerable, but so am I, not once have i had someone so friendly and easygoing to work or deal with, Larissa seems to understand my opinions and does everything she can to be as simple as she can to make things easier for me. Although a part of me can’t help but wonder if she’s just only being friendly for the sake of it or if Larissa genuinely likes me as a person.

After discussing the materials and rough estimates for costs Larissa and I walked back towards my car. “I’m really looking forward to seeing the results once everything is finalised.” She said clasping her hands in front of herself. “So am I, I think everything is going to look and function great.” I spoke. For a moment she didn’t say anything and just looked at me, although my gaze was diverted to behind her, a car was backing out rather quickly and without thinking i grasped her wrists and pulled her flush against me to prevent her from possibly being hit.

Larissa was stunned at the sudden movement just as much as i was, the person who was driving stopped and wound down the window, a woman with red hair and glasses far to big for her face gave an apologetic smile “oh my god I’m soo sorry I didn’t see you guys there, forgive me principal Weems.” Larissa gave you a look before stepping back and composing herself. “That’s alright Marilyn, please be careful next time.” She said, you could tell she was slightly annoyed it was actually quite funny. With that the woman drove off leaving myself and Larissa in silence. “Sorry about that.” She said. “How is that your fault?” I asked. “It’s not but…” she began. “It’s fine, I just didn’t want you to be run over.” I stated. “I suppose a thank you is in order than.” “No problem miss Weems.” I said. “Please, call me Larissa, I get sick of hearing that name every waking moment of the day.” The woman asked me hopefully. “Ok than Larissa, I’ll be seeing you sometime soon, don’t overwork yourself, I need you in good shape to tell me your thoughts on things ok?” I half joked clearly mocking her for the previous day, but wished it entirely. “I will darling, take care of yourself as well.” Again with the darling. At that I slipped into the drivers seat of my work car and waved Larissa goodbye heading back down the driveway.

Larissa slowly walked back towards her office stopping every so often to absorb the sunshine’s warmth, before heading down the cold stone corridors. She stepped inside of her room and smiled at the empty cup on her desk, Larissa wrapped her perfectly manicured hands around the paper and went to throw it in the bin, however she stopped in her tracks at the delicate handwriting with a phone number and name marked with ‘vi ;)’. She grinned at herself and whipped out her phone.

‘Meet me at the weathervane in your lunch break tomorrow? ~Larissa.’

@sabraaabra