#like the morning shift has absolutely no idea how busy it gets in the evenings even if theyre communicating between managers

[mystichistoria]

Tonight was fucking weird.

[strawberries-and-racing]

go back to sleep - cl16 smut

pairing: charles lecler x fem!reader

summary: charles comes home late after a long week of hardly seeing eachother and fucks you while your asleep

warnings: a little bit if angst at the beginning, established relationship, somnophilia, unprotected sex, fingering and a little bit of a control kink.

the cool night air that wafted off the mediterranean sea and settled over monaco brought charles no comfort. the darkness of the night pressed around him as he rounded the last few corners before pulling into the driveway.

he'd hardly seen you in the last week. you were swamped with work and always exhausted.

meanwhile, ferrari was falling apart, each race seemingly more disastrous than the last.

before, the two of you had always been able to make it work and saw eachother constantly. cooking together at night by the warm glow of the kitchen lights, reading together or going out on small, intimate dates.

but the last several days had been different. the week had been particularly stressful and busy for both of you but it felt different for charles. your schedules weren't aligning and he often ended up coming home extremely late, and you left early in the morning.

he knew that you were just busy and soon it would all blow over but still, he felt alone. he felt a little paranoid, everything seemed off.

he worried things would grow dull between the two of you. he worried you'd get irritated with his late nights. he couldnt bear to lose you.

tonight especially, his body ached for you.

he parked the car and got out, making his way up to the apartment. he opened the door quietly as to not wake you up.   

hastily, he put down his bags and made quick motions to prepare for bed. the apartment was dead quiet, only illuminated by the city lights that came through the windows. the clock reads 12:39.

as he opens the door to the bedroom, any traces of tiredness in him melt away as his eyes land on you.

you're asleep, your entire body limp. the ponytail you normally wear to sleep has fallen out and your hair fans out across the pillow. your lips are slightly parted and your body heaves slightly with each breath you take.

your legs are spread and your his tshirt is bunched up enough to reveal your white cotton panties, the ones he knows you like to wear to sleep.

you look so peaceful, angelic, fragile. so neatly prepared for charles to wreck. the idea of doing so excites him so much that he finds himself crawling slowly onto the bed.

his fingers begin softly stroking your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties. you dont move, dont make a sound. still asleep, still perfectly spread for charles.

he carefully pulls your panties to the side, running his fingers up and down your folds. even in your sleep, its unbelievable how wet you are from his touch.

his fingers move from softly circling your clit. your body doesnt move.

he slowly pulls your panties down your thighs and slips them off your ankles.

as his thumb continues pleasuring your clit, his fingers glide down and push inside you. your walls tense around his fingers and you groan, you shift positions a little.

but you dont wake up.

he pumps his two fingers in and out of you, increasing his pace ever so slowly as to not disturb you.

your sleeping body clenches around his fingers, walls fluttering with pleasure. charles finds it impossible how you remain asleep with how deeply he thrusts his fingers into you, brushing against your g-spot.

he pulls out his fingers before you can reach your orgasm.

a soft breeze swirls through the open window. you visibly shiver, goosebumps creeping over your thighs.

you remain unconscious still, even as he pushes his unbearably hard cock inside of you. the feeling of having you completely and absolutely under his control sends waves of arousal over his body. your motionless frame was all his to use however he wanted.

a small groan escapes charles' lips at the contrast of your hot core to the cool air of the bedroom. he gently begins thrusting in and out of you, placing his hands on either sides of your waist and gripping the sheets.

you exhale softly from parted lips. the muscles in your abdomen tensing, your walls clenching around him.

he increases his pace little by little. your delicate body flinches. he has to use every ounce of his willpower to keep his pace slow.

your expression beneath him is impossibly soft and innocent. he swears hes never seen anything more beautiful.

a small moan leaves your lips. the noise is hardly audible but the little vibrations that ripple over your body is enough to make charles's cock twitch inside you.

your eyelids flutter, you shift a little. your eyes open slowly.

your whole body feels hot, pulses of pleasure rushing through you. as you slowly regain consciousness your met with charles's intense green eyes. you cant quite read his expression.

it takes you a minute to piece together the situation, your mind still foggy with sleep. the heat and movement between your legs. charles on top of you. the familiar dark glint in his eyes.

charles thrusts into you carefully but deeply. you bite your lip, moaning. your finger nails clutching his arms.

charles brushes his hand over your cheek, touching you softly.

"go back to sleep, ma belle."  his voice is rich and soaked in lust. he places a soft kiss to your cheek, then to your neck.

your body feels so tired from the exhausting week and you're barely holding onto consciousness. so you give into charles without protest, just and you'd done so many times in the past.

you close your eyes. letting the gentle, familiar movements of charles's hips rock you back to sleep.

[another-lost-mc]

Hey<3

I hope you're having a lovely day like you♡

I have a lil request which is OM brothers accidentally hitting MC maybe in the face or smth.

Thank you in advance ☺

a/n: considering the daily chaos that ensues at the HoL, I could see a lot of accidents happening. plus, they're demons—maybe they forget their own strength, y'know?

➤ when accidents happen | the demon brothers

1.1k words | sfw | hurt/comfort | gn!reader

Lucifer makes a grab for someone—probably Mammon or Satan—who ducks behind you at the last moment, causing his hand to swipe across your cheek or forehead instead. You rub the sore spot and start sputtering angrily at them, glaring back and forth between Lucifer's bewildered expression and the guilty face of the sibling he was reaching for. Their little fight is momentarily forgotten when they both comfort you and make sure you're okay. Lucifer feels the most guilt and over the next few days, you catch him staring at your face like he's trying to make absolutely sure you're not injured or holding a grudge against him. He eventually remembers how this whole situation started, and his sibling's delayed punishment is much more severe because you were caught in the crossfire.

Mammon nearly crashes into you in his rush to escape Lucifer or Levi's wrath. You have no idea what the shouting down the hall is about—maybe he spent too much money at the casino again or maybe he broke something valuable. All you know is that you're heading to the library and minding your own business when Mammon comes tearing around the corner at lightning-fast speed. It's comical how quickly his expression morphs from surprise to horror when he realizes you're in his path. He grazes your side even though he changes direction to avoid hitting you head-on. He loses his balance and the momentum sends him crashing to the floor. Whoever was chasing him catches up to him and there's gonna be hell to pay, but Mammon managed to avoid seriously hurting you and that's all he really cares about.

Levi shifts into his demon form when he's cuddled with you in his tub but he doesn't always realize it. You wake up most mornings with his tail wrapped around part of you: your arm, your waist, one of your legs. When Levi gets excited, his tail thumps against the porcelain. (You can't help but think about an excited dog wagging his tail, but you keep that comparison to yourself.) You usually fall asleep curled around each other, but sometimes his tail flails around enough that it wakes you up. Tonight his tail flicks roughly against the tip of your nose, and your eyes water from surprise and the initial burst of pain. You're fine again within a couple minutes, but that doesn't stop Levi from apologizing profusely and he nearly sobs with embarrassment over the whole thing.

Satan has better control over his frustration and rage now than when you first met him, but he still needs some sort of outlet when he feels overwhelmed. He usually storms off to his room and deals with it privately. You've offered him the solution of screaming into a pillow, but it's not soothing for him like it can be for you. He often destroys something instead—ripping a book to shreds (and regretting it later) or throwing something against the wall. Whatever's in his hand becomes collateral damage. If he forgets you're in his room too, it can be dangerous. He's never thrown something at you, but poor aim and bad luck means that whatever he sends flying against the wall can ricochet into pieces and hit you after. It's like a bucket of cold water dumping over his head when your little noise of surprise catches his attention, and he fusses over you endlessly while he makes sure you're not really hurt. He doesn't think it's funny when you grin and remind him that you're still in better shape than his now-destroyed coffee mug is.

Asmo rarely hurts you even by accident, and usually it's in silly moments of clumsy excitement. Today he painted his nails with a new nail art technique he hasn't tried before. You both lean down at the same time to admire his work and his forehead smacks into yours. You're both a little stunned and your eyes water from the shock rather than actual pain. He breaks out into giggles when you whine his name and try to blame him even though it's really no one's fault. Asmo accepts responsibility anyway and he apologizes profusely, but he hesitates to hug you when his nails are still wet and tacky with polish. He opens his arms wide so you can wrap your arms around his chest instead. He peppers your head with kisses and promises to make it up to you as soon as his nails are dry.

Usually Beel polishes off all the leftovers at dinner. Some nights you want extra helpings too, and it's like a mad dash to help yourself before Beel does. Tonight you both reach for the dish of hellfire scalloped potatoes at the same time. Your fingers grab the side of the dish first, but his fingers squeeze around yours immediately after. His grip is tight—too tight—and you wince from the pressure of his fingers digging into your hand and the uncomfortable heat of the ceramic dish against your palm. Mammon grabs his fork and stabs Beel's hand with it on your behalf. Beel looks so guilty when he pulls his arm away and insists that you can have the rest. His stomach growls in protest, but you know it was an accident and you're not really hurt. After you shake the stiffness from your fingers, you scoop some of the food onto his plate before helping yourself to the rest. Later on, he offers to take you out for ice cream as an apology.

When Belphie sleeps, he has some cursory awareness of what's going on around him but he tries to block it out. He's not easy to move around, either—his body is like dead weight, heavy and awkward and unyielding. When you nap together, he usually falls asleep and doesn't move around too much. You might scoot away when his body next to yours causes you to overheat, but he tends to stay exactly how he is. It's days when he has active dreams or bad nightmares that things can get a little awkward. He might wrap an arm around you suddenly and it's nearly impossible to wiggle free, and sometimes his tail makes an appearance and drapes over you when he feels particularly clingy. Sometimes your arm ends up pinched against the mattress after he rolls on top of you in his sleep. He'll wake up when he realizes it's you trying to get his attention, but his apologies for nearly crushing you don't sound very sincere. Once he's lifted himself off you, he lets you get repositioned first then he cuddles up beside you again. As he drifts off to sleep, he grumbles under his breath about how it couldn't have been that bad.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: San and Seonghwa are away from home during your heat, so they ask Yeosang to help you out. Pairing: Dragon!Yeosang x bunny fem!reader Tropes: hybrid au, poly au Genre: smut, fluff Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, pet names, mentions of pregnancy Smut Warnings: heat, oral (f receive), dragon cock, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, mommy kink, light dacryphilia Word Count: 6,836 Note: enjoy this chapter of CTASF 🫶 dedicated to the amazing @downtoamagicalland and @mejuii I appreciate you both so much for beta-reading this for me!

Previously: Cuddles & Throw Blankets || CTASF Masterlist

Yeosang couldn’t believe his ears. It may very well be a dream, a very specific and weird dream. He’s sitting on Seonghwa’s tattoo bench while the elder dragon cleans up his back after a touch-up. Seonghwa looks at him through the full-length mirror in front of them. Yeosang isn’t sure how to react. He just stares at the blue-eyed dragon. It seems he wants an answer, and fast.

“You want me to what?” he jumps slightly when Seonghwa sprays a bit more disinfectant cleanser on his back.

“We want you to help Hops through her heat.” Seonghwa reiterates plainly while wiping the fresh tattoo.

“I don’t understand, won’t-” “San isn’t going to be here because he’s going on a business trip in Milan.” the black-scaled dragon explains, “I’m booked solid all week and won’t be able to stay at the lair and help her. We know she likes you a lot, and you like her. We trust you to help her through this.”

Yeosang’s electric green eyes slit thinner at Seonghwa through the mirror. This has to be a test. There’s no way it’s not. Seonghwa pats his bare shoulder, letting him know that he’s done cleaning. Yeosang looks up at his older friend, trying to determine if this is truly a test of his loyalty or if they genuinely want him to help their girlfriend. Seonghwa’s blue eyes dilate and give the bronze dragon a gentle smile.

“We’re serious, Sang. Take care of our girl for us.”

You’re fucked. Not literally; you wish you were literally being fucked. You hadn’t expected your heat to come while Seonghwa was out at the shop. San wasn’t even in the country. You have no idea what to do, and you can’t exactly leave the lair either, or you’ll get jumped by the first alpha that catches your scent. You called Seonghwa, but his phone went to voicemail. He’s likely working on that massive backpiece he sketched last week while you made some jewelry. You know San can’t fly back the day after he left, but still, you call him.

“Hello? You okay, treasure?” San’s early morning voice rings through your phone.

Your knees nearly buckle hearing his gravelly morning voice, “Sannie.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks with more concern.

“I- I don’t know what to do…” you whisper, “You’re in Milan, a-and Hwa isn’t answering his phone, but-” you cut yourself off.

You hear him shifting in bed, “Tell me what’s wrong, treasure.”

“My heat is starting….” you admit.

You hear him chuckle on the other end of the call. It makes a shiver run up your spine.

“Go find Yeosang, treasure.”

“W-what?”

“Hwa talked to him last week. He’ll take care of you this week while we can’t.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “I should go find Yeosang then. I feel myself getting hotter.”

“Mmm,” he hums, “you go do that, Hops. Keep me updated.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you too, Hops.”

You hang up the call and allow yourself to sniff out Yeosang’s distinct minty scent. Due to how sensitive everything is right now, you don’t have much difficulty sniffing him out. Then, of course, you get a mixture of pine and gingerbread from Mingi’s room. You know Yunho’s in there with him. There’s a strong pull to go in there and ask the tall oranged-eyed dragon to help you, but you go against your wishes and respect what your boyfriends deem best for you in this situation. After all, you’re absolutely not thinking straight anymore.

Your ears droop as you stand outside Yeosang’s door. His peppermint tea scent is soothing but also makes heat swirl low in your belly. Timidly, you knock on the door and wait for a response. You pick at the edges of your nails while you wait. It’s a habit both San and Seonghwa are trying to get you to stop, but you can’t seem to shake it.

“Come in, Hops.” you hear Yeosang call through the door.

You push the door open to find him sitting at his desk, looking over color swatches for his current project. Instead of sitting in the comfy armchair beside his desk, you stand on the fluffy area rug behind him, waiting for some sort of confirmation that he knows you’re there. You jump and let out a small squeak when the door snaps shut on its own accord behind you.

“It was just Jongho using one of his vines to close the door for you.” he states simply, not looking up from his papers.

“H-how did you know it was me?” you ask, now toying with the tip of your ear.

“Hops, I can smell you. We all can.” he tells you.

He turns around to face you, looking you up and down before walking over. He tips your chin up to look at him in the eye. Like with your boyfriends the first time, you feel the intense flight or fight reaction growing in you. Your nose twitches lightly out of a purely natural response.

“Your heat is here. You smell so fucking good. Like a batch of freshly baked sugar cookies.” he smirks, his bright green eyes almost swirling with desire.

“I- um,” you stutter, “Sannie told me to find you.” you blurt out.

He nods, “I chatted with Seonghwa last week when he touched up my tattoo. They want me to take care of you. How clear is your head still?”

“Pretty.” you breathe out, leaning up to hopefully move his pace along.

He places his other hand on your waist, pushing you back down to be flat on your feet.

“How long does your heat normally last, tiny bunny?”

“Max, eight days. Minimum, four.” you say.

Your eyes keep flitting back and forth between his eyes and lips. You feel tiny bits of crystals pricking your chin and hip, wanting to form from his fingertips. He’s holding back; you don’t want him to. Your snow-white ears fall flat against your head as you try to lean up again. You watch how his eyes slit thinner as a last resort to hold onto the last bits of self-control.

“Sangie,” you nearly moan, “please take care of me.”

“Hops, you know we need to at least-”

“It hurts. I just need you in me now.” you beg.

Yeosang growls before surging forward to place his lips against yours. You let a whine slip past your lips into the kiss. Feeling his lips against yours finally makes heat rush through your body even more than your heat typically causes. Your tail flutters lightly behind you, reveling in the affection you’re receiving from the bronze dragon hybrid. The way he kisses you steals the air from your lungs. The longer he kisses you, the more you feel slick gushing from between your thighs.

When you’re about ready to beg again, you feel the back of your legs hit his mattress. You pull back and let yourself fall against his bed despite wanting to stay lost in the kiss. When you make eye contact, you feel the rush of fight or flight again. Only this time, you feel your thighs part and lay against the mattress. Yeosang’s green eyes are nearly fully engulfed in the electric color. His pupils are hardly visible at this point. His veiny arms have barely there dustings of shiny bronze scales. One of those arms comes closer to you. You feel the few scales on his forearm graze against your exposed skin. He runs two fingers along the fabric of your shorts. The shorts aren’t doing much, though. They’re stuck to your puffy, soaked folds, leaving little to the imagination.

“Look at that, Hops.” he muses, “You’ve leaked through these itty bitty shorts of yours. Are you that needy already?”

“Yeosang, please,” you practically cry, “I need you so bad.”

Yeosang doesn’t waste another moment. His body is over yours, and you can feel his hard length grinding against your sopping wet core. You release a continuous stream of whines and moans in lieu of begging him to fuck you properly. Within moments you’ve managed to soak the front of his pants in your slick. You’re so far gone already, though, that you’re shameless about it. Yet again, though, he pulls away from your body, and you let out a noise of dissatisfaction at his action. He slips your soaked shorts off your body, watching how a string of slick stretches from your pussy to the fabric for a few moments. The sleep shorts are discarded on the floor; you couldn’t be bothered to check where.

“I’ve heard,” he chuckles, kneeling down next to the bed, “that omega slick, specifically, bunny omega slick, tastes amazing. I think I better have a taste, don’t you think?”

“Yeosang,” you whimper.

He smirks and starts placing small kisses along your inner thigh, reaching about two inches from where you need him most before switching legs and kissing that one instead. You buck your hips up, hoping he finally gives you the attention you desperately crave. The more time he takes, the more your mind is fogged by your heat. You don’t know how to communicate how desperate you truly are; you aren’t even sure words exist to describe your feelings.

When you feel you’re about to burst at the seams, Yeosang licks a wide stripe over your folds. Your thighs quiver at the feeling. When your eyes meet, you see how the vibrant green seems to almost swirl in his eyes. It’s entrancing the way he looks at you as if you’re his prey but also as if you’re the only woman in the world. The sight makes your heat swirl more aggressively through your body. His tongue explores every bit of your swollen pussy it can. Slurping and kissing noises are the only thing heard besides your moans. You briefly look at him and see his sharp canine teeth shine. A jolt of fear runs through your system before it’s quickly overtaken by lust again.

“So fucking good.” he hums against your folds, “The rumors are true; omega bunny slick tastes like heaven. Tastes as good as you smell, little bunny.”

“Sangie,” you whine, earning a hum of acknowledgment from the bronze dragon, “need you- need you inside me. Please, inside me now.”

He nods and places a soft kiss against the hood of your clit one last time before standing up. You drag your (San’s) t-shirt off your body and toss it somewhere else in the room. You watch as Yeosang strips in front of you. Your ears fall flat against your hair, and your thighs squeeze together, seeing how gorgeous he is beneath his clothes. His muscles are sculpted everywhere; it’s enough to make you drool (more than you already might be). The sight of his tattoo makes your mind reel with different debauched thoughts. The way the long sword goes down his spine with a crescent moon behind it in the center. The sword’s hilt starts at the base of his neck, and the blade’s tip stops about an inch above his hips. It suits him well, and you can imagine how gorgeous it looks when his back muscles are flexed.

When he turns back to you, you think you may combust from the desperation you have for the green-eyed dragon. First, your eyes flit across his muscles—how his toned torso makes your tail flutter behind you. Then your eyes fall to the muscles of his lower stomach, how they lead your eyes to one place. Finally, you feel a gush of slick leak from your needy hole. His cock is something you’ve never experienced before. You thought at first, maybe, that the differences between your boyfriends’ cocks were simply coincidental due to how the dragon genetics worked for each of them. Now though, you know that each dragon has something unique.

Yeosang’s is on the longer side. You’ll struggle a little bit to take him just due to how tiny you are compared to him and all the Thunder, if you’re being completely honest. He has spiral grooves down the entirety of his member. You know, not only will it feel phenomenal having him inside you, but also that it’ll make for a very pretty sight when he cums inside you.

You must’ve made a noise of some sort because Yeosang chuckles at you. He reclaims his place over you. His tip barely grazes against your entrance. He leans down, just far enough away that you can’t kiss him. His dark hair is falling down in his face as he looks at you. A playful smirk finds its way onto his lips.

“Your eyes are so dilated, little bunny. I can hardly see the blue anymore. Are you really that needy?”

“Yeosang,” you nearly sob, “I need you so bad. Please just fuck me already. Need you, need you so bad. Breed me, fuck me, use me. Please!”

“Shh,” he hushes your sobs, wiping a stray tear from your eye in the process. “I got you, little bun.”

His tip prods through your folds, and he slowly pushes into you. Your hands fly to grip the back of his hair as he takes his time. Your fingers dance along a few bronze scales along his hairline. You can’t see them, but tracing them with your fingertips is enough for now. You desperately want to tell him he doesn’t need to be so careful. But, the tiny bit of logical thinking you have left knows he’ll still take his time with this part, at least.

“You’re so fucking wet, Hops. You smell so fucking good too. Fuck.” he muses through soft pants.

“Sangie,” you beg, “more. I need more.”

“We’re about halfway, bun. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m in fucking heat. Fuck me like you mean it.”

You notice how he takes a sharp breath in. Despite your rather enticing pleas, he’s trying to keep himself levelheaded and patient. He keeps his slow pace as he pushes each inch into you. Once he’s fully sheathed inside you, he searches your face again for discomfort. Not a single clue of that is found, though. Instead, he’s met with the most lust-filled, debauched look he’s ever seen.

“Sangie, fuck me. It’s too hot. ‘M too hot. Need you so bad.” you whine.

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck me right now!” you demand, “Or I’ll go find one of the others to do it.”

His eyes go narrow at your comment. The same kind of possessive look that San gives the others if they get too close when he’s in a bad mood. It’s extremely hot. You find yourself baring your neck in submission to him and your nose twitching again out of some sort of twisted lust-fueled fear.

“That’s a good little bunny.” he says condescendingly, “Now, are you ready for me to take care of this bothersome heat?”

“P-please, Yeosang, you already feel so good.” you admit.

He gives a shallow thrust just to see how you react to it. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head, and one of your ears twitches in pleasure. The way the grooves of his cock feel inside you send you beyond cloud nine. You’re tight around him, tighter than anyone else he’s fucked in the past. San and Seonghwa were right, fucking a pretty little bunny is an indescribable experience. He thrusts into you slowly at first. Yeosang studies every movement and facial expression you make. That is until your hands dance away from his hair and dig into his shoulders. Something about digging your blunt nails into his skin makes him insane.

His thrusts instantly become rough. You let out a choked moan, and your fingers dug into his skin just a bit more. Finally, he presses his body down against yours fully. The feeling of his skin against yours makes your mind go in a million different directions at once. You find yourself hooking your ankles together behind his back. You just want him as close as you can possibly get him. Your orgasm is already bubbling so close to the surface just because of how his cock is and how desperate you are.

You don’t warn him when your orgasm comes bursting through you. You spasm beneath him, your nails digging deeper into his skin. He gasps and lets out a moan. The sound alone makes you feel as though you may cum again instantly. His thrusts get stronger and faster as you ride out your high. The spiral grooves make the whole experience even more euphoric, even though you didn’t think it possible—your tail twitches and shivers behind you, and your ears and nose twitch.

“Fuck, Hops.” he groans in your ear, “I’m gonna fuck this little pussy full. You want me to breed you full, hmm?” “Please, Yeosang, please! Breed me full of your hatchlings. I need it so bad.” you beg as the slow burn of a second orgasm builds.

Yeosang growls again, and his sharp teeth prick at your neck. You can feel small bits of crystals on his fingertips again. The slight pain of the sharpness of both his teeth and crystals feel so good in an odd way. You want more. When he cums he buries himself fully inside you, stilling as he cums. You can feel the cum filling you and sliding back out via the grooves in his cock. As much as you’d love to be plugged up by him and his cum you know that the sight of your small hole leaking his cum is probably much prettier.

“So fucking good for me.” he muses, kissing your collarbone.

“Sangie,” you whimper, running your fingers through his hair.

“Hmm?”

“I think I’ll be okay for an hour or so before another wave comes.” you explain, “After a quick nap can we go to my nest?”

He nods, “If that’s what’ll make you comfortable, bun.”

Yeosang kisses your lips softly before pulling out of you and stepping away to find something to clean you both up with. He returns with a small towel and begins the process of cleaning as gently as he can. You try to pull away from him a few times, whining about how you want to keep his cum leaking out of you. He’s not letting that happen, though. He knows not only will your boyfriends kill him if he doesn’t care for you properly but also that it’s not healthy for you to have it in you for too long.

Once you’re both cleaned up, Yeosang quickly lifts you and places you under a light sheet on his bed. You requested not to have the comforter (as amazing as it smelled) because you knew you’d get far too hot too fast. Yeosang climbs under the sheet after you. You almost instantly find yourself nestling your head against his muscular chest, and he starts petting your ears. This is comfortable. This feels right.

“Sangie,” you ask, half asleep.

“Yes, bun?”

“Can you make any mineral?”

“Yeah, any mineral or mineral compounds. Why did I hurt you at all accidentally?” he starts to worry.

“No, no.” you chuckle, snuggling closer, “Can you make them any shape too?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he holds his hand that isn’t wrapped around you, palm up. You watch different minerals appear in the air just above his palm and slowly form into a crystal shaped like a small rabbit. It’s a pale blue color with slightly lighter blue banding around it. The rabbit is comfortably lying with its ears back. The newly formed crystal lowers onto his palm, and he moves it so it’s pinched between his fingers.

“Any shape, any minerals.”

“Why this one?” you ask quietly.

“Blue lace agate,” he starts, “stone of communication. People become more confident and articulate regarding their emotions due to this stone. You’re kind of like that for the Thunder. That’s why. We never really talked out our fights or disagreements before you came along. So having you here really makes a difference, Hops.”

You lift your head up slightly and look at him. His electric eyes are filled with sincerity. His typically thinly slit pupils are dilated, showing his affection toward you. Your ears are standing upright now. Yeosang chuckles lightly, and you give him a confused look. He reaches up and scratches the base of your pure white ears.

“Your ears keep turning to listen to everything.” he explains.

“O-oh,” you find yourself becoming shy, “I didn’t even realize I was doing that.”

“I know,” he smiles softly, “that’s why I laughed. It was cute.”

You’re about to respond, but a light knock sounds on the door. One of your ears shoots toward the sound, and then you properly turn your head toward it. Yeosang sighs but calls to let the person know they can come in. You can smell them through the door, though. It’s Jongho. You can’t mistake his book smell for anyone else. He doesn’t look up at first when he pushes the door open. Instead, his eyes are fixated on the tall tumbler filled with some sort of tea.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it smells like Christmas threw up in h-”

He quickly shuts up when he looks over at the bed where you and Yeosang are still lying. The sheet doesn’t cover your upper body, but you’re not exposed. He can only see your back since your chest is half against the mattress and half against Yeosang’s chest. Jongho quickly turns around, nearly knocking over a houseplant with his dark blue tail. You feel a chuckle start to rise in your throat, but then the heat of a blush runs through your body when you feel Yeosang pull the sheet up over your shoulders. Jongho stays facing Yeosang’s bookshelf when he starts talking again.

“I made some tea for her to drink. It’s that one with the, um, the pregnancy prevention whatever flower.”

Yeosang chuckles, “Yeah, ‘the pregnancy prevention whatever flower’, you’re the damn flora dragon. So you should know the name of it, right?”

“That’s not important right now. I’m putting it on the shelf over here. Get it when you want.”

You sigh, “Just bring it over here. There’s a little table next to me.”

Jongho visibly tenses up, and you see how small vines twine around his fingers. You aren’t trying to make him feel uncomfortable. That’s the last thing you want to do. You just want to offer him a more straightforward solution. Slowly, Jongho turns around, putting a hand in front of his eyes so he only sees just the ground in front of him. He ends up stubbing his toe on the small table anyway. Jongho lets out a slightly pained noise and sets the cup down. You reach over and grab his wrist before he can pull his hand away. The sheet falls off your one shoulder, but your back remains mostly covered.

“Jongho,” you speak softly.

Finally, he takes the hand covering his eyes away and makes eye contact with you. His golden eyes are swirling with some sort of emotion you can’t find words to describe. You don’t say anything at first but offer him a gentle smile. He keeps the same slightly panicked but attentive face.

“Thank you,” you say, “I really appreciate the tea. Is your foot okay?”

“Y-yeah! Great!” he answers a little too quickly, “I’ll just go before another wave hits you.” he chuckles awkwardly before releasing his wrist from your hold.

Jongho is out the door within seconds, and vines stretch back to shut the door behind him. Your heart sinks a little bit, thinking you made him uncomfortable. Yeosang must’ve noticed because his arm wraps tighter around you. When you look up at him, you see a smile resting on his lips while he looks at you. You reach up and run your fingers through his hair along his hairline. He leans into the touch each time your fingertips run across his shiny scales.

“You’re trying to distract me.” he muses, though his eyes stay closed.

“Why do you say that?” you muse back.

“You’re brushing through my hair, but I can smell that your sweet sugar cookie scent is slightly burnt now. What’s wrong?”

You sigh, “I made him uncomfortable.”

“Jongho?” he asks. You nod in response, “You didn’t, little bunny. He doesn’t want to cross a line that he can’t.”

You choose not to think about what he means by that, “Can we go to my nest now?”

“Of course, little bunny. Can you bear to have clothes on for a little bit while we go down the hall to your room?”

You nod at him. He gets up with a slight groan and walks to his closet. He grabs a hoodie and stops at his dresser to grab a pair of sweatpants. Once he’s standing in front of you again, he holds the hoodie up and gently slips it over your head. You think you may not make it to your nest being so wrapped up in his scent. But, when you slide your arms into the sleeves and pop your head out, you see Yeosang looking at you with that same endearing look from earlier.

“You look good in my clothes.” he tells you, “We should keep you this way.”

“Don’t start being protective like Sannie.” you pout.

“Little bunny, you walked into being coveted the moment you joined the Thunder.” he muses.

He offers you a hand to help you stand up. When you stand, the hoodie falls down to be the length of a short dress on you. Yeosang’s sweatpants hang low on his hips, and you desperately want to tug them down and learn what it feels like to have his cock down your throat. You somehow maintain your composure, though, and watch as he grabs your tea from the nightstand. You start your short walk down the hallway, and soon as you’re about halfway down the hall. You feel a second wave of heat takes over your body. You feel the slick coating your thighs, and when Yeosang whips his head around to face you, his eyes are wide. You’re stood in the middle of a communal space in a lust-drunk state. This could get bad, fast. Luckily your room is just another five steps away. He drags you in, shuts the door tightly behind him, and places the tumbler on the small desk next to the door.

He doesn’t expect you to pin him against the door when he closes it. He had expected you to grovel in front of him, begging for his cock again as you had just a little bit ago. Now you’re confident and demanding for him to submit to you. Nothing could’ve prepared him for you in this frame of mind. You’re typically rather meek and prefer to be guided than guide someone else. Seeing you like this, it does something to him. He bears his neck to you as you bury your face against his chest. You’re still so small compared to him; he could easily overpower you if he wanted to. Yet, he doesn’t want to. He wants to submit to you.

“Hops,” he tries to sound firm, though it comes out rather meek.

“Sangie,” you mirror with a sultry tone.

“What are you playing at?”

“Strip and go lay down.” you practically demand, “I’m riding that cock until you cry.”

The rush of something strange goes through him. Yeosang’s never been talked to like that by anyone, especially a prey hybrid. He wants more. Letting you control everything sounds like something he’ll thrive in. Will he ever tell the rest of the Thunder what he’s letting you do? Never. But the rush of submitting to a little bunny has him practically melting in your touch.

When you release him from his place pinned against the door, he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He slips his sweatpants off his body and walks toward your nest. You stalk up behind him and wrap your small body around him from behind. Your hand snakes down to wrap around his cock. Yeosang lets out a whine like he’s never done before. He feels pliant, ready to bend to whatever you choose at that moment. He tries to buck up into your touch, but you immediately release your hold on him.

“We’re playing my way now, okay, little dragon?” you question condescendingly.

“Y-yes,” he pants.

“Hmm? What was that?” you ask again.

“Yes, m-mommy.” he quips.

You chuckle victoriously and let him climb into your nest. He shifts a little bit back and forth to get comfortable in the space. The scents of Seonghwa and San are prevalent in the room, but they aren’t unwelcome at all. Still, your sugar cookie scent is so overwhelming and powerful that it makes Yeosang’s cock leak a bit of precum in anticipation of being wrapped up in your soaked, swollen pussy again. You crawl over his form and sit right on top of his cock. The spiral grooves of it feel like heaven when you start grinding against him.

“Please,” he whines, his eyebrows furrowing with desire.

“Who are you talking to like that?” you bite.

You lean down to nibble at his throat. Small bits of caramel and dark brown colored stone start rising from his fingertips. The deep color is laced with the fiery red of another stone that desperately wants to form. Pulling back, you notice how his dark pupils nearly overtake his bright green eyes. You’ve never seen his eyes blown so wide, but it makes you even more cocky.

“Go on. Ask nicely, and maybe I’ll let this useless cock inside me after all.”

“Please, Mommy. Please use me.”

That rush of power runs through you again, and a gush of slick escapes your needy hole. Raising yourself up on your knees, you hold the dragon hybrid’s member just below your entrance. Tears prick lightly at the corners of Yeosang’s green eyes as you lower yourself onto him. A pornographic sigh escapes your lips as you feel him fully sheathed inside you. You don’t give him a moment to process how good you feel around him. He desperately wants to hold you. Touch you anywhere you let him as you ride him. Your pace is anything but gentle; your pussy makes squelching noises each time you bounce down on him. An orgasm already threatens to snap inside you despite just starting this round. Something about the grooves running down his shaft makes you feel a way that you’ve never felt before. You’ll have to try out all the Thunder members at this rate to see how good each one of them feels. Another time though.

“Mommy, you’re squeezing me too tight. Wanna- gonna-”

You still your movements, “No. You don’t cum until I say so.”

“But-” he looks like he may cry, “Don’t you wanna be bred, Mommy?”

“Of course, sweet boy, you’ll wait until mommy cums, though. Then you can breed me all you want.”

You start riding him again and let your orgasm tighten in your lower belly. Then, before you can process anything, you feel that tightly wound chord snap. Your walls spasm around him. He lets out small whimpers and whines at the feeling, holding off his own orgasm as best he can. Your soft white ears fall back as you let the orgasm take control of your body, and your tail twitches and shivers with each bounce you do.

“Breed me, little dragon. Breed, Mommy.” you sigh as you come down from your high.

“T-thank you, Mommy.”

Yeosang cums hot and fast inside you. His already pitchy whines become even more pitchy and whiny somehow. You don’t give him a break, even as he releases inside you. Your harsh, fast pace continues making for an even needier dragon beneath you. He practically wails when he comes down from his high and realizes how harshly you’re still riding him. Yeosang’s eyes well up with tears, and you watch as those tears roll down his cheeks a moment later. His hands grip your waist tightly, and the red and brown crystals prick at your skin.

“‘S too much. Mommy, too much!” he begs for a break.

“I told you I’m riding this cock until I’m satisfied, and” you pause and lean down to his ear, “I’m not satisfied yet.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, hearing you whisper in his ear. He’s not sure if he wants to cry more or try to take control of the situation. His head is so fogged with you, your scent, your pussy. He doesn’t know how to handle it anymore. His arms go limp at his sides again, letting you do whatever you want to him. Time feels like an illusion to both of you at this point. You’re unsure how many rounds you go or how filthy the nest is from the mixture of cum and slick.

The power shifts back and forth between you throughout the next few hours. You can smell the others roaming about the apartment, trying very hard not to focus on the sugar cookies and peppermint tea scents coming from your nest. This wave of heat seems to be much longer and more intense than any other you’ve experienced all the time you’ve had your heat. Maybe it’s just because you have a proper partner this time; perhaps it’s because of something else. Right now, though, you don’t have the energy or level-headedness to figure it out.

Yeosang is resting beside you. He deserves it after the amount you put him through, regardless of who controlled the situation. He’s lying on his stomach with his head turned toward you. He looks exceptionally peaceful despite the intensity of the situation. You let your fingers card through his hair a few times, admiring the bronze scales along his hairline. Slowly, your hand dances lower to trace his tattoo lightly. Goosebumps appear on his skin as your fingertips trace the art. Having Yeosang in your nest is already amazing, but having him be so comfortable in this space with you is an even better feeling.

You almost get lost in your thoughts but hear knocking on the door. One of your ears again turns toward the sound. You call the person in since you’re between waves. The door creaks open carefully, and then you’re hit with a hefty waft of your elder boyfriend’s scent. You’ve been so engulfed in Yeosang’s scent you didn’t even register Seonghwa’s scent. He steps into the room fully before shutting it tightly behind him. Grabbing the tea on the way, he sits on the bed beside you.

“How are you feeling, my love?” he asks, passing you the tea.

You take a sip, “Good! Yeosang’s been really helping a lot.”

Seonghwa’s eyes dart over to the bronze dragon, “How is he fairing?” he asks, moving a lock of Yeosang’s hair out of his face.

“I really wore him out,” you admit with a blush. Seonghwa chuckles and yawns, “What time is it?”

“Nearly midnight. You should get some rest while you can.”

You nod, “Good night, Hwa. I love you.”

He smiles, “I love you too. I’ll see you once your heat is officially done.” he kisses your cheek before heading toward the door, “Don’t forget to finish that tea. We can’t have hatchlings running around just yet.”

Your heat lasts a few more days. Yeosang manages to keep up somehow. San calls a few times between waves and chats with you both. Once, he called in the midst of a wave and spoke to you during it. You couldn’t recall what you talked about, well, more like what he was telling you. Jongho popped in a few more times to give you more tea. Each time was just as awkward as the first. Still, you find yourself thinking about the navy dragon and wondering what Yeosang meant by the younger not wishing to cross a line.

The two of you stayed locked up in your nest. Yeosang, at one point, tried to leave, and you had a breakdown about it. The dragon quickly learned, do not leave you alone during your heat or bad things happen. You sobbed uncontrollably in his lap for five minutes until you felt grounded again. You do not know how long it has been, nor do you care. All you know is San is home when you’re finally stable enough to reemerge from your room. Your nose twitches as his familiar sea breeze scent fills it. You bounce down the hallway to see him placing his luggage down. He chuckles, seeing you, and you throw yourself into his arms. His strong arms wrap around your waist tightly. Seonghwa isn’t home. He’s likely at the studio already nose-deep in work. San gives a knowing look to Yeosang before the bronze dragon speaks.

“I tried to tell her to stay in the nest and let you come to her.” Yeosang explains, “She wouldn’t listen, though.”

“Did Sangie take care of you, treasure?”

You nod into his shoulder, “Very well.”

“You smell so much like him right now.” he playfully growls, “You’re not in heat anymore?” “No,” you chuckle, “I had my heat crash this morning.”

“It was not a pretty sight,” Yeosang interjects, “I’ve never seen her breakdown like that before.”

You pull yourself out of your boyfriend’s hold to walk back over to Yeosang. Then, wrapping your arms around his shoulders (causing you to be on your tip toes), you gently kiss him on the nose.

“You took such good care of me! No one’s ever taken care of me in heat like that,” you admit.

Yeosang communicates with San silently before wrapping his arms around your middle, “I’m happy I could help, little bunny.”

Later that night, once Seonghwa returns home from the studio, he finds San sitting in the bronze dragon’s bedroom. Seonghwa narrows his eyes. His pupils are slit thin. Something is up. He knows it. He steps into the room and finds that you and Yeosang are there too. You’re happily curled up in Yeosang’s lap while chatting with your boyfriend. San’s body language conveys his relaxedness despite you sitting on Yeosang.

“Seonghwa!” you beam, running up to hug him.

“Hi, bun. You feeling better now?”

“Much,” you giggle, your blue eyes sparkling up at him, “We actually wanted to ask you something.”

Seonghwa’s eyes dart his eyes between the three of you, searching for some sort of non-verbal answer. You smile sweetly, hoping to soothe him slightly. Unfortunately, his typically sweet strawberry jam scent seems a bit sour due to the lack of conversation right now. You climb out of Yeosang’s lap and walk over to Seonghwa. Taking his hands in yours, you look up into his bright blue eyes. How your eyes sparkle looking at him gives him hope of a good question and his strawberry jam scent returns to its standard sweetness.

“Sannie and I talked after he got home and agreed that we really like Yeosang in this dynamic. He took great care of me and didn’t take advantage of me even though he could’ve at any point. And-” you pause, “I know you chose him to care for me for a reason.”

Seonghwa’s brows furrow briefly, then melt into a sweet smile, “So what do you, Sannie, and Sangie want to ask me?”

“How do you feel about Yeosang joining our relationship?” San questions.

Seonghwa looks at the green-eyed dragon who has yet to chime in. His eyes ask a silent question. He already knows the answer, though. A small piece of Carnelian had formed in the bronze dragon’s palm, giving away his thoughts.

“What do you want, Yeosang?” Seonghwa asks gently.

“I want-” Yeosang shifts in his chair slightly, “I would really like it if you would let me join this relationship.”

Your eyes plead for Seonghwa to answer with a yes. Of course, you already know he will, but it never hurt to give him your sparkly begging eyes too. Seonghwa smirks at San, then lets his hand lightly stroke your cheek.

“And to think, San was getting all jealous just before I talked to Yeosang about helping you. Anything to say for yourself, Sannie?”

San shrugs, “Change of heart, I guess.”

“So?” Yeosang asks, almost meekly.

“Welcome to our relationship Yeosang. You better get some of your clothes in Hops’ nest before she steals some.”

You giggle, “I don’t think his scent is coming out of that thing any time soon.”

“San and I better get our scents back in that thing, huh?” he asks with a suggestive lilt.

“H-hwa?”

“I think it might be time to play with our bunny again. What do you think, San?”

“I think so too.” he chuckles, “You coming, Yeosang?” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

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[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [38] - Gladiolus

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Summary: Strength builds in time.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, mentions of threat.

Word Count: 3100

Series Masterlist

Alright then.

Perhaps you owed Benedict an apology.

Ever since you had walked in on him and Madame Delacroix right after their escapade at her shop, you hadn’t stopped reminding him of his very frequent adventures with different ladies in the ton but in your defense, you had no idea the act was this…

Pleasurable.

Divine, even.

Yet, it raised one simple issue; the marriage bliss kept you too busy to pay attention to anything else. Honestly it didn’t feel like an issue at all to you -or to Benedict you were guessing- but you had lost the complete track of time in the last couple of days and you had to force yourself to think straight.

You put your shift on and walked to grab your dressing gown, your body aching in the most pleasant way and you bit down a smile as the memory of last night flashed through your mind, but then heard Benedict taking a deep breath, rising from his deep slumber.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep and you looked over your shoulder, the sight making your heart skip a beat. He looked absolutely gorgeous, his hair all messy while he ran a hand over his glimmering blue eyes, the sunlight falling on his chiseled chest. You could feel the familiar desire sending sparks through your system but forced yourself to focus, shaking your head slightly.

“Good morning,” you said, dragging your gaze away from him to look around the room for the items of clothing of yours that Benedict had thrown around the room in his haste to get you out of them. “Did I wake you up?”

“No—what are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.”

His head shot up. “What?”

“For the day!” you added quickly and grabbed your corset off the floor. “I’m leaving for the day.”

“Why?”

“Benedict,” you said and motioned between you. “Perhaps it has escaped your notice but we have a problem.”

He tilted his head, confusion etched in his features. “A problem?” he repeated. “What problem?”

You tried to concentrate but it was rather hard when that fire was swirling in your lower stomach, the more you looked at him, the more you wanted to climb back in the bed and—

You cleared your throat, looking up at the ceiling, causing Benedict to look up as well.

“What’s happening?”

“If I look at you I’m going to get back in the bed so I refuse to.”

“How is that a bad thing?” he asked with a grin and you shot him a glance, then looked up at the ceiling again.

“You know, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we have a lovely ceiling.”

“My love, what are you talking about?”

You felt a smile warm your face, then grabbed your dress off the floor as well before turning to him, heaving a sigh.

“First of all, you were right about it being…divine,” you said, then narrowed your eyes. “Wipe that smile off your face.”

He held up his hands, gesturing surrender and you put your clothes on the sofa.

“That being said, do you not think we’re being a bit…fixated?”

“Fixated?”

“When was the last time you painted?”

“A week ago.”

“When was the last time you and I actually communicated with another person more than an hour without rushing to the nearest room?”

“There was the gala—”

“Gordon’s guest room.”

He hissed in a breath. “Right. Good point.”

“And I have a greenhouse,” you told him, putting your hands on your hips. “Ask me when the last time I’ve been there was.”

“…A week ago?”

“A week ago!”

“I mean Mr. Binsted is taking care of—”

Even you could hear the petulant tone in your voice; “It doesn’t matter, it’s my greenhouse!”

“Darling it’s not like it’s going anywhere—”

“Listen,” you cut him off. “I have a greenhouse with very rare plants. And flowers.”

“Mm hm.”

“Not to mention, I have the rarest flower in the world, in the aforementioned greenhouse.”

“I heard a thing or two about that, yeah.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re the love of my life,” you said, making a smile curl his lips, that softness apparent in his gaze again while you pointed at the window, stomping on your foot. “But my greenhouse!”

“Right.”

“It has my favorite flower in there!”

“Hasn’t escaped my notice my love,” he said with a grin, almost humoring you and you nodded your head.

“So that’s what we’re doing today—no, don’t get out of the bed until I’m away,” you stopped him as he swung his legs over the bed and you looked up at the ceiling. “Wait until I leave.”

“Why?”

“Because neither of us can be trusted,” you stated. “So we’re not to cross paths today.”

“The whole day?!” Benedict asked in shock and you flailed your arms.

“To repeat, we cannot be trusted apparently!” you said. “You—you take the studio side of the house and I’ll be in the greenhouse and we are going to be…calm.”

“Calm?”

“Yes, calm,” you said and heaved a deep sigh and turned your gaze to him again. “It’s alright. We can do this, I have faith in us.”

“I don’t.”

“Ben!”

“Shall I lie to you?” he asked with a small laugh and you tilted your head, narrowing your eyes again.

“I’m leaving,” you said. “See you tonight at the ball, not one second before.”

“Darling to repeat, we live in the same house—”

“We’ll meet there!” you said. “I mean it.”

“We’re going in different carriages?”

“Do you not remember what happened the last time we were in the same carriage?”

He gave you that lopsided grin you loved so much, making your stomach do a happy flip.

“Oh trust me, I do remember,” he said and you felt your cheeks burn, then you shook your head slightly and grabbed your clothes off the sofa.

“I’ll see you at the ball,” you said and walked through the door connecting his room to yours, painfully aware of the smile on your face.

                                             *

It was as if you were in a happy dream and if that was the case, you never wanted to wake up. You were sure that it had been hours since you stepped foot into the greenhouse based on the sun, but you could swear it had only been minutes. It wasn’t until you heard a knock on the door that you snapped out of your haze and looked over your shoulder, your hands still in the pot.

“Josie?”

“Wow,” she said, looking around. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“No no,” you said, shaking your head and pulled your hands out of the pot to take off your gloves. “Welcome.”

“I mean you mentioned it the other day and I figured…” she said, motioning around. “This is impressive.”

“Look!” you turned around to grab the pot you had been working on and held it up, a bright smile on your face. “It’s a Queen of the Night Tulip!”

“Pretty.”

“And the one to your right is a Ghost Orchid, and—that’s Middlemist Red! My favorite!”

She forced a smile.

“You’re never leaving this place, are you?”

“Never,” you said with a laugh and walked to the next pot, which was a gladiolus flower. Josie took a deep breath.

“So,” she said. “She came to see me.”

“Hm?” you asked, looking at her again. “Who?”

She blinked a couple of times.

“Mother,” she said. “Mother came to see me. Are you alright?”

You could feel your heart dropping to your stomach, your happy mood getting dim like a sudden shadow on a sunny day but you pressed your lips together.

“Yeah,” you said. “Sorry I was just distracted. But none of us told them you were here, how did she…?”

“Must have heard from someone in the ton.”

“What did she say?”

“She uh… remember how she found those letters between me and Bess?”

“And threw them in the fire before father—” a bitter taste appeared in your mouth as you tried to shake off the memory. “Yes?”

“Well as it turns out she didn’t throw all of them in the fire,” she said. “There is one left, and she is threatening to show it to not only uncle but also the whole ton unless I give them money.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, leaning back to the shelf.

“God damn it,” you muttered. “So not only are they using Teddy as a leverage for more money from uncle, they’re also—”

“Using Bess and Andrew,” she finished your sentence for you. “Yes. I don’t care what happens to me if the ton hears, but I can’t see them get hurt Y/N.”

You nodded your head.

“Of course not,” you said, running a hand over your eyes. “No that’s—that’s not going to happen. Did you tell them?”

“They were outside when mother decided to pay the visit,” she said. “I’ll tell them when I get home. I just wanted you to know before anyone else, just in case.”

You heaved a sigh, then walked to pull her into a hug.

“Josie…”

“I’m fine,” she said almost mechanically even though she wrapped her arms around you to hold you tight. “You know me, I can handle mother and father.”

You bit inside your cheek and pulled back to look at her better, holding her hand to squeeze it in an assuring manner.

“I know,” you said, remembering how relieved you felt when Benedict told you the same thing. “But you don’t have to handle them alone.”

She tried to smile and took a shaky breath, then looked around.

“Well alright then,” she said. “Go ahead, tell me all about these flowers.”

                                                *

By the time Josie left it was near evening, and though you had told Benedict you would be taking separate carriages, you were so desperate to talk to him that you had ended up changing your mind. He looked quite surprised to see you waiting for him by the carriage but he knew something was troubling you with one look at your face.

So you had spent the entire road to the ball telling him about what happened.

“Letters?” he asked as he helped you out of the carriage when it stopped in front of the Elwick house. You took his hand and stepped out, then placed your hand on his arm while you walked towards the house.

“Letters,” you said. “Josie eloped very soon after that because—well, you can imagine how mother and father reacted.”

Benedict clenched his jaw. “Unbelievable,” he said. “You know, I was thinking I should talk to your father again and this just proves I must.”

“The last time you talked, you punched him.”

“I don’t have any regrets over that.”

“Neither do I, I’m glad you did,” you said. “That being said, I’m not putting your wellbeing over him getting what he deserves, so no.”

You both entered the house and passed through the foyer, the music getting louder and louder as you approached the ballroom.

“Y/N—”

“No way,” you insisted. “I get that you’re angry at them, and trust me I’m angry as well. Me and Josie, but I told you before. My father is not worth your attention, let alone your fury.”

He reached to hold your hand, running his thumb over your skin as if trying to assure you and you offered him a small smile.

“I’m alright.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know?”

You heaved a sigh and shrugged your shoulders, catching the sight of Andrew out of the corner of your eye, Benedict following your gaze.

“Did she tell him?”

“She said she would—I just didn’t think mother would actually go to Josie’s house,” you said. “My parents didn’t even know she was back in the country, so to come up with that plan as soon as they found out she’s here… I knew they were evil, I just didn’t think they’d be that fast.”

Benedict’s head snapped up.

“Wait,” he said. “They didn’t know she was here?”

“No,” you said. “The last they heard, Josie was going to Spain with Andrew and Bess so I figure they still thought she was there. Even I didn’t know she was coming back until she arrived here, there is no way they had an inkling.”

Benedict’s brows furrowed as if he was in deep thought, then he raised your hand to press a kiss on it.

“Just give me one moment my love, I will be back,” he said and strode to Andrew, muttering something to him before Andrew nodded and they both walked away. You frowned in confusion but then someone touched your arm, making you turn to them.

“Lottie!”

“Oh thank God you’re here, you’re going to save me,” Lottie said, linking her arm with yours and pulling you to the foyer, making you let out a small laugh.

“What? What is happening?”

“Tony hasn’t arrived yet and everyone is asking me a lot of questions about the wedding that I don’t even know the answers to,” she said as you followed her through the foyer. “And my mama has been taken hostage by other mamas who want to be invited to the engagement ball that I haven’t even planned yet it seems, so you’re to be my savior. We’re going to the backyard.”

You repressed a laugh. “There might be people there as well, you know.”

“Fewer people who will not be as enthusiastic to ask me questions, I’m hoping.”

You hummed as you both stepped out of the house to the backyard. “If someone does approach, do you want me to threaten them?”

“Goodness no!” she said. “That would be very rude!”

“What if they are approaching you to ask you questions about the engagement ball you haven’t planned yet?”

She thought for a moment, her lips pulling into a pout as if she was torn between decisions.

“Don’t threaten them verbally, just glare at them please?”

“Understood.”

“I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m the happiest lady in the entire world but—” she huffed as you two sat down on a bench. “Everyone has something to ask and nobody leaves us alone anymore Y/N! With Tony, it’s as if everyone swore to…”

“Interrupt you?” you said with a grin and she looked abashed for a moment.

“…Yes.”

“So I’m guessing no other scandalous behavior has taken place?”

“Y/N!”

“Just a question,” you teased her and she heaved a tormented sigh.

“If only,” she sulked. “Everyone seems to watch us closer now that we’re engaged.”

“Tell Anthony patience is a virtue,” you said, trying to stop the smirk on your face and she nodded.

“I have.”

You let out a small laugh. “Lottie, you’re too sweet.”

“Thank you—how about you and Benny?” she asked and you blinked a couple of times, clearing your throat.

“Hm?”

“I mean no one has seen you on a social outing of the ton for almost a week,” she said. “Everyone has a lot of ideas about the reason.”

“Such as?”

“You’d tell me if you were with child, would you not?”

Your eyes widened, your breath getting caught in your throat.

“What?!” you asked. “No—I mean yes I would tell you but no Lottie, that’s not what is happening!”

“Good,” she said. “Because you see, I have many things I wish to shop for before your baby gets here—”

“That baby is nonexistent as we speak, Lottie.”

“And I’d like a pre-warning,” she said like she wasn’t listening and you scoffed.

“So that’s what the ton thinks?”

“Some of them,” she said. “Why haven’t you been attending outings then?”

You shifted your weight, trying to come up with an excuse but thankfully you saw Benedict approaching out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh look, Benedict is here!” you said, motioning at him and he gave you a smile.

“Charlie.”

“Benny, hello!”

“Anthony just arrived, he was looking for you,” Benedict said, pointing back at the house with his thumb and Lottie let out a breath.

“Oh thank God,” she said, standing up. “Benny, have you seen anyone asking him questions about our engagement ball?”

Benedict made a face. “Please stop reminding me you’re engaged to my brother, I’m still not completely alright with that idea.”

You raised your brows and Lottie rolled her eyes.

“You do realize that you will be the best man, do you not?” she asked as if teasing him, making him let out a whine.

“Charlie!”

“I’ll see you inside Y/N.”

“See you inside,” you said with a laugh and watched her walk away. Benedict heaved a sigh and sat beside you.

“So they’re actually going to get married then?”

“Seems like it,” you said, patting him on the arm as if trying to assure him. “Will you be alright?”

“Ask me again later,” Benedict said and stole a look at you. “How about you?”

“I’m alright with them getting married, I don’t know why you’re making it such a big issue—”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said and you paused for a moment, then nodded.

“Sure.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m fine, I just…” you let out a bitter laugh. “It’s rather surprising but it shouldn’t be. It’s just that, I’ve been so happy lately that I almost forgot they were here to cause trouble, does that make sense?”

“It absolutely does,” he said with that soft light in his eyes. “But it is going to be alright, I promise you.”

“What did you and Andrew talk about?” you asked, gazing up at him and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Nothing important, I just asked about your parents.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Benedict.”

“Yes my love?”

“That will not distract me,” you pointed at him while trying very hard to not let it distract you, making him chuckle.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” he assured you. “I’m not putting myself or anyone you care about in danger, I swear to you.”

You pursed your lips, then heaved a sigh and turned a little to face the backyard, putting your head on his shoulder. He entwined his fingers with yours, pressing a kiss on top of your head before burying his nose into your hair.

“Let’s stay here for a while?” you asked. “I like being alone with you even when we’re not…you know.”

A small laugh vibrated his chest. “Same here darling.”

You heaved a sigh, then frowned when the thought hit you. “But we’re still going to—”

“Way ahead of you, they have a library on the other side of the house.”

“Good,” you said, a small smirk curling your lips as you stole a look at him. “I happen to be an admirer of books.”

Chapter 39

[foxaftershocks]

I just wanted to say I absolutely adore how you write Lars. I can perfectly imagine him in my head and it’s spot on. Please just keep writing all the Lars ❤️

I had an idea where the reader works at the lab with Lars. She has a crush on him but thinks he doesn’t like her but it’s more so because she makes him nervous and he doesn’t know how to act around her.

Winston sends them out to another borough (Queens, Brooklyn, etc) to collect an item he wants to extract or study and they could either get stranded and have to spend the night somewhere or come into some danger and finally confess their feelings? Maybe a bit of angst or jealousy followed by fluff. Thank you! 🥰

Here you go! It's got some jealousy, its got the one bed trope, it's got yearning and pining, and it's super long. I hope you like it.

“Seriously, he hates me,” you said.

Lucky shook her head, aiming the crossbow at the target. Her smile was secretive and you couldn’t unpack it without her thoughts being voiced. You kicked your legs as you watched, hands trapped under your thighs, waiting for the thunk of the bolt hitting the target. You offered a high five for the bullseye.

“He doesn’t,” Lucky said, “hate you, that is.”

“He’s always so… mean,” you said, trying to come up with the right words.

“He’s mean to everyone. If anything, that means he likes you,” she replied.

“He glares at me,” you said.

“I think that’s just his face.”

“Okay, well, when I enter a room he walks out of it pretty quickly and I always get the feeling it’s because of me. Like he can’t even stand to be in the same room as me,” you said, feet kicking harder as you thought about it.

Just that morning you’d been busy making a coffee in the tiny kitchenette you’d petitioned Winston to invest in. When you’d turned around, slowly mixing the mixture with a teaspoon, you’d looked up to find Lars standing just behind you, looking at you with furrowed brow and harsh glare. Instead of saying anything to you, he spun on his heels and stalked away, leaving you with a bad taste in your mouth.

You had plenty of other examples and each one left you sure that he wanted you to leave the lab and never return.

“Well, that could be anything,” she said, “maybe he just remembers something he has to do. Nothing to do with you at all.”

“Right,” you snorted, “sure.”

You watched her sink another bolt into the target, trying to work out what Lars’ problem was. You were always polite, always nice, sometimes a little too nice, and had never done anything to him. Maybe he’d realised that you had the tiniest crush on him and felt so offended by that he had to be cruel.

And what did it say about you that you still had that tiny, really not very significant at all, minuscule crush on him?

“Gee, I sure hope I don’t pay people to sit around and not do work all day.”

You startled, looking up into the face of Winston. Guilt curled around your heart, stomach sinking as you stared at him. He waited a moment, staring at you.

“We were just…” you trailed off, trying to find some excuse.

“Bouncing ideas off each other,” Lucky said, “while weapons testing.”

A small smile flicked the corners of his mouth up and you relaxed. It wasn’t often Winston got upset with you. In fact, you weren’t sure you’d seen him get upset with you. Stern, sure, but not upset. So his small smile set you at ease.

“Lucky for you I have an assignment for you,” he said, “come on, we have something to pick up.”

You trailed behind him, a bounce in your step. You’d been stuck in the lab for too long, working on calculations and data input. Getting to stretch your legs and go out into the world was exciting.

Until you saw who’s station Winston was leading you to.

“Pinfield, I’ve found you a partner,” he said.

Lars looked up, brightening until he saw you standing there, shifting your weight between your feet. A storm flew over his face, a glower levelled in your direction.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“Play nice. It’s out in Brooklyn so it’s gone take you most of the day. Miss Hathaway has a trunk we’re interested in procuring. Retrieve it and bring it back here. She’s expecting you,” he said.

“No way,” Lars said.

“You’ll do it or you’ll be on gunk duty,” he said, “until summer.”

His face drained of whatever colour there might have been left. He stood abruptly, the screech of the stool on the floor harsh on the ears.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.

“As the plague,” Winston replied, “do it, Pinfield. It’ll only be a few hours.”

“I won’t even bite,” you said, speaking before your thoughts could catch up.

Winston’s chuckle as he clapped your shoulder only brought heat to your cheeks. Lars wasn’t even looking at you. Cursing internally, you feared you might have just made it worse.

“See? She’ll play nice with you,” Winston said, giving you a little shove in his direction, “van is waiting out back.”

He trudged off, not even bothering to see if you were following. His shoulders were tense and you could faintly hear him muttering to himself, no doubt cursing your very existence. Hours with him as you trekked out to Brooklyn on a fetch mission were shaping up to be a very specific form of torture.

He pushed the door open, letting in overcast sunlight. The air was cold, far too cold, and you shivered, curling your arms around your body as you stepped outside. The depths of December was not the time to be giving yourself over to the elements. Sliding in the van beside him, you ignored the curl of his upper lip as you directed the air vents towards you, flicking on the heat.

The roads were busy, people trying to beat the usual Friday holiday rush. Leaning back in your seat, you turned your gaze to the window, people watching as best you could in the stop start motion. It didn’t take long for the first flutters of white to pass by.

“It’s snowing,” you said, almost to yourself instead of to the other presence in the car.

“It’ll stop,” he said.

When you glanced over his knuckles had turned white around the steering wheel and his jaw was clenched. You let yourself look at him for a moment, knowing he couldn’t look back. Your eyes traced over his profile, along his nose, over what you’d always imagined would be soft lips, down his chin, the long column of his neck disappearing under the buttoned up collar of his shirt. he was beautiful. That much was obvious to you.

If he realised you were looking at him, he was ignoring it. And you. His fingers reached for the volume, turning up the radio until it would be awkward to talk. You continued to look, watching him. He was so careful as he drove, cautious, leaning forward to peer through the windscreen. He didn’t seem comfortable in his role as driver, tense and awkward. Or maybe he was just always like that.

The snow began to come down in flurries, sticking to the ground. Traffic slowed down even more, coming to a crawl. You pressed your nose to the window, looking out on the world.

“It’s getting worse,” you said, raising your voice to be heard over the radio.

“It’ll stop,” he said again.

You were pretty sure he was wrong.

Hours passed in silence, taking longer than it should have. The snow was falling thick and fast, the taillights of the car in front your constant companion. Lars wasn’t breathing easy, loud in the car, the radio long since turned down so he could concentrate. You were doing your best to make yourself a non-entity, not wanting to distract him at all. He’s already snapped at you just for playing with the heat.

Until it became clear that you had to say something.

“We can’t keep on,” you said.

“We’re almost there,” he ground out.

“Lars, I think we should stop until it clears up,” you said, “or at least stops snowing.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon. We should press on,” he said, jaw still clenched.

“Lars.” You waited until the van had braked again, his face turning towards him, “we have to stop.”

“Fuck,” burst from him, his hands slamming down on the steering wheel. You jumped at the sound of the horn blaring, “fine. Find somewhere for us to spend the night.”

You typed into the gps, looking for any kind of hotel nearby. Anywhere the two of you could stay as you waited for this storm to blow over. He followed the directions, pulling off the road to follow the directions as best he could in the swirl of snow and darkness.

The carpark was surprisingly full and you were worried you wouldn’t be able to find a room there. He put the car into park, staring up at the building in front of you. Instead of talking to you, he pushed the door open. You shivered, the cold invading you. Your coat was not enough to handle a snow storm.

“Come on,” he groused.

You made a dash for the front door, doing your best not to slip. His hand caught you around the elbow, keeping you steady as your feet almost came out from under you. He practically dragged you through the front door into the warm light and warm air of the entrance. Crossing over to the check in desk, you felt apprehension.

“You’re in luck,” the concierge said, “we have one last room available tonight. This weather has certainly changed a lot of people’s plans.”

“No. We need two rooms,” Lars cut in before you could say anything.

“Ah, then I’m afraid you’re not in luck. We really only have on room still available,” he said.

“We’ll take it,” you cut in before he could say anything.

One room was better than no rooms and you didn’t want to risk either of you having to go back out into that weather. You took the key from him and led a disgruntled Lars to the bank of elevators.

“Why would you do that?” he hissed when the doors closed.

“Did you want to go back out there? Because I sure as hell don’t,” you said.

He rolled his eyes, looking away from you with his arms crossed over his chest like a petulant teenager.

“Look, you can put up with me for one night. Just suck it up and deal with it and then tomorrow morning we’ll go finish the job,” you said, tired of how hostile he always was with you. It was one night. He could deal with it.

He didn’t answer. The doors open and he strode forward, plucking the key from you. You rolled your eyes, following him, trying not to look at the way his ass looked in his slacks. He might infuriate you, he might hate you, but you still felt butterflies around him and found him stupidly attractive.

Pushing open the door to the one room you were going to be sharing with him, he flicked on the lights. You ran into his back as he stopped without warning.

“What?” you asked, “is there something wrong? Did we find the murder hotel?”

You looked around his shoulder and then felt yourself freeze with him. One bed. One fucking bed. God must be laughing at you because this had to be some kind of sick joke. One double bed in the small room. This was going to kill you.

“Absolutely not,” he said, turning around to storm out only to find you still there.

He looked down at you, eyes flashing, jaw clenched, lips pressed together tight. You placed a hand on his chest, ready to push him back. He made a small noise, stepping back as if your touch burned. Maybe it did.

“I’ll go down and ask for a trundle bed or something,” you said.

You held a hand out to him, palm up, waiting for the key. He stared at you, blinked, then dropped it into your hand to keep from touching you.

Unfortunately, your trip was a bust. Too many people stuffed into a small hotel, not enough facilities for the weather. You returned on heavy feet, ignoring the man riding the elevator with you as you tried to come up with a way to tell Lars that wasn’t going to blow the entire thing up. You doubted he was above storming out into the snow and sleeping in the van just to prove a point.

“Not a fan of this weather?”

You looked up, finding the man watching you in the mirrored doors.

“Oh no, that’s not… It’s fine. Better if I was at home than here,” you replied.

“I dunno. I think there’s something magical about an unexpected snow storm in a hotel. All kinds of people come together that would normally stay so seperate,” he said, studying your face in the reflection.

You looked back, if only because his thoughts had surprised you. You hadn’t thought about it that way, seeing the nuisance the entire thing was rather than the possibilities it presented. He gave you a half smile.

“After all, would we have met without it?” he asked.

“I don’t even know you,” you replied.

“Dave.”

He offered you his hand. The palm was calloused and warm against yours and you felt shy as you gave him your name. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you averted your gaze down to your feet. His look of interest at you was new and a flutter of excitement started in your chest. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen with Lars.

“Same floor,” he said as the doors opened with a ding.

You stepped out into the hall, carpet softening the sounds of your footsteps. He followed, looking down at you as you walked side by side, hands close enough to almost brush against one another.

“This is me,” you said, coming to a stop outside the door, dread filling your stomach at what was waiting beyond for you.

“If you need any help warming up, I’m only two doors down,” he said, pointing at an identical door just down the hall from you.

The door to your room opened without warning, Lars sticking his head out. His hair was ruffled, as if he’d running his fingers through it and his sneer was not promising for the coming conversation. You gaped at him as his hand shot out, grasping your wrist and pulling you closer.

“That won’t be necessary,” he told Dave, shutting the door in his face.

“What was-“ you tried to ask before he interrupted you.

“Only an idiot would accept an offer to share a room with a stranger,” he said, cutting you off, “are you really that desperate?”

“Desperate for what?” you shot back.

His mouth opened and then shut with a snap, as if he didn’t deserve an answer. He spun on his heels, striding back to the bed, three steps away from you then back again. The skin of your wrist burned from where his touch had been fingers circling it like a manacle.

“Well?” he asked as if you’d been having a completely different conversation.

“Well what?” you asked.

“Are they going to bring a trundle?” he asked.

Ah, right, yes, that.

“They’re all out,” you said, ripping the bandaid off quick in the hopes it would hurt less.

“What do you mean they’re all out?” he asked, voice going deathly still.

“Something about a surprise snow storm and not being prepared for so many guests. If you want to go argue with them, be my guest.”

You gestured to the door and for a moment you really believed he was about to storm out of there to argue with the front desk. Then he shook his head, turning away form you so you couldn’t see the inevitable rage on his face.

“I know it’s a less than pleasant situation, but we can share a bed for one night like adults,” you said to his tense back.

He muttered something that sounded like an insult to your intelligence before he took his glasses off and dragged a hand down his face. Replacing them, he turned back to you. You’d never seen him without his glasses on before. You wondered how much of a difference it made.

“Let’s just get this over with. Make sure you stay on your side of the bed,” he said.

You would have snakily suggested making a pillow wall if you thought there’d been enough for that. As it was, the pillow situation was little depressing. One each.

You let him pick which side he wanted first, not wanting to annoy him further. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you shucked your coat off, lying it aside. Tugging each shoe off, you glanced over your shoulder at him. He still had his tie on. He wouldn’t be sleeping in that would he? Apparently he would. You were going to have a hard enough time trying to sleep in your jeans. He wasn’t human. He couldn’t be.

You climbed into the bed, turning on your side so you didn’t have to see him. The bed dipped as he lay down beside you, a tug on the covers. The lights went off, leaving you in darkness. Facing the window, you watched the snow fall, not sure you’d be able to fall asleep. Shadows passed over the glass, the pile of snow growing on the window. You sighed, soft in the silence.

The longer you waited, the more the cold began to invade your senses. You could put it off when you were focusing on other things, problems to solve. Now you were left waiting, shivering in the expanse of the bed.

Lars was close enough you could almost feel his body heat. The bed wasn’t as big as either of you would have liked if you had to guess. He shifted again. You curled up in a ball, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to stop the shivering. You didn’t want to wake him. He hated you enough as it was.

A grunted huff. You tensed, waiting to see what happened. Nothing. Silence reigned again. You tried to relax again but the shivering was becoming unbearable.

“For gods sake,” you heard Lars mutter into the dark.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Can’t you stop?” he demanded.

“I’m trying,” you replied through gritted teeth, “it’s so fucking cold.”

A hand reached out, fingertips brushing over your spine. You jerked back, shrieking when you almost fell out of the bed. An arm curled around your waist, hauling you against a warm body. You struggled against the hold trying to put more space between the two of you.

“Stop flailing about like a fish,” he said.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“I know you find me repulsive but perhaps you can put that aside for one night so you don’t freeze to death and we can both maybe get some sleep,” he said, voice soft, breath ghosting against your skin, “shared body heat is the best chance of that.”

He certainly was warm against you.

“I don’t find you repulsive,” you whispered, not able to focus on anything else. If you did then you’d feel the way his body felt against yours, the hard planes of his chest, the curve of his legs as the slotted behind you, the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

“Course you do,” he said, “don’t be stupid.”

You turned, needing to see his face. You had no idea what was going through his head but whatever it was you needed him to know he was wrong. His arms tightened around you as if wanting to stop you but you wiggled your way around to face him.

He was so close, nose brushing against yours. You froze, finding him without his glasses, breath brushing your lips. He was softer without them, more boyish, less of something to hide behind. He drew back, retreating, like you were chasing him away.

“I don’t find you repulsive. Not at all. You’re…” you hesitated, not wanting to reveal your hand to him.

He began to retract his arms from around you but you reached out, winding his tie around your hand, keeping him in place. He glanced down then back to your face, lingering a moment. You must have been mistaken because otherwise he had been looking at your lips and that would be too much to handle.

“I’m what?” he asked, voice barely above an exhalation.

“You’re beautiful,” came from you without permission.

Lying so close to him in the dark, lit up by the lights out on the street, it felt like a confessional, the perfect moment for secrets to spill out.

He blinked, a look of confusion passing over his face. On of your hands came up, tracing over the way his eyebrows came together, smoothing the line between them.

“You’re the one who hates me,” you said when no response came forth.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers continued to trace over his features. He wasn’t batting you away, demanding you stay on your side, to stop bothering him.

“You glare at me, you leave every room I enter, you’re mean to me,” you listed off, “you made it clear you didn’t want me going on this job with you.”

“Because I knew it would be intolerable to sit in the van with you for hours,” he said, voice heartbreakingly soft.

“See? You hate me,” you replied.

“No.” His eyes sprang open and there was something there, so close to fear, or panic.

“No?” You had no idea what he was getting at.

“That wasn’t why it would be intolerable. It’s not… I’m not… You’d be sitting so close I could touch you,” he said.

“So?” you asked, not sure what the problem was.

“I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself.”

Now you were the one who was confused, eyebrows drawing together. The way he was looking at you was like it hurt to say and that only made it less clear what was going on.

“What?” you asked.

“I want to touch you, all of the time. You’re so…You’re just… It’s… I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he said.

“So why are you always so mean to me?” you asked.

“To remind myself you don’t want me the way I want you,” he replied.

“But what if I did?”

That shut him up. He looked down at you, still so close to him, mouth hanging open. You decided to take matters into your own hands, since he didn’t seem to be getting the message.

Surging up, you caught his lips in a soft kiss. He made a pained noise and you drew back, worried you’d hurt him. His hands pressed into your spine, dragging you closer as he kissed you again, almost like he couldn’t stop himself. His tongue dragged over your bottom lip and you opened yourself up to him.

He didn’t stop you as you climbed onto him, knees falling either side of his hips, straddling him. Your hair fell forward, a curtain between you and the rest of the world. You were quick as you tugged on the tie, pulling it off him, so frustrated by it. His hands had fallen to your hips, squeezing, pushing up past your sweater, seeking out the warmth of your skin.

You lost yourself in him, in his kisses. For such a buttoned up person, he kissed like a man who knew what he was doing. It only made you moan into his mouth, wanting more, wanting him in all the ways you’d never admitted to anyone before. You wanted his hands all over you. You wanted his lips all over you. You wanted him.

“We have to stop,” he mumbled against your lips before kissing you again.

“Uh huh,” you hummed, letting your tongue graze against his.

His answering groan and the tightening of his hands wasn’t indicative that he wanted to stop. He was kissing you like you were the air he breathed. Like you were everything he’d ever wanted.

“Really,” he said as he drew back after indulging for a long moment.

“You don’t want me?” The sting of rejection was like ice over you.

You sat up properly, staring down at him.

“No. What? No. I do. I want you,” he said, panicked as he sat up too, following you, arms curling around your waist to keep you in place in his lap, “but not here. Not like this. Not in some seedy hotel. It should be after I’ve taken you somewhere nice for dinner and shown you that I’m a good guy and that I’ll treat you right. I’m meant to impress you first before this.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” you said.

“Maybe.” His eyes darted away from you.

Reaching up, you cupped his cheek, turning his face back towards you. Your lower lip was caught between your teeth and his eyes landed on it again, darkening, almost smouldering. You lent forward, giving him another lingering kiss.

“I must admit, when I’ve thought about it, it wasn’t quite like this,” you said, “at the very least I expected to be wearing sexy underwear.”

His skin heated, cheeks flushing. Your thumb ran over the warm skin, admiring it. His small whimper was gratifying and the way he was looking at you let you know he wanted to devour you.

“When we’re done with this job, I’m taking you out,” he promised, eyes sweeping down your body.

You let your fingers fall from his face, brushing the vulnerable skin of his neck before you began to slowly unbutton his shirt. He caught your wrist again and you wondered if that was something he enjoyed. If he might want to restrain you.

“What are you doing, love?” he asked, “I thought we were in agreement.”

“You can’t sleep like this. I’m just getting you comfortable,” you murmured.

He released you, letting you unbutton the rest of the shirt, pushing it from his shoulders. His skin was soft against yours, so warm it was almost burning in the cold air of the room. He lay back, pulling you with him. You settled against his body, head reasting on his chest, half on top of him.

“You have no idea how happy I am,” he murmured in the dark.

“I think I do,” you replied.

His lips pressed to the top of your head in a soft kiss before he settled down again. You listened to his heartbeat, slowing as his breathing evened out. Closing your eyes, you let yourself relax against him, much warmer than before.

And if you returned to the lab the next day with a bounce in your step, then you didn’t feel any need to explain yourself to Winston when you passed over the artefact.

[rajixoxoo]

Good girl. That's all you have to be for him ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

— warnings: masturbation, vaginal fingering , fingerfucking, rough sex, degradation

"Can't help touching yourself, huh? You sure you wanna do that right now?"

Gojo's teeth gleam like fangs in the light, blue eyes like crystals digging into your skin as they roam your nude body. He made the rules and you know them well, and as a whole they're not hard to follow. Tell him where you're going when you go out. Eat what he gives you. No drinking without him present. Keep conversation with other sorcerers to a minimum.

And absolutely no masturbating alone. 

That one's always been a little harder to follow. Gojo's always busy, always hopping from one task to another, one curse to another, and engaging his students in between. There's so little time for you! Not to mention most nights when he comes home he's completely passed out before his head even hits the pillow, and you're left to try and prod him awake until you hear those telltale snores and have to give up altogether. 

Gojo has his hand around your wrist before you can think any more. He doesn't really like it when you do that--your thoughts get in the way of his rules more often than not, at least in his opinion. Always whispering those annoying little worries and doubts and silly ideas in your mind, making it so much harder for him to implant everything else he needs you to know. You know it's enough now, and with your little doe eyes turned up towards him you let him pull your hands away from your cunt and lay them at your sides. 

You're a good girl. You know how to obey, and that's really all you need to know when Gojo takes care of everything else. 

"You belong to me , remember? You promised, right?"

The switch he makes to a teasing voice and a coy smile marks danger. You find yourself nodding before any other reaction, and he laughs as if you've said something funny, before his face drifts closer and he looks you in the eyes with a deadly serious whisper. 

"That means this part, too." 

His tongue flicks out to lick his lips, finger tracing the soft lips of your pussy, and at once you wish he'd shove his whole head down there instead. The scolding you can take, but you can't help having to smell him and touch him and breathe his air without being able to ask him for what you really want. 

"You're really gonna touch my property without permission? What a bold girl…" 

He pushes you back and climbs on top, the buttons on his shirt popping off one by one as he rips it off and lets it slide off his biceps, muscles pulling taut as he grabs you under each knee and shoves them further into your chest, folding you back like you're a stubborn piece of origami. His cock needs barely any help in being freed when listening to you moan to yourself has got him so worked up, and little do you realize how often he thinks about you while he's gone that he can barely keep himself together through so much lust. And yet he displays such impeccable restraint when he rubs the head against your clit, just barely grazing your slit to get himself wet but never quite slipping inside, and it's absolutely driving you mad . But the second you try to wiggle down on it, Gojo props up both your legs with his forearm and shifts back, giving himself enough room that he can bring his palm down on your pussy with a hard, wet smack . 

And he doesn't stop there. Your cunt still stinging with the hit, Gojo gives you another and yet another still, leaving your lips puffy and your clit stiff while tears dribble down your cheeks. Only when that fury has disappeared from his crystal-clear eyes does he rub the pain away, his fingers finding their way inside you to hunt for that spot that he knows will make you forget all about the pain and the soreness that will certainly be there in the morning. 

"You're no good at doing things yourself, sweetie. You wanna cum, you just call me--I'll always make time, you know?"

His movements are practiced, slow, the pressure just enough to remind you he's there but not enough to hurt. And he's right, what else do you really do other than wait around for Gojo when he's not here? Even the way he fingers you feels like he's controlling his puppet, working your body in a way that you can't even manage yourself. The unbearable urge to relieve yourself surfaces fast and breaks once you grind your hips down on his hand for the last time, your body burning up and shaking as you soak him all the way up his arm with your orgasm. 

"Don't ever break the rules again. Do you really expect to survive without me?" 

Gojo looms over your frail body with a whisper dancing off his lips, voice low and deep as he pulls a whiny one-word answer from your lungs, accompanied by the furious shaking of your head. 

"What's that? No? That's what I thought." 

You can only imagine how many people and curses alike have seen that twisted smirk before they were culled for good. He yanks his hand away and licks up his arm to the wrist, before shoving two of his fingers into your mouth and watching with sick glee as you suck them down without hesitation. And with your pussy so sloppy and relaxed, you offer no resistance to his cock sliding in and his pace starting off brutally fast. 

" Good girl . You'll never cum without my help again, at the very least." 

The harsh paps of his hips working at a frantic pace along with the roughness of his voice just melt your brain completely between them, nothing but moans of 'more' and 'please' and 'deeper' around his fingers filling the thick air of the room that Gojo's made up for you. It's his bathroom you doll yourself up in, his blankets you cuddle up in when you miss his scent, his bed he rails you on and forces you to squirt all over when he comes home frustrated and horny. So is it Gojo who doesn't give you enough, or is it you being too picky and worrisome when you could just let it all go?

You think the latter may be the truth--but like Gojo said, you're really not all that good at thinking, are you? You're good at being a cocksleeve for Gojo, that much is clear by the way he bends your knees back so far it aches so he can bash your cervix with every thrust of his cock inside you, chasing that glorious moment when he fills you with cum and keeps you pinned so you'll take every drop of it. Lucky you he supervises in the mornings to make sure you take your birth control, along with helping you brush your teeth and find a nice outfit for the day.

...Yeah, you really wouldn't be anywhere without Gojo, would you?

"your a good girl…"

He shoves your legs further apart and tugs a yelp from your throat in the process. The words fall on you like an insult but he looks so happy when he says them, so drunk on love and pussy that he can barely see straight.

"Cum for me." 

That's one thing he'll never have to demand from you. As he moans it he pins your knees back all the way and squeezes your tits between them, before latching his mouth on to one and the other and sucking them hard enough to bruise, while he buries his cock so deep it pinches your cervix and keeps it there as you shriek out in pain. It's the push you need to do it though, your eyes rolling back as Gojo pumps you full of sperm and warms up your womb from the inside out, and your vision fades and returns in bursts as pleasure rips through you so violently that you black out temporarily. And he coos to you as soon as he's recovered from his own orgasm, reassurance after reassurance squeezed from his raspy throat as he strokes your hair and massages your tits from the bruises he's left on them. 

"Good girl."

Good girl. That's all you have to be for him….and is that really so hard?

[thornedrose44]

16 supercorp please 🥺

Prompt: “Eat the rich, am I right?”

(Read on AO3)

Kara threw back the shot, swallowing the alien liquor in one go, desperately seeking the fuzziness and disconnection that only inebriation could bring.

“Woah, slow down there.” Alex laughed, “You know since adopting Esme my alcohol tolerance has plummeted.”

“Right… sorry.” Kara mumbled, moving to adjust her glasses only for her fingers to brush bare skin, the surprise of it and the sheer stupidity of the action making her gaze dart over to the spot she’d ordered herself not to look at. 

She grimaced and quickly drank another shot. 

Alex’s brow immediately pinched with concern, her head twisting round to track down whatever sight had provoked the discontent in her sister; before she had a chance to locate the issue, Nia was falling into the booth beside Alex, giggly and slightly sweat-sheened from dancing. Brainy slipped in next to Kara, looking equally flustered and energetic. 

“This place is amazing! We should come every week!” Nia declared jubilantly.

“I concur!” Brainy agreed instantly, his smile wide, lopsided and smeared with a purple shade that matched Nia’s lipstick. 

“Let’s see if you both feel the same in the morning…” Alex drawled, sipping her pint glass of water, having made the smart decision to alternate alcohol with hydration. 

Nia either pointedly ignored this statement or had already mentally moved on from the conversation, Kara couldn’t really tell which, too busy sneakily taking another shot. Nia was already shifting in her seat, head rotating this way and that way, desperate to get back out on the dance-floor and burn more energy as she took hasty sips of the cocktail Alex and Kara had been guarding.

“Holy moly!” Nia exclaimed, going still as her eyes locked onto something. “Those two are about to get it on.”

“What? Who?” Alex asked curiously, even as Kara went rigid, eyes burning and heart racing.

“Talk about eat the rich, am I right?” Nia snorted, nudging Alex’s side as Alex slowly turned back to meet Kara’s gaze, her expression painfully sympathetic and understanding. “I knew Lena and Andrea had a whole thing but I had no idea it was heating back up again. I mean hot damn. Hey, Kara?” Nia murmured, leaning over the table, head lolling forward like an eager puppy with absolutely no filter. “Did you know? Do you think Lena’s going to go home with Andrea? Do you think they’re going to get together? Oh my god, can you imagine if they like properly date or… get married? How rich would they be together? Do you-”

CRACK-BANG

The table of their booth splintered apart, thudding loud and heavy to the ground - Alex let out a wince of pain as it banged her knees on the descent, Nia and Brainy’s alcohol levels dulling them to the impact.

“Shi-Shoot, I… I am so sorry…” Kara said, staggering to her feet, stomping the debris harder into the ground and inadvertently making any repair impossible.

“Is everyone okay?” 

Kara cringed, looking over to find Lena, Andrea and Kelly - all of them having rushed over the instant they heard the noise. Staff were approaching but a wave from Lena and promise to pay for the expenses kept them at bay. Kara could barely look at her best friend, shoulders hunched up high and body curled forward with shame and in a vain attempt to mitigate the ache in her chest. 

Lena was in a black dress with a high cut up the thigh; her hair was loose, curly and voluminous like a dark-haired Sandy from Grease. Her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, eyes dark and sparkling and the neck of her dress was pulled off one shoulder to reveal the expanse of tempting flesh. 

(Kara had watched Andrea’s hands tease at the split in Lena’s dress, fingertips kissing the flash of thigh before marking a path up Lena’s side, hooking around the edge of fabric to pull it to the side allowing Andrea’s nose and the ghost of her lips to trail along Lena’s collarbone).

“We’re fine.” Alex answered immediately, getting to her feet and reaching for Kara - only for Kara to sway backwards out of reach and nearly fall over.

Hands in all directions reached out to steady her but with her ears filled with the sound of Lena’s familiar thrumming heartbeat is it any wonder that she fell towards Lena who touched her like she was fragile rather than a wrecking ball?

“You okay?” Lena whispered, head ducking forward so the words were just between the two of them.

Kara blinked into caring green eyes, breath catching in her throat so stubbornly that she felt herself actually choke on it - words totally beyond her capability.

She shook her head, unable to stop the action. 

Lena’s face instantly set, becoming determined and clear as if all the alcohol was instantly purged from her system. Hands that had been delicately placed on Kara’s shoulders to offer maximum stabilisation, traced down her arms until their fingers were tangled - locking them together. 

“I’m taking Kara home.” Lena declared, barely glancing around at the rest of the group.

Kara knew her sister would frown, considering whether to step in but would ease back if Kara shuffled that little bit closer to Lena - proving that this was what she wanted. During the shuffle forward, Kara caught a glimpse of Andrea’s expression: strained, disappointed and not so slightly annoyed. Any sense of victory Kara would have felt at provoking such a reaction was diminished by how Lena released Kara’s hand to fleetingly squeeze Andrea’s forearm, murmuring a promise to call or text when possible.

The interaction soured the mix of liquids in her stomach and as Lena led her out of the side-exit of the club to avoid scrutiny, Kara had to stop them so she could throw up in the gutter. Lena held her hair back, fingers cold and soothing on the back of Kara’s heated neck, her words even more gentle. Lena guided Kara into her chauffeured car, forcing her to drink water and then letting her rest her head on her shoulder and play with Lena’s fingers for the whole journey. 

They arrived back at Kara’s apartment, Lena still steering her with infinite care, helping drink more water and get changed into pyjamas - Lena purposefully looking away whenever bare skin was exposed which only made the ache in Kara’s chest all the more pronounced. 

“Why does she get to touch you like that?” Kara asked when she could no longer hold the drunk-induced words back.

“Hmm?” Lena hummed, raising an eyebrow curiously as she tucked the duvet in around Kara’s heavy-limbed form, “Who gets to touch me like what?”

Kara pursed her lips, looking into the far corner of her room as she muttered darkly, “Andrea…”

Lena froze for a painful beat, and Kara was suddenly acutely aware of how her eardrums throbbed with the remnant bass of the club. Lena slowly pulled away standing up to her full height as she peered down at Kara, her expression inscrutable.

“Because she asked, because she showed interest.” Lena said eventually, the words clipped and sharp. “You’ve never even tried to touch me like that. Never given any indication that you would want to…”

Kara still adamantly refused to look at her, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her quilt.

 “I know you went out on a date with William Day.” Lena murmured, and Kara cringed away at that. 

She was aware that she had said yes to him because she hoped he would reduce how much she thought of Lena but all it did was make Lena feel all the more easily replaced and forgotten.

Lena sighed and pinched her brow with index finger and thumb as if this conversation - if Kara - was producing a migraine. “Nevermind. You should sleep.”

“Are you going to sleep with her?” Kara asked quietly, wanting the salt to be rubbed into her wounds, wanting the burn in the hope that the sheer sharpness of it would reduce the underlying ache.

“If she asks…” Lena whispered hesitantly - Kara lived and died a thousand times over in that minor pause -, “probably. Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

“I don’t like her.”

“I didn’t like Mike or Mon-El.” Lena shot back, shaking her head. “That’s not a good enough reason.”

“Then what would be?” Kara demanded, head turning towards her, gaze focused on the white flash of thigh through the slit in Lena’s dress - still not able to look up into her green eyes.

“If you like me more.” Lena breathed.

Kara licked her lips, lungs inflating to put the long-awaited declaration out into the world only for her jaw to snap shut and her tongue to stick to the bottom of her mouth.

 “You can’t say it, can you?” Lena laughed, the sound mournful and broken. “That’s the difference, you know? She’s not scared or embarrassed to like me, to ask to touch me.”

“Is that what you think: that I’m embarrassed?” Kara cringed, head bowing down as if she was praying to Lena, offering herself up in supplication.

“I don’t know,” Lena admitted, “but when I have no alternative… what should I default to thinking? If you say and do nothing despite my repeated invitations to it’s either because you don’t like me like that or you do but you don’t want to act on it.” 

Another pause, another chance for redemption.

“It’s… I…” Kara began falteringly before trailing off into the heaviest of silences.

Lena sighed again, hand reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Kara’s ear, “Go to sleep, Kara.”

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Six: Would I Lie to You, Baby?

special thank you to @myosotisa and @loveshotzz for the beta read and also @myosotisa for helping me with a special scene that takes place in this chapter!!

warnings: minor injury; mentions of alcohol; unwanted advances/flirting/touching - R receiving end; and a whole lot of fluffy modern day!rich!fake-husband!steve x afab!reader. (9.3k words)

masterlist

——

——

 What’s that saying? 

Woman down. 

Abort mission. 

Houston, we have a problem. And boy do you have one. 

The day starts like any other, only because of the rainy weather that has plagued the city since September bled into October, you’ve been forced to take your morning walk indoors. And it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve used the personal gym in your home either. In fact, by now you’ve used it countless times. 

No. Instead, it’s the image that greets you upon entering that is a definitive ‘first time’ for you. Because there’s no forgetting the sight of your husband, bare chested, catching his breath as he rests on a bench. His hair is hidden beneath a baseball cap, a water bottle between his plush lips that manages to spill onto his chest with the intensity he’s chugging it. 

Oh, and his face? He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Steve Harrington with a growing mustache and beard should be illegal. 

Jail time and a permanent sentence if you have any say in the matter. 

The reason why? 

Riling up his fake wife into a tizzy.  

The optic is…not helping your present situation. The dawning realization that seems intent on reminding you every single day that you’re attracted to your husband. Emotionally, physically—the whole of it. It’s infuriating, daunting and downright terrifying. But he can’t know that—can never know that, because of the deal. 

The deal. The arrangement. The rules. 

But lately, you want to throw them all out and burn that ridiculous contract he had you sign seemingly so long ago now. 

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re staring, watching as his brows draw high on his forehead. With a swallow, you turn your head away, hating how your damn cheeks start to warm under his scrutiny. 

He’s probably loving it, too. Loving the way you shift on the spot, unsure of what to do beneath his stare, hugging yourself tight. 

Basing it on the smug grin that curls his lips alone, you know he has to be. 

“Figured I’d get in a workout because Charlie is napping,” you explain, stepping further into the room, stopping in front of the endless rows of dumbbells your husband keeps on a rack against the far wall of the room with wall to wall mirrors reflecting your nervous image back at you. “And also because it’s raining, I couldn’t go outside.”

“Uh huh.” He takes a final gulp of his water and places it down onto the floor beside him, about to start more bicep curls when he catches your image in the mirror. “Looking for something?” 

Maybe it’s your inability to figure out what weight dumbbells you should start with. Maybe it’s because you’re already forgetting the layout of the TikTok workout you watched earlier that evening you intended to try. Maybe it’s the fact you know you want to start lifting weights, if only to help with your running and dog walking business (some of those bigger dogs get a little rowdy). Maybe it’s the fact you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. As a result of all of that, your teeth pinch against your bottom lip, skin taut between, meeting his stare in the mirror.  

“I’ll probably just hop on the treadmill. Go for a walk,” you decide, cowering away from his curious stare to rush to the farther corner of the room where the cardio equipment is. 

The present set up has a treadmill, elliptical, stairmaster, and spin bike. More than you’ll ever need, but you’ll never complain because one of the perks now in being married to Steve is that you were able to cancel your own membership and save a little extra cash every month. Hopping on, you tap on the large screen panel to set your leisurely walking pace, pop a pair of headphones in your ears, and drown out the sounds in the room. 

The plan works. 

For all of five minutes. 

Because you’re minding your own business, bobbing along to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. as you strut across your runway slash treadmill belt, when Steve decides to lift his weights once more. Uses his knees to help prop them up, going right into a set of overhead dumbbell presses. 

And damn it, if the sight of him when you walked in hadn’t sent you into orbit, this certainly does. 

From where you’re standing you can see his back. The constellation of moles you never really paid much attention to, but now want to mark the path of with your fingers. Want to trace them like the stars in the night sky. With every overhead arch, his sinewy back ripples, muscles in his arms straining, veins sparking to life beneath his skin. You can see the lines of his abdomen, the sweat pooling across ridges, clinging to those perfectly sculpted divots. Can see the way his chest jumps with each movement, making your thighs clench. 

Only—one's thighs shouldn’t clench on the treadmill. 

Except yours do. 

And promptly send you crashing onto the belt, skin ripping from your kneecap in one rapid swipe. 

A giant, gaping black hole in the floor would be a good escape right now. That or a meteor falling from the sky, with its target directed at your head. Anything to rid yourself of the mortification of your current dose of reality. 

Steve’s already dropping the dumbbells by the time you fall onto your rear, nearly crashing into the glass window in the process, your trembling hands clutching your scraped up knee. 

It burns. A white hot heat that has your eyes prickling, embarrassment burning like a heated iron in your chest. And to make matters worse, Steve utters out a soft “baby” as he drops down in front of you, and that might as well signify the end of all life function. Because not only have you fallen off a treadmill ogling your increasingly “not-so-fake-husband,” but now he is calling you “baby” on top of it all.  

“Baby, let me see,” you realize he’s saying as you come crashing back to reality, the hazel of his eyes growing darker as he crawls closer on the floor, trying to inspect your knee. With a reluctant sigh, your hands fall away, revealing the freshly torn skin. “That’s a mean looking burn. Come on, let's put something on that.”

“I’m fine right here,” you argue, back pressing against the mirrored wall.

“Why?” 

His brows lift high on his forehead, left hand curling over the unbroken skin of your left knee. You can see he’s wearing a black silicone wedding band today, not his usual wedding ring, and yet you don’t miss that simple gesture. Always wearing that symbol of your union, while your own are presently sitting high enough in a ring holder so Charlie won’t be able to mistake them for very expensive doggy chew toys.  

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.” 

“It’s a little burn, and then you’ll feel better,” he promises, giving your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll be so gentle.” 

“Steve.”

“Honey.”

“Well when you say it like that,” you say, snorting. 

He takes it as joking. Head shaking as you curl your hand around his and allow him to help lift you off the floor, body nearly careening into his at the force of it. But there’s a sincerity behind the joke; the way your heart thumps a little faster every time he utters his affections like that; every time he graces you with a token of his appreciation, or the lingering sweetness of a fond title when no one is around to hear it. Those little moments that are completely yours for the taking, hidden away from those who would watch your marriage under a microscope—those you continue to act in front of to keep up your facade.  

There’s an expectation, though you’re uncertain where it derives from, that he’ll take you to your bathroom, connected to your bedroom. It’s closest to the gym, as it is. But when you pass your doorway and end up in front of his bedroom, drawing the excited gaze of your puppy lazing on Steve’s bed, you find yourself freezing. Pausing in the entryway as you take in his room. Like your living room when you first moved in, it’s minimalistic. Huge, with a california king bed in the middle. But it’s limited in decor. White walls, black furniture and bedding, with a few pictures strewn about his walls. 

This is where he sleeps every night. Where he slips away to when you bid one another goodbye. Briefly, you wonder if he sleeps on his side, or maybe his back. Wonder if he slings a forearm over his eyes or tucks the back of his hand beneath his cheek to draw comfort. Or if he sleeps with the comforter pulled all the way up over his shoulders, or if he prefers them slung low around his hips. All things you shouldn’t be thinking about; especially not now, not as he tugs you along behind him into the adjoining master bathroom, telling Charlie to ‘sit’ in the doorway. 

The puppy drops down onto his haunches, and then lower still, onto his little elbows as Steve gestures for you to hop up onto the sink counter. Palms curl around the edge as he starts to rummage about in his medicine cabinet, finding the topical ointment he’d been looking for. He hadn’t been lying about being gentle. He’s all gentle brushes of a clean warm washcloth damp with water. He then lets the wound air dry as he stands in the cradle of your thighs, looking down at your face.   

“What were you doing for this to happen?” he asks, opening a large band aid to cover the surface of your knee and gliding a small helping of the antibacterial cream there. 

“Just…tripped.” 

“Just a little spill?” 

At your rapid nod, he presses the edge of the band aid down and glides the rest over the surface area of the burn. There’s a bit of a sting, but it settles into a dull ache. His touch lingers. A slow, delicate sweep over the top of your thigh that draws your gaze to his point of contact. It has you wishing nothing more than to lock your ankles around his narrow waist, tug him near, and drag his mouth down against yours. 

Only you don’t. 

Because they’re all fantasies. All fantasies struck up by close proximity to the man. A normal reaction after living with a man like Steve and playing house for four months now. 

Right…?

“You didn’t happen to be distracted or anything?” your husband queries, giving you another one of those swipes of his thumb over your bare thigh. 

Dangerous. 

He’s verging on dangerous territory. 

“My music was pretty loud.” 

He barks out a laugh. “Was it?” 

“Uh huh.” Another swipe. Is it getting hot in this damn bathroom? Must be an October heat wave. “What’s the damage, Dr. Harrington? Will I make it?”

“Might lose the knee,” he says gravely, bowing his head in faux sympathy.

A little gasp spills from your lips, hand curling over your heart dramatically. “The knee?” 

Charlie jumps to attention at that, rushing over to bump Steve’s thigh with the tip of his nose. You lean down a bit to pet him, and holy mother of god he’s still half naked, you remind yourself as your face comes a little too close to Steve’s hip, eyes stuttering on those moles that litter his abdomen. 

And then he’s flexing. 

Fucking flexing, because you’ve been caught. He knows it, too. Lips curling upward slowly in that self-satisfied grin of his that makes your stomach swoop low. 

Woman down. 

Dead on arrival. 

The jig is up. 

I can fix this, you think, clearing your throat. “Actually, if you must know…I wanted to learn how to lift weights. I figured it would come in handy with the dogs. Charlie, too. He’s a little reckless on our walks still.”

Steve listens, patting Charlie on the head for emphasis as you lean back against the bathroom mirror, your knees still on either side of your husband’s hips. 

“And you,” you explain, waving a hand in the air, very noncommittal, and hopefully lackadaisical because you’re still trying to play it cool and all of that, “seem to have a wonderful form.”

“You mean wonderful form.” 

Record scratch. Steve’s finger’s pause in their dastardly trail, your eyes darting up to his. Dark. They’re so damn dark, and you swallow the thickness forming like a knot in your throat. 

Mortification rising, cheeks burning, you amend, “That’s what I said.”

“It's not,” he muses, “but if you say so.” 

Another swipe along your injured knee, while Charlie rests his snout on your other. Both your guys, all together in one room. It would make for a cute family moment were it not for the way your husband’s mouth twitches higher, enjoying your turmoil a little too much for your liking. 

“Remember we’re married. We live in the same home. I can still kill you in your sleep.” It’s a deadpan. But your facade breaks a moment later, a giggle rising up despite your threat.  

He leans in closer, and you briefly wonder if this is the first time you’ve noticed those little green flecks he has in his eyes thanks to broad daylight filtering in through the window. When you’re out to dinner for social functions, it’s usually in those dark, dimly lit rooms where you pretend to be absolutely smitten with the man. 

But after that kiss on your cheek after getting Charlie, there’s been a shift. Additional touches, sitting closer on the couch—under the guise of sharing the puppy, naturally—a brush of shoulders as you pass in the hall. The whisper of a kiss against your temple when you fall asleep on the couch watching your shows (or at least when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep). 

Changing. 

Things are changing with the seasons and each day a new layer is added into the reasons why remaining married to Steve Harrington for the next nearly two and a half years might be the most difficult challenge you’ve faced yet. 

Because the only casualty at the end of this…is your heart. 

You’ve never forgotten that, no matter how blurry the lines seem as of late. 

He whispers, “Remember the wife is always the first suspect.” 

His hand finally moves away, and you loathe that you miss it as soon as he does. Charlie scampers into the doorway as Steve helps you down off the counter, gritting your teeth against the flare of pain in your burnt kneecap. You walk down the hall together, saying nothing, basking in the comfortable silence as you enter the kitchen, pulling bottles of water free for both Steve and yourself. He accepts it gratefully, chugging half before leaning his elbows onto the kitchen island. 

“I could show you,” he says, smiling softly at your arching brows. “How to train. I could teach you.”

“Like…workout together?”

His head dips, fingers coming up to remove the hat from his head. And maybe your heart does a somersault when he shakes his hair out, now grown out quite a bit. 

“If you want to,” he says, rubbing his left palm over his stubbly cheek. 

And you do. So you agree to his suggestion and find yourself standing at a squat rack the next morning, thanks to yet another rainy day in the city. 

Steve’s foregone his shirt again. 

A fact you find equal parts exhilarating and infuriating. 

Him with his low hung gym shorts, highlighting the lines of his abdomen, the line of hair your eyes hitch on dipping below the waistband. 

Charlie sits in the distance, a happily distracted bystander to his parents trying to figure out what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into, thanks to the doggy bone Steve brought home for him the prior evening. 

“We’ll start with just the bar.” At the hesitance in which you approach, eyeing it precariously, he adds, “It's not that I don’t think you can handle more. You wrangle animals every day. But your form is important so you don’t injure yourself. Can’t have you ruining the other knee.”

“Couldn't have that,” you laugh, running your finger along the barbell. “Okay, now what?”

“You’re going to stand in front of the bar, legs shoulder width apart.” He does exactly as he says while he’s explaining, thighs separating just enough as he needs to. “You’re going to wrap your hands around the bar, thumbs around the bar. I’m going to get under and rest it just below the base of my neck.” 

He slips under with ease in a maneuver you’ve seen often enough from the numerous TikTok videos you watched in preparation. His biceps shift with the movement, fingers loosening and tightening as he gets into comfortable positioning. He unracks the bar with ease, spreading his legs a little wider, eyes on his reflection across from him. 

“You’re going to take a deep breath and brace your core before squatting.” 

He demonstrates, the bar clearly too light for him, because there’s no struggle on the descent. His thighs don’t even quiver, they merely tighten, highlighting the definition honed from years of time well spent in the gym. 

“You’re going to want your thighs to be parallel to the ground.” 

He lowers until he’s in the proper position. 

Pauses. 

“And then you’ll drive up through the heel.” 

He rises, hips drawing forward, racks the bar, and turns to you. Growing warm at the sudden attention on your figure, you push down the lip of the hat he wears, rushing in front of him to stand warily in front of the squat rack. 

Suddenly, you’re aware of the set of eyes staring at your form in the mirror that belong to Steve. The way he walks up behind you and curls his palms over your shoulder, kneading the muscle there. Suddenly, you’re overly aware of the fact that here's your ridiculously fit husband, and in front of him…you. 

You’re wearing a pair of running shoes you bought a few years ago, a ratty old tee shirt from your early years of college, oversized basketball shorts, and mismatched socks. 

“You know I can always tell when you’re overthinking, right?” Steve asks, rubbing particularly hard on a spot that has you about ready to melt into his arms and call it a wrap on your workout. 

I’m beat, looks like we’re all done here! Great workout, honey. Let’s hit the showers, you want to say, before folding into his embrace. 

“You won’t judge me? For being nervous?” 

“Why the nerves?” He turns you around to face him, peering down at your eyes. “It’s me. Me…who you’ve seen every day for four months now.”

You shrug, because there really isn’t a reason for it. With a heavy sigh of resignation, you turn back around and face your reflection in the mirror, trying to follow Steve’s instructions closely. Feet, shoulder width apart. Fingers around the bar, thumbs curled, palms facing forward. Duck, slide under the bar and rest it at the base of your neck. 

And here’s the part that has you nervous, the lifting up onto your feet, driving the bar up and out of the rack, wobbling a little bit at the unsteadiness of the suddenness of the weight on your shoulders. 

Before you can even start to panic, Steve’s fingers are hovering underneath the spaces beside your fingers, letting you start to adjust a bit and find your balance.  

“I’ve got you,” he says, chest barely brushing your back as you take a couple steps backward on unsteady feet closer to him. “I’ve always got you. I promise.”

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. I promise. 

You’re brought back to your wedding day. Dancing in the middle of a room full of strangers, arms around your new husband’s neck, swaying to a song you both liked enough to be the one to “define” your day as a couple for your first dance. Recall those words he spoke then. You’re the Harringtons. You’re not alone. It’s the two of you now. Different, and yet the same. Providing you with the strength you need to steel yourself, righting the bar, and training your gaze on the girl in the mirror. 

And you trust him. Wholeheartedly, you trust him, as you drop down into your first squat. Then the second, and the third. The fourth and the fifth come with a little resistance. Six feels like your thighs are burning. Seven has Steve coming up a little closer behind you, his arms extending out into the air on either side of your waist, hovering beneath the bar. 

“Do you have one more?” he asks, and you try…you really do. 

The descent is fine, despite the quivering of your thighs from exertion. But as you try and push back up through the heel your breath rushes out in a puff, head shaking. Steve hurries forward and pushes the bar up and onto the rack, just as you slide out from beneath it and smack backward into a chest. A firm, yet soft, and sweaty chest. That chest comes equipped with arms that curl around your form to keep you upright, and then linger for a moment as you collect your bearings. 

Like this, you can feel every inch of him. The contours of his body, the fullness of his biceps, the hair on his chest. Can feel the cradle of his hips…pressed precariously flush against your backside. And as you glance up at your forms in the mirror, it’s almost like you’re hugging. 

It’s not even an almost, because you are hugging. 

His arms around your waist. His ringed finger resting comfortably against your bicep. His chin over your shoulder, your cheek flush with his. Spine to chest, ass to hip, his breath fanning against your skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his weight. 

It’s a perfect moment, and neither of you want to disrupt it. There’s only his breath at your back, his arms around your waist, your hands across his forearms. Peace. Safety. Rest. That is, until Charlie Harrington decides he’s not about to let his parents hug without getting a hug of his own, running over to thump his paws against Steve’s hip, demanding his own cuddles. And you both oblige him, dropping down onto the gym floor to give him all the belly rubs he could ever want, pink tongue rolling out of his mouth, paws in the air. 

Laughter. There’s laughter and Charlie’s little yips of happiness. Laughter and Steve’s eyes on your profile. Laughter and your eyes darting to meet him. Laughter…and this unspoken thing left to linger in the air between the two of you. Laughter and maybe something tentative. Something more? A little breathlessness, the rush of air falling from your lungs as he reaches over and tells you how well you did. The gentle squeeze of his hand around your uninjured knee, a sweep of thumb across your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. 

Eventually, Charlie gets his fill and scampers off. You return to your training session with your husband. There are gentle touches throughout, his arms there to correct your form, to guide you through the program for the day. There aren’t any more lingering hugs, but that ‘something’ burgeoning remains. 

It’s in his easy smiles. In his encouragement. In the brushes of his hands at your arms, your sides, your hips with your consent as he shows you how to move this way and that way. It’s in his praises and his promises. And later, it’s in his maneuvering in the kitchen as he prepares you a smoothie, as he looks at your knee again in his bathroom. 

And you…well, you want to explore it. 

Heart be damned. 

 ——

 Breathtaking. The material of your silk evening gown exudes elegance and sophistication. Eye catching, meticulously crafted, and designed for your exact measurements. 

It’s a timeless silhouette that only enhances your figure. Delicate sweetheart neckline that hugs your chest and shoulders, draping sumptuously at the middle of your bicep. Every movement of your body has it shimmering where it hugs the curves of your body, like an inky night sky. 

However, it’s the back of the dress that’s your favorite part. The captivating open design, leading to the fabric that drapes at the smallest point of your lower back. The way the dress falls down to the floor, swaying and shifting as you smooth your hands over the fronts of your thighs one last time. Exhaling deeply, you reach over to grab your rings from their holder. 

For the first time ever, you feel like Mrs. Harrington. Truly. 

“Well, what do you think, Charlie?” The Bernedoodle lifts his head from your bed where he’s been trying to get the squeaker out of his penguin toy. “Do you think your dad will like it?”

The puppy in question rests his head back down on his paws, nuzzling his face into the blankets you have pushed to the edge of the bed. It’s as good a response as you’ll get, and with one last glimpse at yourself in the mirror, you slide your rings up onto your finger and step out into the hall where Steve’s already dressed in a black tuxedo. And…the sight is just as wonderful, if not better, than on your wedding day. 

Hair freshly blown out and coiffed to perfection, facial hair trimmed, the tux tailored to perfection. He’s foregone his glasses tonight, instead opting for contacts, and you rush over when you notice he’s fiddling with his watch, reaching out to help him settle it into place. 

It’s better than locking eyes with him. Better than pretending you miss the way his eyes roam your form, round and full of reverence—for you. As the watch locks into place he catches your fingers within his own, holding them lightly as he takes a step back and gazes at you. 

“You look…” He pauses. Swallows thickly. You wonder if he can feel the sweat of your palms, can hear the beat of your heart slamming against your sternum. “Wow. You’re—well, you’re always beautiful. But…just…you’re stunning.”

“T-thank you.” 

You stutter your reply, parting enough to take him in. Hair curling around his ears, now in need of a trim. The hair along his jawline and upper lip, the dark tuxedo hugging his form. He’s handsome. Handsome in a way that has you feeling a little breathless, a little nervous as he laces your fingers between his own. 

“Should we…?” The words you speak are left to linger in the air, because Steve moves forward and cups the bottom of your chin. Tips your head up just in the slightest and presses a kiss to your forehead. Warm. He’s so damn warm and you’re pretty sure you’ve now lost all feeling in your toes. “What was that for, Steve?”

“I’m just…I’m really happy you're here with me tonight.”

“Part of the agreement, right?” 

It’s meant to be a joke. But Steve’s face drops, mouth drawing into a firm line. He coughs into his elbow, head turning away from you, and in that you know you’ve messed up. And not wanting to start the night off on a bad foot, you curl your arm around his bicep and drag him forward, forehead against his jaw, left to nuzzle there for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “I say things sometimes and I don’t think about how they might be perceived. I think you might actually be my best friend, Steve.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back enough to stare down into your eyes. “Best friends, huh? I’ll take it.”

“Four months of marriage definitely gets us best friend status,” you tell him, winking. “I’m excited to spend this night with you. I’m a little scared about being around all these people…but I’ll be the perfect Mrs. Harrington, don’t you even worry.” 

“Just be yourself,” he says softly, and you feel your heart jackhammer in your chest. “They’ll love you.”

After that, the two of you make your way down to the main floor as a couple. The doormen whistle and holler as the two of you walk by, dressed to the nines, and apparently looking a little extra loved up, because Hopper gives the two of you a look you’ve never seen before as you approach. Brows high on his forehead, shit eating grin in place, and smug as all hell. 

“Mrs. Harrington,” he says as he opens the door for you and Steve helps you in with an extended hand. “You look wonderful.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Steve muses as you settle down. 

And fuck, you hate what that does to the butterflies in your belly. They’re not even just fluttering anymore. It’s like they all picked up fireworks and set them into motion. There’s not much time to linger on it, however, as Steve rushes around the other side and clambers in beside you, your left hand sliding over onto his lap. You tell yourself it’s because you’re nervous, because you’re about to be around socialites, celebrities, dignitaries and businesspeople alike. 

But when you don’t let go—well, there’s no one to blame but yourself.

The drive is spent in nervous silence. Your fingers around Steve’s and his around yours, playing with your rings as always. The gala is being held at one of your husband’s hotels, and yet nothing prepares you for the grandeur of the Harrington Hotel looming before you. It’s massive. Reaches high up into the city sky, bracketed by workers prepared to take care of the guests’ cars, weaving in and out seamlessly as evening gown after evening gown pours out of classic cars, luxury cars, limousines, and the like. 

“Hey,” Steve says as Hopper opens the door for you and you both step out onto the busy city streets. You whirl around, facing him. Your chests brush lightly. His hand comes to rest in yours, pulling it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss to the skin there. “Eyes on me. It’s the two of us, remember?”

 ——

Harrington Hotel’s ballroom is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. High, vaulted ceilings that go on endlessly. White walls with ornate carvings in their tasteful pillars situated on the outside edges of the room. Drapery that likely costs a small fortune hangs from the walls in sweeping arcs, a projection of your new last initial displayed against the far wall, with the charity information beneath.

The room itself is dim, cast in a pretty blue light, with a large chandelier twinkling from up above. Set on each table are beautiful centerpieces with gorgeous flower arrangements. Various deep shades for the approaching fall season, with candles lit on the table below, flickering atop the tablecloth, gold embellished chairs awaiting their many guests for the evening.

Steve helps you get situated upon arriving at your table, tugging your chair out despite your protests that you don’t need him to. And before you can even utter a request, you’re being handed a glass of champagne from one of the many workers on staff for the evening, and finding yourself tugged into a hug by Eddie, who Steve purposefully placed at your table so you’d have someone by your side at all times throughout the night.

A fact you become increasingly thankful for as time ticks by and Steve’s immediately pulled this way and that way into various conversations you can’t seem to keep up with, before he’s ultimately tugged away from you with a promise to be back soon, your request for another glass of champagne when he gets back met with a glowing smile as he rushes off with another businessman, leaving you alone with Eddie.

 “Nope.” Eddie shakes his head, ringed fingers waving in the air. “Nope. No! I know how this goes.”

“How what goes?”

“You’re eye fucking your husband,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your fake husband, need I remind you. This whole charade has an expiration date. You two decided this. You made your bed, and now you both get to lay in it.”

“I am not.” You exhale deeply, watching your husband raise his hand to the bartender, capturing their gaze so he can order you another champagne. “I just…have been spending a lot of time with him lately. And would it really be the worst thing if I was…interested in the man I’m already legally married to?”

Eddie seems to consider this, twirling around his glass tumbler on the tabletop, silver rings glinting in the chandelier light above. “Look. That would be the best case scenario. I’d love for you two to fall in love, be disgustingly gross together forever looking at him the way you are now. But need I remind you of high school? Early college?”

“Eddie…”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. For a while there it was just you and me against the world.” 

You know this. Eddie’s been there for it all. For that first boyfriend in freshman year you dated for all of one week, and yet felt like they’d ripped the rug from beneath your whole world. 

To that asshole senior you dated while you were in your junior year, thinking that because he was an ‘older man’ that must mean he’s more mature. That must have meant he knew loyalty wasn’t making out with another girl while you went to grab him another beer at a party. 

And then there was freshman year of college. The pre-med student who promised you the world, only to decide two years later he liked the pretty nurse in L&D and broke things off through a text message.  

He’d been there for those major milestones and all the silly relationships in between. The fleeting things, and yet there all the same. Watching your heart crumble over people who never had any right to it in the first place, with his arms tight around your frame in a hug, a glass of wine at the ready, or your favorite tub of ice cream already purchased and thrown into your lap as soon as you let him know you were coming over. 

The stress remains on his face now. The downward drag of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the way his chocolate brown eyes regard you carefully, like you might shatter right in front of him now. 

But Steve…Steve is different, isn’t he? Steve, who stands right now with his elbow on the bar, tuxedo sculpted flush around his bicep, mid-conversation with a man with salt and pepper hair and thick black glasses. They laugh, and you can hear it from where you're sitting, your thumb running idly on the underside of your wedding rings. 

Eddie catches the movement and slides a palm over your own, stilling you in your movements. “Steve is a good guy. I wouldn’t have let you carry on with this crazy situation if he wasn’t—”

“Wouldn’t let me? When have I ever let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do?” 

Narrowing your eyes at him playfully, he amends with, “I would have strongly advised against it. Maybe stood up when the officiant asked if anyone opposed the marriage.” He swallows, giving your hand a squeeze. “He’s my best friend. But you’re family. And if he fucks it all up, I just want you to know my couch is always open. Don’t know if I’ll be around because of tours and all of that, but you know it’s yours. My snack pantry, too.”

You clap a hand over your mouth in a dramatic gasp. “The snack pantry?”

“The snack pantry.” He nods. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though,” you tell him, rubbing your hand along your forearm. “Pretty sure it’s one sided.” 

At that, Eddie breaks out into barking laughter, drawing the curious gazes of multiple tables around him. Someone even hisses for him to be quiet, and he reaches to grab a piece of caviar, poised at the ready to throw it right back at them. Luckily, you manage to whip your arm out and stop him before he can get himself kicked out of the gala. 

“What was that for?” Your voice is a whisper, but you’re shrieking it at him all the same. 

“One-sided?” Eddie laughs again, head shaking. “I’ve seen Harrington flirt with women. I’ve seen him fail time and time again, and because of that…I’ve seen him give up on the whole thing. He said when it happens, it’ll happen. I always thought that was just a thing people said. Today when you two walked in, he looked so damn happy to have you at his side. This room is full of people, but he’s only got eyes for one.”

Nose wrinkling at his words, you snort. “You’re going soft in your old age.”

“It’s called having you as a best friend since we were in middle school, and knowing if I say the wrong thing you could justifiably stab me and I’d have earned it.” His head turns to where Steve is gripping the stem of a champagne flute in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in another. “I just want you to be happy. I trust him. I do. But at the same time, I care about you enough to also know I don’t want to see you cry over another guy ever again. So I’m telling you again, no matter what…my couch always has space for you.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you breathe out, sniffling on a shaky inhale. 

The backs of your hands dab beneath your lash line, making sure you don’t actually cry in front of the man, and smile fondly up at Steve when he walks over and leans down to press a kiss to your temple, handing you your glass. 

Eddie dips his head at Steve, extending his fingers around the glass he holds in greeting. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs the rest of his drink in one go, before standing to his feet. “Now if you don’t mind me, I am going to try and talk to Chrissy Cunningham. Wish me luck.”

“You’ve been trying to talk to her for m—” At Steve’s pleading gaze, you pause. 

Eddie’s been crushing on the actress for months now. Met her at some party you'd been invited to, where Steve introduced the two of them. She had shyly waved at Eddie, and he’d waved back. 

Annnnd then they never said another word to one another for the rest of that evening, their nervousness too grand. 

Today she looks gorgeous in a powdery blue shimmering gown that matches the hue of her eyes, blonde hair curled to perfection, falling down from the high, slicked back pony tail on her head. From where you’re sitting you can see her laughing at something her friend has said, a bright smile glimmering in the dim light of the ballroom. 

“Ask her about her favorite song. Or—oh, her favorite cheese!” You suggest, bouncing on your chair, clasping Steve’s hand excitedly. 

“Could also ask her if she’d prefer an extra toe or an extra nipple—”

“Surprisingly enough, I actually don’t want to know what kind of stuff you two are into,” Eddie interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose. He levels his gaze with Steve. “Just…take care of her, okay?”

There's silence. Steve’s mouth twitches, his head nodding once. And then, “You know me.” 

Eddie only smiles. You don’t know what the hell that means, nor do you have time to investigate their odd exchange, because Eddie’s off to find Chrissy. 

 —— 

 The gala passes in a blur. 

Evening becomes night, and the ballroom is suddenly illuminated in a lavender glow. Your husband stands on the stage in the far corner of the space, thanking those for joining, and reminds everyone of the purpose of the evening: raising money for charity. 

All of this, this evening, is nothing to him if he’s not giving back. It’s one of the many things you admire about him. The acknowledgement that though he was fortunate to grow up with a life where he never needed to worry, not all experience the same. And the drive to want to do something about it. 

The room erupts into clapping and people disperse to grab drinks, interact with friends and family members, make new acquaintances, and give their donations. 

Your feet have never hurt more in your life in these way too expensive heels, you’re still itching for a dance with your husband once they announce for those wishing to to walk onto the dance floor, and your champagne glass is empty. 

Caught up in a conversation with a business partner, you offer to refill yours and Steve’s glasses, trying to no avail to call over the bartender. 

All around you you're made aware of the decadence in which these people live their lives. 

Women and men alike seemingly drape over the bar, garbed in fancy suits and flowing dresses. Hair perfectly done, makeup to perfection, men showing off with the most expensive watches, shoes that likely cost a small fortune, cufflinks with family initials on them, encrusted with diamond embellishments. 

Tonight, they behave like you’re one of them. A member of their seemingly secret society. They pass you smiles as you go, veneers glowing in the dim light, those who weren’t present at your wedding congratulating you on your marriage. And for a moment, however brief, you allow yourself to enjoy it. To enjoy the affection from strangers. To enjoy being Steve’s wife. Being perceived as the woman who gets the joy of spending forever with a man so well loved by many. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at these social functions before. I would definitely have remembered you,” a voice from beside you practically purrs. You stand up on your tippy toes once more, waving at a bartender who seems to completely miss you as they rush on by, trying to keep afloat in a sea of bodies. The man waves a hand in the air, and a bartender finally notices. “Jason Carver. Quarterback for the—”

“My husband watches your team.” 

Simple. 

Curt. 

He’s shock of blonde hair and a handsome face, a multi millionaire, ridiculously popular for being one of the best at what he does, but you can already feel the asshole aura radiating off of him—made only more so noticeable when you catch the flash of his smirk directed at you, the trail of his gaze on your bare shoulders, and then the flash of his ring on his left ring finger.

Briefly, you recall meeting his wife, Tina, earlier that evening. A smiling face with a hand never straying far from her presently rounded belly. A little girl due in early January, she’d told you fondly, muttering how she hopes the baby gets her husband's eyes. Those same eyes that look at you now with increasingly questionable intent. 

With that knowledge, you train your stare ahead, rambling off your husband’s order and yours. Jason shifts closer, the heat from his body making your skin crawl, back ramrod straight. 

“And your name?”

You tell him in a rush, watching the bartender start on your husband’s drink behind the bar. There’s a touch along your tricep that has your throat closing, the feeling of his breath nearing your ear as he leans down closer into your personal space making your stomach curl. 

“Can I just say,” he whispers, and your eyes dart up to reluctantly meet him, “you are absolutely beautiful.” 

The backs of those fingertips trail your flesh. Unwarranted and unwanted, chest heaving with the flurry of your choked breaths. The room starts to swirl around the edges, Jason’s voice a revolting caress down your spine, colors melding into a kaleidoscope around you.

Harnessing the shiver of disgust into power, you shift out of his grasp, barely brushing against the person standing on the other side of you. “And you, Jason Carver, are making a fool of yourself.”

And then you hear him. The familiar sound of Steve’s voice in your ears, and then feel his hand at the small of your back, the warmth of his palm and the slight tingle of his wedding ring against your spine tethering you back to reality. Grounding you once more.  

Jason stills beside you as the bartender slides your drinks over into your waiting palms. Steve takes his from your extended hand and sips, leaning down to tug you closer and press a kiss to your temple. All still unfamiliar, all still sending new waves of electricity along your skin. 

“I see you’ve met my wife,” Steve says calmly, and you glide your hand over your husband’s chest for emphasis. 

“I have,” he says thickly, dipping his head. 

“Sweetheart,” you begin, “we were just talking about how lovely and beautiful Jason’s wife, Tina, is. He’s so lucky to have someone like her in his life and definitely shouldn’t ever forget that. We were also talking about how exciting it is that they’ll be having a little girl in just a few months. He was just getting back to her, wasn’t he?”

Jason wastes no time in making himself scarce, leaving you to stand near the bar, still pressing against Steve’s side. Neither of you moves for a bit, and you simply relish in the nearness—shocked by the comfort that barrels into your bloodstream over simply having him there. 

“For the record—”

“You didn’t need me to do that,” he finishes, and your brows shoot up because how the hell did he know what you were thinking. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s one of the things I…honestly admire about you. But I also want to remind you that you’re never alone. You have me. You know that, right? Isn’t that what a…best friend would do?” 

You snort at the title. “I know. I-I do know that, Steve.” 

But you’d been taking care of yourself for so long you don’t know any differently. So instead you glance over to where Jason and Tina are sitting at their table, his hand over her rounded midsection, overly affectionate for someone who had just moments ago been flirting with another woman.

Another married woman, on top of it. With her husband only a few feet away. 

“He’s an asshole,” you tell Steve. 

“I know. I saw him touching you. I watched you tense up.” His fingers trace the path Jason’s had trailed, covering the tracks he left with his own. “I’m serious. You look for me in a crowd, and I’ll always be there.” 

There’s such a sincerity there. A plea behind those hazel eyes that has you swallowing the remnants of your drink and placing it down on the bar, gripping Steve’s hand tightly within yours. Without another word, you pull him along behind you, Steve managing to drop his drink down onto your table before you tug him over to the dance floor where other couples are now slow dancing, far away in their own little worlds. 

“What are you—”

“I want you to dance with me,” you tell Steve simply, stopping in front of him. Your heels to his leather shoes. “I really really want you to dance with me. I feel like a damn princess in a silly dress, at a ridiculously fancy party with my husband, and I want him to dance with me. Because I hate that I’m enjoying this. I hate that my last name is plastered on everything here, and that I’m in this dress, with these shoes on, and I feel like a pumpkin carriage is going to pull up at any moment and take me home. And if I’m enjoying it, and if at twelve I’m going to be whisked away from here, then I at least want the full experience.”

Steve’s not judgemental. He’s never been. Has never questioned your past, wondered where and what you came from. He’s only ever been open to knowing who you are at present. The everyday. The chaotic and crazy moments. The monotonous ones. The time spent watching your shows, cooking to music in your kitchen together, playing with Charlie in the living room as a movie plays in the background. 

But standing before him now. Him in his tuxedo, staring at you the way he is now, his hands moving to curl around your waist and draw you close—it’s the first time you really feel like someone could take a needle to your current reality and pop it. Like all of this would disappear at any given moment, like it’s all a dream conjured up in your mind. You hate it. Hate it so much that your eyes start to burn with it. 

Sensing your inner turmoil, or seemingly just wanting to hold you, Steve folds you into his chest. Rests one forearm low against your back, and curls his hand around yours, swaying you back and forth on the dance floor as “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra starts playing in the distance. Your dress shifts and moves across the floor, your cheek to his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. He’s warm and solid and you can hear the frantic flutter of his heart, and can feel the slickness of his palm against your back. He’s not wholly unaffected by all of this, either. There’s a sense of comfort in it. This unfamiliarity of feeling—and the uncertainty of what? 

“Can I be honest?” he asks at the top of your head. 

“Always.”

“I hate all of this, too.” 

“Steve, it’s horrifying. Our name is on literally everything.”

“I know,” he laughs, the rumble rattling your skull. You nestle in closer, and his arm drags you in tighter. “Does it make you feel less bad if you strip away all of the—” He waves his hand around at the grandeur of the room. “stuff and just focus on the fact you’re allowed a night out where you dress up. Away from school, away from stress, with the people who care about you? Because take all of this away, and that’s all this is.”

It’s not. And even so, you know he’s right. Because take away all the gorgeous scenery, the fancy clothing, the endless drinks, the designer cars, and the end result is the same: Eddie and Steve are here. 

You’re not sure when Steve became one of those constants, yet it’s the truth all the same. 

“If I’m being honest, parties like this usually end up feeling lonely,” he says heavily, and you tip your head back enough to get a good look at him. “I grew up going to these things. My parents were always leaving to talk to friends, leaving me to sit back at the table. And I mean, people talk to me now, but only because they need something. Never because they want to. Not really.”

And that laugh that…wrinkles your nose…

“I want to,” you tell him softly. 

It touches my foolish heart…

“I know. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he mutters back, a little choked, a little breathless against your skin as he lowers his face into the space beside your ear, cheek to cheek now. 

Lovely…don’t you ever change…

There’s a whisper of a kiss against your shoulder, meant for those looking to see, nothing unusual there. And then he adds, “The parties aren’t so lonely anymore either.”

Keep that breathless charm…won’t you please arrange it?

He holds you closer, if possible. Hides his face in your shoulder—trembling against you as though the words he’s spoken terrify him. They terrify you too. The implication of them. The meaning. The lines in the sand that become blurrier by the day. His head leans back, eyes locking with yours, dancing to your lips, then moving back up again. 

His fingers curl around the side of your cheek, and he leans down. Presses his lips to yours in a way that’s familiar. You’ve done this before countless times at dinner. A short peck. The smallest of brushes. Yet you sigh against him all the same, palm resting over his sternum, his hand along your back. Against your skin that burns hot—hotter now. 

“No one is watching,” you murmur against his mouth and open your eyes to find the room swirling around you. 

They’re not. You’re surrounded by a sea of couples on the dance floor. Even Theobald and Cami, who you would try to go above and beyond to sell your marriage to, are tucked away in their own little world. Forehead to forehead, hand to hand, heart to heart. 

Cause I love you…just the way you look…tonight…

But he doesn’t speak. 

Doesn’t say a word as you sway to the song, chest to chest in what feels like a slow motion love potion, his other hand joining the first on your opposite cheek. His eyes roam your face, a frantic slide across your features, before he’s leaning down and kissing you anew.

I’ll be gentle, echoes in your mind, his soothing words like balm across the sudden skip of your heart. He is nothing but gentle as his lips slot with yours, your lower lip between the plush curves of his mouth. Warmth, warmth, warmth abounds as your eyes flutter closed and you lose yourself in it. 

You’re not his fake-wife right now. You’re not under contract, you’re not putting on a performance for investors or chairmen or Theo, you’re not practicing to make sure it all looks real. This is real—the press of his nose against your cheek, how he uses the touch on your jaw to adjust your head to press in at a better angle, the gentle glide of his soft lips around yours as he kisses you like you’re something delicate. Something precious. Something real.

Time stands still and time rushes forward all at once, the moment exploding through all those ‘what if’s and ‘what are we doing’s and ‘should we’s. None of that exists here as your swaying comes to a stop in the middle of the dancefloor, your fingers tucking into the lapels of his tuxedo in a show of please don’t go.

His steady hand skates down, sliding along the side of your throat to press the tips of his fingers into the nape of your neck, thumb beside your ear in a show of I’m right here.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs absolutely burn in your chest, pulling just a sparse inch away to gasp in air like you’ve just surfaced from water. Steve is similarly affected, shoulders in a heaving rise and fall as he presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you say a word as you catch your breath—your eyes lost in the mossy green woven into the golden brown of his hazel eyes, his flicking back and forth between your gaze and the shine of your lip gloss like he can’t think about anything else.

A gentle clear of his throat, a harsh swallow of nerves before his lips, the ones that just kissed you, tilt in a bashful smile. “I didn’t mean to take your breath away,” he murmurs in a tease, hot air puffing against your lower face as he gently laughs.

Unable to find the part of you that wants to tease back, to make it a joke, to keep it safe, you’re pouring out honesty when you tell him, “You don’t have to try very hard to.”

He remains there, you both do, bodies swaying, foreheads pressing close. There are no more stolen kisses, no whispers of breath between the two of you, only the quiet of togetherness that drowns out the rest of the room. There are no decisions for the ‘what next?’ nor the ‘what does this all mean?’ Instead you relish in the moment, hands still around his lapels, his own covering yours, keeping you near to him. 

And that’s more than enough. 

 ——

——

if there was ever a chapter i would love to hear your thoughts on—it’s this one! please consider reblogging, liking, leaving a comment. you all mean the world to me. haha seeing everyone get excited over this fic has made my week. xo luna. 🤍

[fieldofdaisiies]

In canon. Azriel finds himself utterly bored as he is lounging on the couch in Eris' office, waiting for his mate to finally be done with High Lord's business and so he comes up with an idea... for @azrisweek | azrisweek masterlist | read on ao3 | no warnings

“Eriiiiiiiiis,” Azriel whines. The High Lord ignores him.

With a loud and dramatic sigh, Azriel then throws his head back. “Eris….” he moans a little louder, hoping to somehow catch his mate‘s attention, but the High Lord has the audacity to only grumble a few incomprehensible words, not even deigning the shadowsinger with a look.

Is he truly ignoring me? Azriel thinks and furrows his brow The shadowsinger exhales another loud sigh, letting his head fall back, now hanging over the side of the couch he is lounging on.

He intensely stares at his mate’s back, hoping that Eris can somehow feel it. But still no reaction from the High Lord. Not even when Azriel tugs at the bond. Not even when he tugs many times, and hard. Not even when he lets Eris feel how deeply the absolute agony of the other's betrayal affects him he is going through (namely getting ignored and desperately wanting his mate) through the bond.

The High Lord of Autumn continues to scribble something down on a piece of paper, one hand holding the pen, the other braced atop at least ten books and pieces of parchment.

“Eris, I am bored and I want you!” 

“You‘ll have me later,” Eris answers matter-of-factly, not turning to look over his shoulder. He keeps staring at the paper in front of him. 

Azriel’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he throws his arms up in exasperation, shadows shifting with the movement.

“I want you now!” Azriel grumbles and once again receives no answer. He isn’t really mad about Eris and his indifference — he is the new High Lord, has a lot to do and Azriel didn’t announce his visit. He is just there and needs his mate, but Eris is busy. He had spent a little time with his mate in the morning, they ate together, went for a walk and made love in the forest, when they returned Azriel fell asleep in Eris arms but woke up to find an empty bed. And since this morning —it’s now late afternoon— Eris has been working nonstop and has had no time for his mate.

Azriel rather starts to worry about Eris. He is working so much – too much probably, and Azriel is afraid that it might become overwhelming for his mate.

“And you are working too much.” Azriel shifts his gaze to one shadow curling and swirling around his stretched out arm, quickly glancing sideways to his mate and then back at his hand.

“I have a lot of work, my love.”

A silly grin appears on Azriel’s face at the nickname. He wants to wipe it off his face, trying so hard right now to be angry at his mate. But he can’t. He just can’t be mad at him. Not when Eris says things like my love.

Azriel folds a hand over his mouth, hoping for the grin to disappear so he can glower at his mate again. “When will you be done?”

“If you stopped distracting me, I would be done much faster.” Eris’ tone edges on annoyance and it hurts Azriel a little. It also disappoints him. He doesn’t like it when Eris threatens to fall back into old patterns and talks to him like this. But instead of confronting Eris, the shadowsinger decides to really shut his mouth and keep calm.

He flips onto his side, careful of his wings of course, and his eyes land on Ares, Eris‘ youngest greyhound, casually stretched out on the luxurious carpet in front of the couch. The animal‘s gaze is fully focused on him and Azriel smiles, but then realises—

The hound is not looking at him, or at least not directly. Ares is ogling the shadow that is curled around his arm, and that with a predatory gaze.

The corner of Azriel’s mouth quirks up, and an idea sparks in his mind. His lips form a happy, and slightly mischievous grin, and he pushes up on his elbow, resting his chin in his palm.

“You want to play?” This draws Ares‘ attention to his face, and the hound meets his gaze, ears twitching. His tongue pokes out and he begins to pant, looking like he is about to jump up and dart into Azriel’s direction.

A big grin spreads over the shadowsinger’s face, and a devilish idea forms in his mind. He allows the shadow to slide down his arm, down his hand until it is only connected to the tips of his fingers, and then he says, or rather commands, “Go!”

The shadow darts ahead, swirling over the ground and Ares after it. The shadow is fast and so is Ares, but whenever his paw reaches for it, it is nothing more than black mist he touches, not able to catch it. 

Azriel loves this, laughing from the bottom of his heart while he directs his shadow and allows his precious hound to run after it. Ares is relentless, and fast, blazing through the entire office, and somehow Eris still manages to ignore them. 

Azriel’s annoyance grows, and his brows bunch. He allows Ares to chase the shadow for a few more rounds and then he gets another idea. An idea that sounds absolutely brilliant in his mind and one that he knows will make his mate finally focus on something else than work. 

He commands the shadow to change course, now slithering over the ground, right into the direction of the chair Eris is sitting atop. Ares follows, his paws padding loudly on the floor. His snout is pressed against the cool stones, his tail wiggling excitedly. 

The shadow reaches Eris' chair, climbing upwards until curls around his arm and slides onto the parchments he is currently reading through. 

“What–Ares!?”

The large hound lands on top of Eris‘ desk and work and half on top of Eris who yelps in shock. Ares' weight almost makes Eris fall backwards and he now has to hold onto the hound and the desk, hoping to not tumble and really fall to the ground. “AZRIEL!”

The shadowsinger has to laugh so hard, he is bending over, eventually tumbling onto the floor, after seeing how the large greyhound jumped onto its owner and hearing his mate shriek in horror.

“Azriel!” Eris shouts, his voice sounding furious. He knows exactly whose doing it was. Who the culprit was! It must have been his mate. Ares wouldn’t do something just like that, Eris knows this, so it had to be his mate’s brilliant idea.

He somehow manages to help Ares back to the ground, staring at him for a moment before his gaze returns to the crumbled papers in front of him. Rolling his eyes, he smooths his hand over the paper, and then has to crack a smile.

He wishes he could be mad at his mate for what he has done, but damn, does he fail miserably. Azriel is just…he is a menace, but he loves him just too much and maybe he has truly been a little inattentive. 

“Ares,” Eris lifts a hand. “Be a good boy and play outside.” Waving his hand, Eris magically opens the door, allowing the greyhound to blaze outside, following his owner’s command. With another flick of his wrist, the door closes after him.

Slowly, Eris shoves the pieces of paper, now crumbled and messy, back on the table, placing a pile of books atop them.

“Now to you!” Slowly, the High Lord rises and then turns to his mate, a frown on his face. “You are impossible.” He approaches Azriel with long and slow steps, staring down at him from above.

“And yet you love me.” Azriel beams, his cheeks rosy, his grin reaching from one ear to the other.

“I guess I‘ll have to reconsider…I had important business to do.”

Azriel shrugs a casual shoulder, allowing one of his shadows to curl around Eris‘ leg, slowly climbing upwards until it reaches his head, softly brushing his ear and the side of his face.

“Well, I think you‘ll have important business to do with me as well.”

This elicits a low and breathy chuckle from Eris, and slowly he steps into his mate, crouching down so they are on eye-level. “Is that so, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel straightens his posture which allows him to almost touch Eris mouth with his lips. “I need you.”

Eris leans in as well, gaze dropping to his mate’s lips. He can feel Azriel’s desire through the bond, the raw carnal need, and has been feeling it for the past hours. 

“Yes, you do,” Eris breathes. “I guess the letters can wait a little.”

general Azris tag list (please let me know if you want to be added/removed): @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @born-to-riot @chunkypossum

thank you so much for beta reading @queercontrarian and @born-to-riot 💛

[1d1195]

Traditional X

You can read the rest of Traditional here.

We are getting to the end of what I believe is the main storyline here. Maybe one or two more parts but I already have at least three little extras lined up in my head too.

Additionally, I added in the days because it was kind of getting all over the place and I wanted to make sure the timeline wasn't too confusing--especially since we're winding down on days until the internship is over. I hope it doesn't detract from the story. Also, another reminder I don't know anything about running a business.

This part has some minor character death/trauma mentioned, sensitive topics, grief, angst, and I may or may not have cried a bit while writing, so that should put it in perspective I think. Try not to hate me at the end I don't think you're going to like it. Thank you, thank you, thank you for continuing to read.

Just wanted to hear your voice, kitten. Didn’t get to see you much today other than tea. Get some sleep, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, love.

So now she texted him: I’m awake now if you want to hear my voice.

The phone rang almost instantly. “Hi,” she whispered.

“S’like music,” he said sleepily. She giggled. “That’s a symphony,” he murmured.

Friday

Louis and Eleanor were lying on her couch (and one another) while she lay on the rug in front of the coffee table, facing the TV. Her phone vibrated with a message from Harry.

Can we chat sometime today?

That sounds like a terrible way to break up with me. Don’t tell your other girls that.

Don’t be ridiculous, kitten. All of it.

I’ll call you when Louis and El leave.

I’ll be waiting impatiently.

“Must be Harry. She definitely doesn’t smile at Niall’s messages like that,” Louis chuckled.

She rolled her eyes and tilted her head back to her friends. They were watching a movie trying to decide where to eat or if they should order in. It was a regular, run of the mill day. They worked their Friday shifts and now they were lying about her pretty apartment that she hardly felt she’d been spending any time in. Mondays of course were still dinner out with Harry, Thursdays were movie nights at his place (and with any luck something a bit cheekier, now), and she spent many Saturday nights at his place sleeping beside him until one in the morning where they spoke quietly, candidly about anything. In the morning, she woke up to a rotation of pancakes, waffles, or French toast.

And kisses.

She woke up to a ton of kisses.

So, this Friday evening, she spent with Louis and Eleanor watching a movie that was so trashy it was wonderful. “How’s the job search?” Louis asked.

She frowned. The one sore spot that seemed to get sorer each passing day. “I really thought interning at Styles Incorporated was going to give me a leg up,” she sighed. “I don’t know... I’ve applied to some top places and they’ve either passed or ghosted me. Maybe I need to lower my standards.”

“Absolutely not,” Eleanor said immediately. “You deserve the top. You deserve it all,” she said.

Smiling, she looked at Eleanor, snuggled under Louis who was draped across her lap, and he winked at her. “You deserve the very best, babe,” he told her.

She shrugged and let out a sad sigh. “I don’t think these places think I do though,” she mumbled. “But it’s fine...I... I don’t know... I’ll figure it out. I’m not going to let it stop me now. Another month and I’ll be done.”

There was a pause. “Speaking of,” Louis began. “I’m told your program does in fact, have a graduation ceremony.”

She blinked surprised by the idea as if she didn’t already know. “What?”

“Harry told me that of course your college has one and you—”

She only vaguely heard the end of Louis’ sentence. She was feeling...anger? Anger at Harry? It didn’t seem like that was a reasonable conclusion. She had never been mad at him in the eight months she had known him. But her chest started to ache, and her blood felt hot, and she didn’t want to be mad at Harry, but she was sad he betrayed her trust in what she told him at one in the morning. Even if it was a silly little thing like making sure she had people at her graduation ceremony. She shook her head. “I’m not walking,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to.”

“Love, you worked so hard!” Eleanor gasped. “Please! It would mean so much to us to see you do it. We want you to have that.”

While the kindness and the meaningfulness of their words was not lost on her, she was serious in what she told Harry. But maybe she left out the part that she didn’t want to walk across the stage because it would remind her of the last graduation ceremony she attended. The last time she remembered a big happy family memory. “When did Harry tell you?” She asked quietly.

“He didn’t know for sure when it was...He was probing around, I think, because he might be trying to get you something,” Eleanor said so excitedly she was practically clapping. “Oh, I bet it’s going to be amazing whatever he gets you.”

“We weren’t that surprised, but we told him that you weren’t walking because there wasn’t a ceremony...and he told us there most assuredly was—which did surprise us. Most interns went in the past, so what’s the scoop on that, love?” Louis smirked, throwing a piece of popcorn at her. It caught in her hair. “Lying to your best friends?”

She didn’t feel like rehashing all the sad details and explaining why she didn’t want to go. “I just didn’t want it to be a big deal,” she shrugged as casually as she possibly could. She should have just told them, but she didn’t want it to be a thing.

However, Louis sensed there was more to her hiding it, immediately. It was why he was her best friend. But he didn’t press. Maybe he would later when he could get her alone. Every once in a while, he managed to pick up on something in her voice that said something of her past was coming through. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Well, that’s fine. We’d still like to go. A couple pictures and that’s it. Then dinner. Nothing else. I won’t even get you a card to commemorate the day.”

“Oh, I’m getting you a card,” Eleanor nodded fiercely. “Gonna write you the mushiest proud letter there is to write,” she smiled wrinkling her nose at her.

So, how could she say no to them? They loved her so wholly it really was unfair to exclude them after their endless support. Sighing, she shook her head. “It’s Saturday, the 14th,” she rolled her eyes. Both pulled out their phones and tapped rapidly putting it in their calendars.

“Good,” Louis smiled. “Now let’s go get dinner,” he said kissing Eleanor on his way off her lap and helping her up as he nearly ran for the door all in one movement. Eleanor rolled his eyes.

“You picked him,” she reminded El. “In high school too,” she shook her head and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“I know, aren’t I lucky?” El said with a mocking dreamy tone in her voice but she meant it. It was obvious on her face, and she loved that about Eleanor most of all. Letting Louis be himself, unapologetically. Louis was the very best and she was glad someone else saw it too. Eleanor squeezed her arm and followed him. She took a second to take in the moment. She couldn’t help but smile so completely happy with her life for the first time in a very long while.

*

She woke up at some point in the night by herself on the comfiest mattress she ever owned all thanks to Harry. She peered through two of the slats on the blinds of her window to get a better estimate of the time without having to look at her phone in hopes of falling back asleep in a few moments. It was still pitch-black out, save for the moon illuminating the sky.

After tossing and turning for nearly five minutes without drifting off quickly, she decided she may as well make good use of her time. She grabbed for her phone. As expected, the clock told her that if they were sharing a bed, it was time to have her nightly chat with Harry.

When she came back from dinner and before she fell asleep this evening, she told Harry she was a bit tired. She would call, of course. But she might drift off while talking.

Just wanted to hear your voice, kitten. Didn’t get to see you much today other than tea. Get some sleep, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, love.

So now she texted him. I’m awake now if you want to hear my voice.

The phone rang almost instantly. “Hi,” she whispered.

“S’like music,” he said sleepily. She giggled. “That’s a symphony,” he murmured.

Her heart was bursting. “Yeah?”

“M-hmm.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” he said simply. She frowned. But it was like he knew she was frowning, because he continued, putting her mind at ease. “I would probably wake up from a coma t’hear your voice.”

She was so close to saying she loved him out loud. How could she not? But how would she be any different than any intern or companion before her? She was determined to wait until it was over. Until he stopped paying her and then she could at least tell him. So he knew and he could...decide if she was worth it. “Did you have a good day?” She whispered instead.

He yawned and she heard the rustling of his sheets. Sitting up against his fluffy pillows, she assumed. “S’alright,” it sounded as if he were shrugging it off. “I was in a crummy mood all morning.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she wished she went into his office earlier to see how she could have helped.

“Not something y’could have helped with, beautiful,” he had a smirk in his voice. It left her breathless that he could tell how she was feeling without seeing her. “Before y’worry.”

“Me? Worry?”

He chuckled that beautiful breathy laugh of his. She imagined his dimples, his glittering eyes. “Mmm...”

It was quiet for a moment and since he wanted to hear her talk, she thought she may as well get it out of the way. “So...” she sighed. “Louis and Eleanor found out about my graduation ceremony actually happening somehow...and they’re making me go.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, which told her he already knew that they had found out because of him. “I think y’should go, love.”

“I know. I’m going to.”

He sighed with relief. “That’s good.”

“If...” she swallowed awkwardly hating how she was even asking in the first place. “If you wanted to come...I think I get a ton of tickets...it is a Saturday so you wouldn’t miss wor—”

“Kitten, of course m’going t’be there,” he promised. “I’d sell m’company t’be there for you.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’d sell it t’Niall, maybe. But I’d still sell it.”

She giggled. “Do you think Niall would want to come, too?”

“Yes, absolutely. We wouldn’t miss it.”

She clutched the phone tighter to her ear enjoying the sound of Harry at the other end. The irritation she felt was only a nagging little bite on the inside of her head that she pushed away. Because really, this whole month had to be the most, and totally, happiest she had been in years.

*

Saturday/Sunday

“I blame myself for my brother’s death,” she said it softly. She didn’t even ask if he was awake. Either she somehow knew, or she wasn’t looking for him to answer. Harry frowned, trailing his fingers up and down her arm. It was a sudden comment, but it was the middle of the night. It was what they did.

“I don’t think that’s possible, kitten.”

“I went to some stupid school party. I didn’t want to get in the car with the person offering a ride home. So, he came to pick me up, no questions asked. Not a care in the world that it was almost two in the morning,” she shrugged against him. “A car hit us,” she said simply. It was silent for a minute. Harry hardly moved. “He must have seen it coming before I did... because he turned...so his side of the car took the brunt of the hit.” He squeezed her. “I tried to pull him out. Begged him to breathe,” she shook her head. “It was awful,” her voice cracked. Harry couldn’t imagine what she had seen. Couldn’t imagine what it took for her to get in the car. No wonder she walked everywhere.

“Y’don’t have t’tell me, love,” he told her, and he meant it. That was plenty. He could fill in the gaps if it meant she didn’t have to relive it again. He was sure she relived it every day.

“It’s why my parents hate me.”

Harry sucked his lip into his mouth. “They shouldn’t,” he fully believed that. He may not have judged them for the way they grieved but they lost one child in that accident. It easily could have been two and yet somehow, they chose to lose them both even though she was right there, alive and in need of love more than ever.

Harry wouldn’t say it to her now, but he would think part of his heart would feel like it was missing if she had been lost all those years ago. Whether he knew her or not.

“Sometimes I think they’re right to,” she sniffled. “I’d hate me, too. He was the best,” she whispered shakily.

“Kitten.”

He loved the dark and their little chats every day since they started. Today, he hated it. It was too revealing. This was hurting her. And he hated that most. “I should have died.”

“Thank God, you didn’t.”

“It’s not fair,” she whispered. How many times had she said it to herself, her therapist, to Louis of all people? The only person who consoled her and not her parents...the only person who needed to be consoled as much as her was Louis. As he was breaking down, he was trying to keep her together. It wasn’t fair at all.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “It’s not.”

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

More silence. “I told you the dark is revealing.”

He smirked sadly. He wished he could tell her something just as revealing. But telling her he loved her so wholly when they weren’t in a relationship, not an actual one, after she was grieving for a moment in time, didn’t seem right. Harry wanted to tell her it was easy. Easy to love her. It was effortless having her in his life. He wanted to reveal something of equal weight. If only so she wouldn’t be sad. “I like getting t’know you,” he said instead.

“Even though I’m the reason someone died?”

He shook his head and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Someone else made a dumb decision, love. Of course, your brother would come t’help you. I’d do the same for Gem,” he promised. “S’in the brother handbook.”

“Louis said the same thing...he has a bunch of younger sisters...and me.”

“Louis would still do it for you, too; I’m sure.” They were silent again. He thought she fell asleep. Sometimes she would do that. So, he asked the question that had been burning in his mind forever. “I don’t want t’pry...What happened with your parents...after that?”

She shook her head. “Maybe another middle of the night talk. Not this one,” she mumbled.

He nodded. “Yeah, of course, love.”

“Thank you for...everything Harry. Really,” she yawned and nuzzled closer to his chest.

“Course, love,” he repeated and let her fall asleep beside him peacefully.

*

Wednesday

There was yelling from the other side of the door as she knocked, then immediately entered his office with tea. Right as she opened the door, he slammed the phone down to his desk. Then picked it back up and slammed it three more times into the receiver. She blinked and cringed with each hit. He slid a hand over his face and turned to face the window. Part of her thought he didn’t register she was in the room.

“Harry,” she said softly.

He shook his head. “Love, please jus’ leave the tea and go,” he grumbled. “M’gonna snap and I don’t want it t’be at you,” he sounded infuriated. Interns never seemed to work out because of his anger... She knew Niall worked hard to keep her away from Harry’s outbursts. Mostly because Niall knew Harry would never forgive himself if he ever broke her heart or scared her because of his job. But she still knew the stories. The whispers in the breakroom and by the copier about his anger weren’t something she could ignore. Sometimes Harry’s angry tone filled the whole floor. She bit her lip at his warning and nodded silently.

After she set the tea on his desk, she sat on the couch across the room. She sipped at her drink watching him tap on his phone screen searching for something. He turned back around after a moment looking at his computer and then she saw his eyes flicker over to her. “I know I told you t’leave,” his voice was icy. But she saw his gaze soften just a hair.

She didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to set him off or make him any angrier than he already was. She was content to sit there...just wanted to wait there in case he needed her because that’s what she did. Even if he was going to pretend that she wasn’t there.

His phone was ringing from the other end while he called someone. “I need the file we looked at this morning...” A pause and she watched him clench his fist and he squeezed his eyes shut angrily. “Well, I don’t have it!” he snapped slamming his fist on the desk. “If I had it, I wouldn’t have called! Can’t you just do what I fucking ask and bring—"

She hurried to his computer after he slammed his fist down. Not caring even a little, when he hardly moved out of her way and continued yelling at the poor person at the other end of the line. The words he snarled into the phone didn’t reach her ears. With three clicks and a few taps it was on his screen. She stepped out of his way and sat back on the couch waiting for the next mini blowup. He put his phone down again as his eyes scanned the screen. He grumbled about something unintelligible under his breath and he tapped on his phone screen again and brought it to his ear for all of five seconds.

“Come here,” he said into his phone.

Within moments, Niall was there. He frowned seeing Harry’s anger but managed a quick wink at the sweet girl sitting quietly on the couch. She sipped her coffee while Niall went behind Harry’s desk. He looked at the screen for a few moments and she saw his face falter a bit; he rubbed his hand on the back of his head. “Well, we knew this was coming.”

Harry turned away and paced to the other end of the room. Hands on the back of his head. Niall scrolled on his screen and sighed. He glanced at her. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the pair of them since Niall stood next to Harry. “C’mere,” he said to her. She hurried back over. He pointed to several itemized lines and murmured a few things that she only had a vague understanding of due to her limited understanding of things that happened here at Styles Incorporated solely because in the grand scheme of things, she hadn’t been there that long, and she was just an intern.

She looked at the numbers, pursed her lips in concentration and did her best to calculate quickly. “Can you shrink this number?” She asked, pointing at the screen.

He glanced at Harry who looked ready to jump out the window. His head pressed to the glass taking deep, angry breaths. “No, darling.”

“How about this one?” She pointed to a different cell. He shook his head again. She looked over at Harry who was clearly distraught. Sighing, she thought for a few quiet breaths and Niall frowned as he scrolled. She thought back to all her classes, every lecture, and every assignment she had ever worked on. Unfortunately, she came to only one conclusion.

“You can have them file for bankruptcy,” she shrugged.

Niall pushed her behind him as soon as the beginning of that b-word left her mouth. Harry hated that word. At the same time, Harry spun rapidly, took three long strides, and menacingly glared through Niall in her direction. “Are you fucking serious?” He hissed but he was staring so angrily at Niall, but the expression was really meant for her. She gulped audibly. This had to have been the nightmarish things that previous interns spoke about. It made her stomach churn and she thought she might throw up. God bless Niall for standing in her way—she knew Harry wouldn’t resort to physical violence. Not even a little. She felt it in her soul. But part of her wondered if it would hurt less than his cutting, angry voice.

No wonder Niall never let her be around Harry when he was mad. This was terrifying.

“Harry—” Niall started.

She blinked in surprise at how angry he got. At her. But he did warn her. Her heart felt like it was going to beat right out of her chest. “I am not having them file,” he growled.

Her face definitely turned red, and she swallowed nervously. “It’s your only option,” she whispered standing her ground anyway. He flung the cordless keyboard across the room. It smashed into the wall and many of the keys fluttered off in a heap against the wall. She flinched at the sound as he paced back to that side of the room.

“Darling, kindly shut it,” Niall whispered over his shoulder.

Harry paced and paced. Niall was still standing in front of her protectively as Harry grumbled to himself trying to make sense of it. “Why?” He practically barked at her. “Why’s it my only option?”

She took a deep breath. “The legal fees would equate to more than the bankruptcy payback.” He stopped pacing and turned to look at her. Niall even turned around and stared at her in surprise. “What?” She felt like this was a worse thing to say than bankruptcy. Niall stepped from in front of her and used the mouse to click through different screens on the computer, it took a moment because he no longer had a keyboard. He glanced at Harry and nodded.

Harry took a deep breath. “Can y’please explain that for me, love?” His voice was still tight with anger but at least he wasn’t barking at her or throwing things.

So, she did her best to explain that she remembered this once case she studied in her quantitative decision-making class. How it was expensive but kept the company afloat to file for a chapter of bankruptcy that allowed them to pay back the debt and keep going on if they could make it a few years. “She’s right...” Niall said clicking on the computer and gesturing to the screen. “Obviously,” he muttered under her breath.

Harry looked at the screen. While they did, she did some calculations on her phone. “So, they keep their assets?” He asked, looking up at her from the screen while Niall searched something on his phone to show Harry.

She nodded. “As long as they make this much,” she said and held her phone up to the two men.

Niall smirked. “I like her,” he said knowingly.

Harry sighed, still embittered. “Can you go buy me a new keyboard, love?” He asked.

Feeling like she had finally made a difference and helped a bit, she grabbed her coffee and nodded. “Sure,” she said softly.

“Don’t spend your own money on it either,” Harry said knowingly without looking up at her. She smirked to herself and left his office before she could say any more wrong things.

*

Since it was a Wednesday, she hadn’t seen Harry outside the office for two days. After getting the new keyboard and plugging it in, Harry was swamped for the remainder of the day. Lawyers, Niall, and others kept filing in and out of his office. At five in the evening, when most everyone was leaving, they were still coming and going. Niall hadn’t seen her in hours while she sat at her desk sending him files, answering calls, and taking messages. She knocked on the door before entering, carrying five or so pizzas and an assortment of drinks. Niall was the only one who noticed.

He winked at her, mouthed thank you, and watched as she left.

It was another hour before Harry noticed he was eating pizza...with pineapple on the slice. “Who got this?” He muttered.

“That cute intern of Niall’s,” one of the lawyers said.

“That’s your intern Niall? I’d be begging for her to alleviate the stress—”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Niall said calmly. Harry was glad he had a bite of pizza in his mouth and Niall interrupted that sentence before it finished. After the day Harry had he wasn’t sure he had much self-control left to not physically attack someone—especially on behalf of her.

How did he not notice the sweet girl bringing pizza? He was certain even if the room was on fire, he would still take the time to notice her. He frowned. He had no idea she did this.

“I think this is enough for tonight, Mr. Styles,” someone said after hours of being there. Harry hadn’t looked at the time in ages. Since before lunch at least. He was only vaguely aware that it was after one at some point only because she brought his daily tea. He nodded silently, still upset about the day but also that he had no idea the perfect girl was there.

“You screamed at her, y’know,” Niall said condensing the pizza boxes. Placing the empty ones by the trashcan for the maintainers to take care of. After everyone left. Harry was helping clean up as well and packing his things.

Harry tended to get a little fuzzy on his consciousness when he was mad. “I told her to leave.”

“You’re stupid for thinking she would,” he rolled his eyes. “She’s quite brilliant,” Niall said knowingly. “When are you going to offer her a job?”

“It’s complicated,” he remarked. “I think if I create a job for her, people...will get suspicious.”

“Who cares?”

Harry worked extremely hard to get Styles Incorporated where it was so quickly. You didn’t become a thirty under thirty member without working hard. In all that time, Harry made every decision he could to the best of his ability. He always wondered if he made mistakes. He loved this company. It was his pride and joy.

The idea of losing pieces of it broke his heart. Since it happened twice within the last three months, and she managed to save both those pieces from falling to the wayside...

She seemed to know how much he loved his job, his legacy. He didn’t like her idea all that much today, even if it was good or his only option. Even when he yelled at her and snarled like she wasn’t the most special person he knew. She still voiced her opinion, and he knew that had to have been hard for her.

It hurt him to think of failing in even one little branch. But he couldn’t argue with her that it was the best option he had for this moment. “This was a brilliant idea,” one of the lawyers said as they typed furiously on their laptop. It was hours after the lovely girl left the new keyboard on his desk. Harry didn’t respond with anything but one little nod. “We should keep this in mind...would have saved you some money a few years ago,” she remarked with a gentle smile.

Niall saying “who cares” suddenly sparked something in him. Why did he care? She was brilliant. He didn’t have to convince anyone of that. It was obvious when she walked into any room, took a passing glance at whatever document they were discussing, any graph they were looking at and she casually pointed out inconsistencies and almost always managed to save him money.

“Have the other interns been like her?” He asked quietly. He had been so closed off, so worried about the reasons they were truly there... The thought of that horrible woman who made comments to the sweet girl about sleeping with him... Harry would feel terrible if he was so cynical about the entire intern process if a quarter of them were as smart as her.

Niall smiled at his best friend. The relief flooded him before Niall even spoke. “Harry, I don’t think there’s anyone like her.”

*

The knock on her door surprised her. She thought it might be Louis or Eleanor who couldn’t be bothered to walk the last five blocks back to their place after a late-night dinner. It was nearing ten and she was snuggled up on the couch with her book and music playing on the TV.

Harry was leaning against the opposite wall as she opened the door. “Oh, hi,” she said softly.

Harry stayed where he was, and he smiled at her, tiredly. “You’re so cute,” he mumbled.

She glanced down at her pajamas. A mismatching pair of shorts and a tank top. One sock on because only the left one was cold. Harry looked tired but beautiful as ever. His button-down sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into his dress pants. The tie he had been wearing all day was gone, the button at his neck undone. His hair looked as if he ran his hand through it a few too many times but his tiredness seemed most evident on his face.

“Come in,” she said opening the door wider. “Do you need something to eat or drink?” She asked.

“No... had the pizza y’got us,” he murmured finding his way to the couch, he folded the corner of the page where she was reading and set the book on the coffee table. He waited for her to sit beside him and once she did, his head was in her lap. “M’sorry I screamed at you. Y’didn’t deserve that.”

“I knew you didn’t mean it,” she threaded her fingers through his hair and lightly rubbed at his scalp. “Is it all taken care of?”

“Thanks t’you,” he mumbled. She smiled softly, grateful she could ease his anger and allow him to sleep. She didn’t say anything for a bit and soon enough he was asleep in her lap. She reached for her book and read for the better part of an hour while he snored gently into her leg.

When an hour had passed, she gently pulled herself out from his head and began undressing him down to his boxers. It took effort but once he was mostly naked, she tugged him off the couch holding him up as much as she could with his tall frame to drop him into her bed. She curled up to him, grateful for the extra night with him. The first one at her place, at that.

The moon was bright even through the closed blinds, making his skin practically glow as she faced his sleeping figure. His arm beneath her pillow outstretched so she fit neatly beneath his chin if she was close enough. Their legs twisted together, his much longer than hers.

She was quiet for a bit, tracing the sparrows tattooed just below his collarbones. “They stopped talking to me,” she whispered. It wasn’t quite the standard middle of the night, but it was pressing on her mind because it was rapidly approaching the seven-year anniversary of that horrible day and it hurt so freshly, so sharply. Like it was only a week ago. She wasn’t sure Harry was even awake, but she said it anyway...maybe it was better he didn’t hear anyway. “Except for when they had too much to drink. Then they just yelled and yelled. At each other, at me...” she swallowed the pain down. “If I didn’t go out, he wouldn’t have gone to get me. We would still be a family...he was their prince,” she explained.

Her fingers drifted over his arm that rested gently with his hand at her hip. She traced the heart tattoo, the rose, and then the anchor at his wrist. “They stopped caring about me, but I couldn’t stop caring about them. I made dinner for them even if they didn’t always eat. If they did, they complained about it. I stopped eating with them. We didn’t watch movies together on Sunday evenings. We didn’t celebrate Christmas. Part of me thinks they only kept me there because they knew deep down, I was still a minor and they had to—I could ruin their lives worse by reporting them...” she bit her lip. “I don’t even think I would do that... At some point... they were the only people that ever took care of me... but then they just stopped and honestly, I don’t blame them.”

Harry didn’t make any note that he could hear but she kept going anyway. “So, I started taking care of everyone I crossed paths with...” she paused for a moment just to see if anything registered on Harry’s mind. It didn’t seem like it. But it made it easier for her to tell the story.

“When I turned 18, I invited Louis over to help me. I didn’t say with what. But the second he saw my parents...the ones that didn’t love me anymore... Louis moved me into his place... I felt so horrible, but I actually asked him to stay there just until... until I left for university at the end of the summer. He looked... betrayed. Like I let him down... He gave me the lecture of the century and Eleanor just braided my hair while he did. They made my favorite food. Neither of them said Happy Birthday once and I didn’t even care because for even just one day someone was taking care of me again,” she had done well up to this point not crying.

She sniffled and shook her head. She reached up and outlined Harry’s eyebrows, the shape of his nose. The curve of his lips and the jawline that ached her to the core. “Louis doesn’t talk about it, but I know he saw more than I ever wanted him to. I know he resents the way I hid. I think part of him wished I still lived with him. He insisted I stay the summers I came home from university,” she told the sleeping figure.

“But I got a boyfriend part way through university. We moved in quickly. Of course, I took care of him... and I didn’t mind. I liked it. He liked it. He was easy... food, sex, cleaning...” she mumbled. “But I still went to visit my parents because I couldn’t help it. I’ve never told Louis that. I didn’t tell my therapist that either...I’m sure she would be mad. And you know, I still go twice a month without telling anyone. Well, except you now... I don’t know why... I don’t know... I couldn’t leave them...they...they have to be in there still, right? The people that threw me princess birthday parties and put Band-Aids on my knees after a fall on my bike? Even after...after all of it...they’re my parents somewhere in there. Every time I go it’s just...yelling and hating me. I clean, make sure there’s food in the fridge, and then I leave,” Harry didn’t answer her. “I was supposed to stay the night at a hotel because I was supposed to move some of the last of my things...but it was a bad day. I just wanted to go home... I guess I got the sex part right with him,” she said with a smirk but without humor in her voice. “Just...not with me. Guess I didn’t do a good job there either,” she sighed sadly. “So... There it is. They just...acted as if I died too.”

Harry didn’t move a muscle. She smiled softly and kissed his cheek. “I think that’s everything,” she whispered. “I think you know everything now,” she told him. “Good night, baby,” she whispered tucking herself against his chest.

There was no movement for at least a full minute and then his arms came around her so tightly, he squeezed her like he was trying to press all the broken pieces back together. “You’re so lovely,” he murmured. “Don’t forget that,” he pressed his lips to her temple and she closed her eyes tight trying to keep the tears from spilling over like a waterfall. “S’great t’know you,” he squeezed her again. “S’an honor t’know y’care ‘bout me,” he mumbled to her.

She nodded her head in recognition that she had heard him but if she spoke, she would either cry or, worse, tell him she loved him. So, she sighed deeply against his chest and slowly fell asleep while he pressed another kiss to her forehead. Like he was trying to heal her from the outside in just by kissing the front of her tired, sad brain.

Part of her thought that with Harry it might work.

*

Next Wednesday

Harry was going to lose his mind. When he started the day, he was so excited that he finally had good news for the sweet girl and was excited about their future. He couldn’t wait to surprise her during their movie night the following day, at home snuggled on the comfy couch.

Instead, he was totally blindsided by the fourth of the same type of phone call of that same day.

The call started out the same as all the other ones he’d been getting. They introduced themselves. “Aye, Harry. Zayn. How are you?”

Harry blinked in surprise at the voice at the other end. Zayn was CEO of his own company, located a few towns over called Malik Industries. Rarely did they interact with one another because their clientele was very different. But every so often at big black-tie shin digs and philanthropic events they’d run into one another. In this business, it was all about networking. He was hoping he wouldn’t get this call only because Zayn was closest to his age... which was closer to her age... “Right, good. Yourself?”

“Great. Listen, I’ll make this quick, I know you’re a busy guy. I have an application in front of me and it lists you and Niall as references, and I’m used to seeing Niall’s name... but I had to ask you. You never give your name as a reference.” His heart stopped because he could only guess who the application belonged to.

She applied here too?

“Harry?” He asked. “Did I lose you?”

“Uh...” he shook his head trying to regain his composure. He was absolutely confused. She didn’t say anything about applying to any of these places and this was the fourth phone call he had to sit through with an aching heart. “No, sorry. Untimely email,” he muttered quickly. He wasn’t even facing his computer.

“Right, I understand. I’ll keep it short... you think she would be good here?”

His breath caught in his throat. She would be good anywhere. But the idea of not seeing her smiling face each afternoon carrying tea in her hands to his office (not that she would continue to have to do that if she worked here full time) was the last thing Harry wanted. “Uh...yeah, she...she would be great.”

There was a pause and a short chuckle. “I know you don’t usually do these reference calls, but there’s usually a bit more than that.”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat trying to get the words to spill out. How could he tell her she was perfect? How could he just give her away? He wanted her there all the time in every facet of his life. She made everything better. “I know, I know,” Harry shook his head again in an attempt to get his verbal processing to work again. “She’s perfect. She can do anything. Fit in anywhere. If she doesn’t know how t’do something, she’ll figure it out. Brilliant. Truly. It’s cutthroat out there and she still manages t’be an angel. Doesn’t even bat an eye in the face of adversity. She’ll keep morale up by decorating for holidays and she makes the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever had.”

“See that’s what—”

“You can’t have her,” Harry interrupted flatly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought she applied because there—”

“Yes. No. I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “She did apply. She would be perfect. You can’t question that. Seriously. Y’would probably hand her the keys t’your office if she joined y’in any capacity. I want t’do that somedays...but I want t’keep her here.”

“I see,” Zayn sounded agreeable. “She sounds quite special. Her recommendations, her transcript, everything is incredible. She seems like a wonderful asset Harry. Are you sure you have room for her?”

He prickled at the notion that he wouldn’t make room for her. “Yes,” he said definitively.

“Alright. Well, good for you. I hope she’s happy there. I’ll take her application any time in the future if you see a reason she needs to go elsewhere.”

Harry didn’t see it happening ever. “Sorry t’disappoint.”

“Not a problem at all. You know a good one when you see them, I get it. Have a good one,” the call ended abruptly. As if on cue, she knocked and opened his door at quarter past the hour. Clockwork. She closed the door quickly.

“Hi baby,” she winked as she whispered the pet name at him. “Brought your tea. And I got us some cake pops. I think they’re yummy. Maybe we could try to make them from scratch this weekend.”

There is no way she could just go. His heart fluttered at her words, and he smiled. He felt the ache in his chest melting away as it always did when she was around while he was upset. “Whatever you want, kitten.”

Harry didn’t tell her about the good news during movie night. He was too upset about all the phone calls.

He didn’t tell her while they were making cake Pops on that Saturday either.

*

When she chose to just exist that weekend a couple months ago, and not remember anything that happened over her horrible couple of days and not think about her parents, she did catch up with Louis and Eleanor that following Tuesday. Harry watched from her kitchen as the pair of them cooed over her and she let some tears fall.

“Your mum’s not having a memorial,” Eleanor told her. So that was that. It was over.

“Oh,” she said like it was a surprise.

Louis glanced at Eleanor and pursed his lips. She combed her hair back and gave her another hug while Louis pressed his hand to her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Louis glanced at Harry and shrugged. Harry thought that meant her mum wasn’t having a memorial that she could attend. It hardened Harry’s heart while he set some mugs of tea on her counter out for the three of them.

The lawyers managed to get some information about her inheritance. The house was already in a trust under her name. “Harry, we’re grasping a bit at straws here. We don’t practice family law,” he reminded him during their next movie night.

“I know, I know. M’sorry,” he said rubbing the back of his neck while he watched from the kitchen as the girl swayed quietly on the porch swing. At the end of February, she was still insistent on sitting in the freezing cold. “I jus’ want t’make sure she’s taken care of.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think this woman cares,” he said bluntly.

Harry frowned and ended the phone call before heading to the swing with mugs of hot chocolate. She lifted the blanket, a beanie hat almost falling into her eyes as he slid in beside her. She rested her head on his shoulder and for the moment Harry just let her live knowing that as long as she stayed here, she was cared for.

Which is why he was so happy when the lawyers finally informed him that she would have the house... eventually. The life insurance policy was never changed out of her name, and it wasn’t like they could change it now. All of it was something that could ease the ache of the worry she had.

Harry attended the memorial service, too, a week or so after that. He told her and Niall he was attending to business out of town. Niall looked at him suspiciously and he felt bad lying to the sweet girl but he...he wanted to...well he didn’t even know what he wanted. He just wanted to know what her parents were like.  There were many people there. He was surprised that they still had friends after cutting off their sweet daughter. But Harry was trying his best not to judge their mourning.

He saw Louis and Eleanor there gently consoling her mother without it truly reaching their eyes. Louis saw Harry at the edge of the mourners at the cemetery, he gave him a succinct nod and then tilted his head discreetly to the right.

When everyone left, he headed to where Louis gestured, totally alone.

He read the dates on the stone, did the math, and he sighed. “I’ll do anything for her,” he knelt and pulled some weeds away from the flowers laid there. Quietly to her brother’s grave, he whispered “I promise.”

*

Monday

Now seemed like it was too late to tell her anything about the good news. She had seemed off all evening. Maybe it was the stress of graduation and her internship. The office had been so busy lately they hardly had a moment to have tea in the afternoon.

It was his own fault, however. When all said and done.

Now, he was walking her home from dinner. Well, actually, he was nearly running after her. She refused to get in the car. Despite how late it was. So, Harry followed her on foot. She was fast, even in the little heels she wore. The driver was close behind on their trail as well.

“I didn’t ask for you to do that!” She snapped at him. She never snapped at him. Not once. And there were plenty of times she could have over the last eight and a half months. But he thought he was being helpful. Figuring out the stuff with her mum, finding a way to finally split Niall’s position. All of it.

He thought things were going so well and even with the end of her internship coming up at the end of the next month, he was so hopeful for their future in so many ways. He didn’t really know what went wrong. He kept the conversation light trying to figure out her slightly soured mood. It didn’t seem completely fair, but he was heartbroken that he made her upset.

But it was the email that was the final straw. She received it in the middle of dinner. Mr. Malik stated there must have been miscommunication as she would be staying with Styles Incorporated. He would love to have her, feel free to apply in the future if so needed, but of course, she should stay where she’s comfortable.

Harry was in mid-conversation with the waiter, ordering dessert. Something she was reallylooking forward to when she read through the email. But the second she finished it she was angry and didn’t want dessert. She called Niall quickly, while Harry was still chatting, holding one finger up as she put her phone to her ear.

He winked at her, continuing his conversation and didn’t mind at all whether she was using her phone nor questioning it. He’d done so many times before and she was always so kind and patient about it. If he did question it, so shortly after the email, maybe he would have seen it coming. But he didn’t...he didn’t see it coming at all. “Did you...talk to Mr. Malik?” She asked him when Niall answered.

“No, darling, I haven’t heard from him or...or anyone yet about your applic—”

“Never mind,” she hung up. The second she uttered the name of another company Harry’s voice died in the conversation he was having, and he directed his attention to her.

“Did you?” She asked, point blank.

“Yes,” he said. “I told him you would be a perfect fit.”

She blinked. “Then why does he think I’m staying at Styles Incorporated?”

Harry frowned. “Don’t you want to?”

She wasn’t going to lie. “I mean...yes...but don’t you think you should have told me you were going to hire me before—”

“I just figured—"

“Harry...I’ve been rejected or ghosted from everywhere I applied to. I’ve been crying to Niall so stressed and anxious that I’m not good enough and—have you been telling everyone in the area?”

“You’ve been crying about—?”

“Harry,” she snapped.

He was surprised by her tone. “Of course...I want t’keep you,” he whispered.

“Well, what if I can’t,” her voice cracked, her hand fiddling with her silverware on the plate.

“What are y’talking about? Of course, y’can,” he said quickly reaching across the table for her hand but she pulled it back. “Kitten.”

“I don’t want dessert,” she said and stood up and marched out of the restaurant. He hurried to throw money on the table and follow after her.

When they made it to her apartment building, she was huffing. She was angry the entire way there not listening to Harry call after her, not stopping even though he begged. Harry felt like he was losing her with every step. When they reached her door, he tried again to console her as best he could. “Love, I just wanted to hel—”

“I know you feel entitled to everything I am and do because of what we are, but I didn’t ask you to do any of that! Stay out of my business.”

“Kitten,” Harry felt crushed, like she stole all the air out of her lungs.

“I know you told Louis and Eleanor about my graduation ceremony, and I let it slide... because part of me is hoping they forget that it’s in two weeks because right now, I don’t want to go. It hurts to think about my brother’s ceremony—the last time we were a family. And I know you had your lawyers talking to my mom because she called me today all up and arms about how I’m selfish to even take what she’s giving me and of course I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. I thought it was a prank,” Harry was silent as he listened. “I know you have your driver follow me around whenever I’m out walking. Not even at night,” still quiet. But he dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment before looking back up at her. It did sound controlling when she was so angry. “On top of all that, I hadn’t gotten any notice about my student loans so I called my servicer to inquire. And guess what?”

Harry’s lips pressed together. He didn’t say a word. Because of course he already knew why she didn’t get any info about her loans. “Now this? Harry, I’ve worked my butt off to do this on my own and you just...told every company within a twenty-mile radius that I’m staying, and I didn’t even get to know that I could do it on my own? That all my hard work and all those hard things I had to face on my own just meant nothing? I thought I failed so miserably.” She was crying so hard, and she wished she wasn’t but every time she felt anger coursing through her it was an unfortunate consequence. Harry just wanted to console her and make it stop. He felt so terrible.

Every day she showed up to work and made everyone’s life so much easier. She baked brownies for the breakroom, made copies for anyone that asked because she was the only one who could stop it from jamming, and of course she went out every day, snow, sleet, hail, or rain to get himself and Niall their Starbucks order. She took care of him when he was sick and saved such a large chunk of his company, he could never repay her. All he wanted to do was help her the way she helped everyone else.

“Love,” he whispered reaching for her. She stepped out of his way.

“Just go,” she snapped as she slammed the door shut in his face. His heart felt broken, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Because as always, she was right. He just...did everything for her because he could. Really because he wanted to, but he should have at least asked.

He could hear the sniffles and her tears through the door. He waited a minute listening to her gasping breath hoping something in his head would click. Something would appear in his mind that he could say to her. But in times like this, it was usually her that knew what to do. So of course, he couldn’t ask her. As he turned to leave, he heard her croaked voice whispering Louis’ name into the phone.

--

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[lovelyiida]

Hey.

Would you mind writing about Tenya Iida asking out a fem. Reader that works in a flower shop?

Like he comes there every week, to get some flowers for his mother or grandma and they talk everytime and he just falls in love with her.

(If you want more Infos you can send a message 🙂)

Thank you

YOU HAVE NO IDEA! How I physically rejoiced when I seen this request, Iida will always be my soft spot tee hee <3

WARNINGS: TOOTH ROTTING fluff, implied fem reader, reader and Iida are in their 20's, mentions of crime (kidnapping etc.)

MASTERLIST

WORDS: 3.1K

YOU AND IIDA HAVE THIS CYCLE GOING ON AT THE MOMENT...

"Wow, nice to see you again—it's already your third day here this week, isn't it?" With a delightful bunch of plum blossoms in hand, you set them down on the table with a smug smirk, reveling in the familiar atmosphere. Iida, as always, greets you with a warm and genuine smile, which instantly puts you at ease.

Calm, cool, and collected, he places his arms on the table and looks deeply into your eyes. "I have to stay loyal to my favorite business, don't I?" he says playfully, reaching for his wallet. You turn away with a quick chuckle, secretly cherishing these lighthearted moments you share.

Heading to the back of the charming flower shop, you step into a well-lit room where the vibrant blossoms seem to shine even brighter. The feeling of humidity from the water misters, tirelessly hydrating the flowers, sends a refreshing shiver down your spine. With swift steps, you gracefully approach the side table adorned with a mesmerizing array of bouquets.

Picking up a bouquet, you walk back to the front of the shop with a pep in your step, you come back with a renewed smirk. Setting the flowers down gently, you reach out to grab Iida's card, your fingers brushing against each other ever so briefly, sending a tingle through your body.

"Y'smell nice," he says appreciatively, and you can't help but roll your eyes playfully at his comment. "It's… the dew from the back room, plus this is a flower shop after all. I'm bound to smell nice." You effortlessly slide the witty remark at the rising hero.

Banter like this has become a routine between the two of you, happening on a multitude of days, multiple times a week. It all started when Iida got off a morning patrol shift after a great victory, a moment that marked his increasing recognition by the general media, leaving him absolutely elated. His heart brimming with gratitude, he began expressing his appreciation to his family by buying thoughtful gifts.

And what's more gift-like than a nice, meticulously arranged bouquet of flowers?

You remember when he first came in, looking around; playfully tugging at some of the flower petals that took almost a week to grow. "Not to be rude, but don't touch if you're not gonna buy" You peaked at the pro-hero, trying not to sound too passive agressive.

The well-mannered man jumps, "apologies! Do you have angel roses by any chance?" he says. Eyeing the man, you give him a all-natural corporate smile and nod.

"Yes, we have some in the back, just a second." You state, taking a brisk walk to the back the young hero walks up to the front and eyes the wall of flowers in front of him. As you stride back, you place the roses on the table and enter the total for the bouquet.

As you look up, you notice the hero staring at you, a light shade of pink dusted over his cheeks was present. Furrowing your brows you clear your throat. Snapping him out of his thought, he awkwardly dusts off imaginary debris from his clothes.

"Your total is 2,800¥, cash or card?" you say, voice tired and yearning for this encounter to end. Looking up at the man again, he pulls out his card mumbling a quick "sorry," he hands it to you.

Reaching for the card, you tug at it but he won't let it out of his his grip. Rolling your eyes you let out a scoff, "listen I'm not in the moment for flirting so if you could just—"

"L/N Y/N, class 4-B?" Iida says, a smile forming from his lips. A look of confusion washes over you, "I'm sorry...do I know you?" You asked. You watch as the man rakes through his raven blue locks, a little flustered.

"You may not remember me but, freshman year when the academy went on lockdown and everyone was rushing to the doors? You were about to be pummeled down by students until I caught you." He chuckles, a moment of silence goes by until your eyes widen.

"Oh my god!" your eyes lit up and a genuine smile shows against your lips. Even tho your high school days were far past you, you remembered that day like it was yesterday.

It was freshman year, you were smaller than you were now. And everyone was in complete panic, trying to guide yourself in the sea of panicked teenagers, another student bumped harshly into you sending you off your balance and a one way ticket to the hard polished floor.

But before you could hit the ground, a strong hand reaches around your waist. Pulling you in close, you look into a pair of dark eyes. "Are you alright?" he yelled, your arms reach around his neck and you hold on tight to him. You nodded frantically in response, you watch as the aspiring hero looks around scanning the room quickly.

You couldn't help but to admire the young hero in training, even though he seemed scared, he kept composure and exuded bravery. Looking back into your eyes, he give you a reassuring smirk, "hold on." Eyes widening, you brace yourself for whatever he was about to do. Closing your eyes, you felt the ground fall before you eyes snapping open you realized the crowd about to trample you was below you.

What felt like a mere second, you were back on the ground. Looking at him, you begin to spew out many words of gratitude. Letting you of him, he bows politely and smiles, "it's my duty as a young hero in training to do what is right, please stay here!" he yells back.

Oh, how punctual he was.

That was the last time you interacted with him before leaving the school at the end of the year. Sometimes, as you grew up, you'd catch him on TV or in certain social media posts related to the school, and you were happy to see that he had achieved so much.

"You were the guy who did that corny speech!" You exclaimed.

"Yeah, that too, I guess," he replied with a shy chuckle, crossing his arms and reminiscing about his past behavior. "Yeah, I remember you. Wow, it's been so long… you look great!" You smiled.

"You do too, you look amazing," he complimented, humming in response. You wrapped up his flowers and handed them to him politely. "Well, I'll see you around then, Ingenium," you giggled. The pro-hero's eyes widened.

"So you do know me?" he said, sounding as if he had been waiting for this moment his whole life. "Well, of course, you're everywhere on the news! What you did that day was basically historic!" you beamed. Handing him the flowers, you rested your hands on the table, unable to help but admire him. "—I knew from the day you saved me that you were going to make it to the big leagues," you said softly with a smile.

The hero smiled back, bending down and giving a respectful bow. He looked at you once more. "Thank you… for believing in me, L/n," Iida said, and soon after, you bid each other goodbye.

What you didn't even realize was that he knew your full name, even though you never told him years ago. After that interaction you had back then, Iida started to have an infatuation over you.

When you walked the halls, his trained eyes would meet your figure. He constantly checked over you, and sometimes you would share a glance. He remembered your smile as both of you politely bowed to each other.

During his daily training, every time he jumped and soared to his goals, he imagined saving you every time. It's a usual phenomenon—the relationship between a hero and their first saved citizen.

Maybe he was romanticizing you, but maybe he wasn't. He never had the time to focus on domestic relationships that weren't his immediate family. The only relationships he was able to make were completely platonic or for business connections only.

But today, that changed.

It's been two months since the day you both reunited, and it became a weekly occurrence for him to show up for a bouquet or maybe just a single flower. Often, you'd talk about life since high school or how you got to where you are now. Other times, it was just a simple visit, like the one time he was on patrol and couldn't stop to smell the roses… literally.

Outside, you were watering the blossoms, fully focused on their well-being when you almost missed the tap on your shoulder. Head shooting up, you saw no one there at first, but then you leaned back down to attend to the flowers.

Suddenly, a loud whistle caught your attention, and you couldn't help but smile as you saw the pro-hero in action, accompanied by another hero with spikey red hair. They seemed familiar, too.

You waved back happily, and they both smiled and waved at you. When you turned back, you never noticed the hero turning back just to get a look at you over and over again. Basically to the point where he colleague had to slap in upside the head and force him around the corner.

But the next day you noticed that Iida seemed different. He usually exuded his headstrong personality, but now he appeared more relaxed and reserved, almost nervous.

Frowning, you immediately sensed that something was wrong. "Hey there! Everything alright?" you asked. Iida jolted a little, taken aback by your words, but he reassured you, "Don't worry! Everything's alright over here. I just need another fix of your amazing flowers." However, you hummed to yourself, not believing a word he said.

"Is it just the regular fix, or do you want just one singular flower today?" you teased, but Iida didn't laugh back like usual. Something was definitely amiss.

"Oh no, I actually want something different this evening, please," he said softly. You snorted out loud, "What's with the politeness? What will it be today, Ingenium?~" you sang playfully.

"I'd like a full bouquet of (favorite flowers), please—the biggest bouquet you can offer," he said in a monotone voice, almost too serious for your liking. Your eyes widened, and you nodded, "Okay sure. Did something bad happen? Is someone alright?" you asked, concerned.

Iida shook his head, "No… there's something special I have planned—"

"Wait, don't tell me yet!" you exclaimed excitedly, rushing to the back to quickly gather the requested flowers. Looking into the empty bin, you frowned a little, cursing under your breath. You were a bit upset that you wouldn't be able to bring your favorites back home this week since you were all out.

Walking back with a smile, you set the bouquet down and began wrapping it up. "So! What's the plan?~" you asked, brimming with curiosity. Iida chuckled lightly, "Well… I plan on going on a date this evening. I'm going to confess my feelings to someone very special to me tonight," he said aloud, and as you handed him the bouquet, you faltered.

Oh.

"Really?" you said, your voice sounding almost sad that he was about to change an important part of his life for good. With a smirk, Iida took the flowers out of your hand, "Yep, so if you'll excuse me…" he said, and without even bidding you goodbye, he walked out the door.

You didn't understand what you were feeling at the moment, but it wasn't good.

You knew that Iida was a very social man; it was his job to be social, to interact with the public constantly. But romantically? You felt an unsettling feeling in your stomach. Maybe it was wrong to assume the basis of your friendship, but was it wrong for you to feel that there was something more between the two of you?

It wasn't hard for your coworkers to notice that you were sulking for the rest of the day. You were less chatty and had a "get the work done and bounce" kind of day. As the sun set, you were the last to leave, walking out the back door and locking it behind you. However, you noticed another car parked right next to yours.

Your senses heightened, and you cautiously took a few steps back, reaching into your bag to quickly dial Iida's phone number. "In case of emergency," he had told you. "Today must be my lucky day," you whispered to yourself.

Staring at the screen, the phone rang for what felt like forever. As the call went unanswered and the screen turned red, your lip began to tremble. Stepping backward, the sound of the car starting startled you, sending you into a jolt.

With sharp eyes, you watched the car move, feeling a bit more relaxed as you assumed it was leaving the parking lot. But no, it was coming straight towards you. Gasping, you turned around completely and rushed to the door.

Reaching into your bag, you rummaged around for your keys. Your heart was beating faster than 100 mph, and your eyes watered. You started to think the worst—what if you got killed, kidnapped, or trafficked? Then, the car stopped in front of you.

You were in full panic mode now, trembling as your vision blurred, and your bag stained with tear droplets. This was going to be the last of you.

"I-Iida…" you said, clenching your eyes shut as you braced yourself for whatever was going to happen. You heard footsteps approaching you, and a voice said, "L/n?" Your eyes widened, and you could recognize that voice anywhere.

Whipping around, you noticed that it was him. "Oh my god, Iida!" you cried out, running towards him and wrapping your arms around him tightly. Arms wrapping tightly around you, he looks at you eyes scanning your face, his face filled with worry.

"What's going on? Are you hurt?" he says, his tone wary and shaky. Shifting out of his touch, your eyes red with tears, but your face filled with anger. Not a second passed before your fist met his bicep. You'd expect that hitting someone would hurt on the other end.

"Ow, fuck!" you exclaimed, and soon Iida came rushing to your aid. You had underestimated how muscular he was. "You shouldn't hit other people without cause, L/n," he told you. You groaned in frustration, "I'm hitting you for a perfectly good reason!" you yelled, and Iida looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"I thought you were some… I don't know! Serial-rapist-kidnapper!" you exclaimed slurring your words, pointing over, and then you sighed, "You parked right next to my car, Iida. I thought I was done for and was going to end up on the news by next week!" you complained.

"And why are you even here? Don't you have a date?" you grew irritated at his behavior, noticing the present frown on his lips. "L/n, I'm sorry for frightening you, I am. But I've been parked outside the whole day…waiting for you."

"What? I don't understand," you said, your anger washing away as Iida stepped away from you. He opened his car door, reached inside, and pulled out something. Turning around, you looked down and lightly gasped—it was the bouquet he bought today.

Looking back at him, you noticed a shit-eating grin on his face, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes. Iida walked back up to you and extended the bouquet for you to grab. "These are for you, L/n," blinking rapidly for a moment, you silently accepted the flowers.

"These… were for me?" you said, and the hero nodded. The loud noise of silence enveloped both of you. "I'm sorry, but can you explain what the hell is going on? I'm not a mind reader." This made Iida chuckle.

"Y'know, Y/n… since I was young, I wasn't sure when I was going to experience life to the fullest. I wasn't sure I was going to get what every other person was given—a right to their own identity. A chance at love, a chance of building a romantic relationship."

He said smoothly, and as your eyes widened, everything started to come together.

"What–“

"Let me finish," he said, reaching out for your hand, and you quietly let him take your hand into his. "From the moment I met you, years ago… I was immediately drawn to you. The mere thought of you drove me crazy. Every day and every night, I would think of my life with you, what our future would look like. Fantasy after fantasy would run through my mind like crazy… until it didn't."

"The year you left, the year I stopped seeing you… I had to snap back into reality and look ahead and not up into the clouds. I realized that I was going to become a hero, and there was a certain mindset that had to be established within me. And when you left, so did the dream to find something better, something worth living for. Something that didn't involve me being a hero."

"I don't believe in fairytales or the magic of chance or coincidence… but the moment I walked into your shop? That all changed. When I saw you, every thought of you rushed back into my head, and it felt like I was a freshman all over again. And I realized that the universe, or whatever god that's watching over me, has given me the chance to see you again and make you mine."

"Y/n? I like you, and I like you a lot…"

Taking a deep breath, he stepped even closer.

"Now you don't have to accept, I'll understand completely if you don't, but—will you go out with me?" He proposed, his voice trembled with nervousness.

Eyes swelling with tears, you smile brightly. No questions asked, you crash your body against his "Yes, of course I will!" you shout against his chest. Iida laughs at your response, lifting you from the ground, he spins you around excitedly, overjoyed with your response.

Setting you down, the both of you pull away; still attached to the hip. Arms draped around his shoulders as his hands fit perfectly against your hips. You stare into each others eyes, your eyes filled with wonder and undying affection as his were filled with longing and yearning for your affection.

Iida's hand reaches to cup your cheek, his free hand grabs tighter against your waist and pulls you back against his chest. You chuckle at his suave actions, reaching to touch his hand resting on your cheek you shake your head.

"Mmm...not yet, you haven't taken me out yet" you giggled.

"Well I would love to, but I think you need to change first...you stink" He says flatly.

that’s a first.

Laughing, you bring him back into your funky embrace. "Sorry, I was on mulch duty," you say. Iida chuckles and rests his head against yours, holding you even tighter.

"well, that explains it."

OMG YAAAAAAAAS THIS EATS SO HARD YAY ME, I had such a silly fun time writing this, thank you so much for the ask it was so nice to write something about Iida (not that I am complaining but...)

PLEASE put in some more asks! I think I'm going through the realization that I don't like doing headcanons anymore and I'm more of a one-shot/series girlie. We have changed...we have evolved!

till then!

— 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐢𝐝𝐚 ❤︎︎

❥: @xo-evangeline, @superkittywonderland, @nar00, @king-dynamight, @gold24fish, @lovra974 , @bakugospartner , @gaby-11 , @smokers-sweetheart , @akqsa-xxi , @jolynegf , @goldenglow149 , @aliruuiz , @zukowantshishonourback , @ilovedenk-i , @atsushiki , @smolbeanzzz , @urdecentartist09 , @lem-hhn , @stevenknightmarc , @ryumiii , @idontevenknowlolls , @lyn07 , @kennshifts , @ackerman-suck-3-r , @elegantvoids , @thecurlyhairedgoddess , @sunyrose , @thisbicc , @thekookiecorner , @rubymha , @katsukisxslut

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Bakery Love Story Headcanons w/ Papa Solomons

And a wee bit of a CoD crossover

TH Masterlist

He knows you hate closing shifts, but asks you to work them regardless if he’s on them too.

Truth be told, you don’t mind when it’s just you two because you get on surprisingly well in spite of your differences.

Alfie keeps you out of the bakery’s kitchen as much as possible. Partially because he doesn’t want you around the ovens lest you burn yourself. It’s fine for bread to burn, but your skin?

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT!

So you stay out front or only venture there to help Alfie carry bread or pastries or prepare sandwiches. Otherwise, you’re in the front as a barista.

He only trusts Ollie with your company.

Takes you with him when he goes ingredient shopping. He’ll pick you up at the crack of dawn to go to Borough Market with him.

However, those morning ventures aren’t solely about food. Various recent reviews have mentioned the wee bouquets dotted around the place, which has helped increase business. So he also needs your help with choosing this week’s flowers.

Although, it’s better to say they’re your responsibility since you’re the one who offered the golden idea. The price tag doesn’t matter, he’ll pay since your word is gospel to him.

He makes you breakfast when you have to open as well. It’s rare for you to work so early in the morning, but if you do it’s with Alfie. He doesn’t mind having to leave the house a little earlier to pick you up. After all, even at dawn and especially during the first hours of a winter morning, London isn’t safe.

What boss lets his female employee take such risk?

That’s the angle Alfie forces himself to take. Yet, despite the effort and struggle he hides because of it, it’s not a perspective he can maintain. Henceforth, he often finds himself following the train of thought he can’t shake off.

What king puts his queen in danger? What absolutely fucking sodden bastard leaves his girl to her own devices amongst predators and shadows?

NOT the King of Camden.

He likes how you hum or quietly sing along to Ed Sheeran’s songs. Alfie absolutely still doesn’t like the style nor genre, but he does if it’s you providing the vocals. In fact, he likes it so much he occasionally catches himself blatantly staring at you, utterly mesmerized by your presence.

Regardless of whether you’ve had your allotted breaks, as soon as he notices a dip in your energy, he’ll kindly coerce you to take one. Alfie especially likes the ones when it’s you two leaning against the counter, observing the customers while having a cuppa.

And the customers like to keep an eye on you two as well. The latest hot gossip is all about “the bird and the King” and how “there’ll perhaps be a gentler reign of the borough”.

Maybe there will be. Alfie tries to reign himself in when he’s around you, finds serenity in the feeling of your hand on his shoulder to signal to pipe down or let you take over lest things get out of control.

Lately he’s been into hugs. Like, he’ll pick you up and the first thing your groggy head has to deal with is a bear hug and sometimes being lifted into the air.

He can’t stop replaying the moment you compared hands. Can’t stop thinking about the confirmation of the size difference between you, yours much smaller than his. Ever since, Alfie sometimes allows to indulge himself by holding hands.

Out of sight of the other men, of course! Can’t have them tattering on like elderly ladies during afternoon high tea.

But his dreaming always gets rudely interrupted when a particular customer comes in. It doesn’t take long for Alfie to figure out who the stranger is because he needs “to know who comes in and out of me bloody kingdom” and the King has plenty of ears in the streets. So it doesn’t take long for him to acquire a name and the man’s background.

John Price, a captain in the British Army who went through enough to drive any man insane. Saw Hell itself.

Damaged beyond repair like him.

Yet a good man who’s trying to court his secret favourite dove.

A good man who can offer her more than an old gang boss can.

Nonetheless, there’s the toxic burn of jealousy mixed with seething rage whenever he sees you two talk. Sees how well you get along.

Alfie has to force himself to walk away, to rampage in the background among the men when he sees how Price makes you smile and blush. Fortunately, there’s soundproofing in the building. Otherwise, the customers and you would find out his anger is even more white hot than the ovens.

And he reaches the boiling point more often from the day the captain’s cologne becomes more noticeable on you. It’s an unfair trigger to pull on an honourable man. Or so he keeps grumbling and effin and blindin about despite knowing better.

Despite knowing he’s simply too late.

He hates how you’re inconsolable when John’s sent out on a mission. Doesn’t matter how long or short it is.

Now, the King of Camden is a master when it comes to the art of masks so the front you try to put up is nothing but a crumbling act to him. Dips in energy, distant gazes, little eating, they’re all tell-tale signs you miss your captain. Nonetheless, being an opportunist, Alfie uses the circumstances to his advantage by cooking and cleaning for you. Sometimes he even stays the night, but only when you ask him to. To others it may sound odd, asking your boss to stay with you, but to you it doesn’t because Alfie isn’t simply your boss.

He’s a very dear friend.

(And your protector, your “guardian fucking golem”)

Alfie doesn’t ask about your dates, but will occasionally indulge you when he notices you’re afraid to talk about them even though you really want to.

“‘Ow was your date?” he asks on such a morning while cleaning up the dishes of your impromptu breakfast. That small moment during which you shared the food he prepared. Those few minutes in which it was just you two. Together.

“It was really nice. We got coffee and walked around Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park for a bit.” As per usual, you don’t dare meet his gaze because you fear your happiness and excitement will wear him down. It’s part of the reason you avoid using John’s name. After all, the badly concealed frown hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“I ‘ope ‘e’s the one who paid.”

“He did.”

“‘E treating you well?”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Alfie, alright?”

“Yeah, just… just in me own noggin. You know me. I’m glad you ‘ad a good time. Otherwise I’d ban ‘im from the bakery. The whole fucking borough. ‘E’d be-“

“Thank you.”

Alfie’s surprised you cut him off. Had it been anyone else, they’d likely be face flat on the ground and a wiser person for it, but if it’s you he doesn’t mind. In fact, when the conversation turns towards your love life and John, he’s glad you shut him up. After all, what do you care for his feelings? They’re unreciprocated anyways. “For what?”

“For letting me talk about him. I… I got the impression you didn’t want me to.”

“You let me talk about whatever, so why wouldn’t I return the favour? But enough chit chat. Come on, we got work to do.”

If only to forget about the plot he might have for a new Edna Specter novel.

The Tragedy of Alfie Solomons.

The Baker with a broken heart.

Bonus:

Oh gods, imagine Alfie and Price having a stare-off when Alfie picks you up at your place and John stayed the night. To make matters worse, the captain knows about the King’s feelings for you.🙀

P.S: I’m sorry, but I have to include more Barry Sloane because this man has me in an ABSOLUTE CHOKEHOLD🥵😻

Tag list: @zablife @vir-tual @dreamlandcreations @rose-like-the-phoenix @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @liliac-dreamer @mollybegger-blog @hoodeddreams13 @babaohhhriley

[vettelsbitch]

I usually dont enjoy kidfics, but that Bez/Cele one really got me!! God, I love them so much <3 thanks for that fic!!!!

And it made me wonder what might happen next? Like. Does Teo convince Bez to invite Cele over for a Spiderman movie night? Are both, Bez and Cele, slightly (meaning very and obviously) nervous and Teo doesn't get it, because they clearly like each other, why not spend more time together?

I'm so happy that you like my little idea! There's more where that one came from that's for sure! im actually writing another more spicy-ish blurb rn

I think the shift would be slow with them, they're both busy, Bezz walks Matteo to his kindergarten early in the morning and then goes to work, Cele goes to his university classes but he's a bit lazy so he tried and mostly managed to not get any class too early in the morning, he also goes out a lot, so they don't cross paths that much at first. But since the first big meet up Matteo insists on talking to Cele every time they cross paths.

They're /clearly/ crushing on each other, as my Italian fact checker, beta and bestie @dobbiamo-capire told me and encouraged the idea, the lady that is the concierge/gossip central for their building starts a betting pool with other neighbors for when they're going to finally start dating. But yeah, it's slow, maybe Cele starts going grocery shopping at the time he knows Bezz gets back from getting Teo from the kindergarten, no reason, it's just convenient (sure). And maybe Bezz starts doing his runs with Rubik in the evening when Cele is coming back from class/just going out instead of in the mornings, it's just nicer weather (sure sure)

But yeah, at some point Matteo absolutely invites Cele over for a movie marathon, and Bezz is like "I mean, if you want, I'm okay with it", and Cele shows up with a spiderman hoodie on, and Teo has his onesie on, and insists that Marco needs to wear something too so he ends up with his one spiderman shirt, that maybe is a little small because it's from when he was a teen. Teo absolutely ends up falling asleep during the second film, maybe he is cuddled against Cele's side, his arms curled around his Spidey plush. And bezz is like "omg let me get him, I'm sorry" but Cele just shushes him and brushes one of Matteo's curls away from his eyes. "It's okay, he's a really good kid."

Bezz absolutely falls fully in love, but also and here is where I introduce the mild angst Teo is three years old, he was Cele's age when he had him, his ex did not want nothing to do with him so he's been pretty much a single dad from day one, and he knows how much your life changes with a little one in it, he knows perfectly at what moment in life Cele is and what he had to let go of to be there for Matteo, he wouldn't change it, ever, but he also doesn't want to make Cele do it for him.

But yeah, they do end up kissing and very much in love after some time

[maudeily]

20 year old long-haired Sirius black is hunched over on a barstool, chain smoking through his painted nails and blowing smoke out of his Cupid bow lips that tangles around his porcelain face with eyeliner lining his silver eyes, and all the girls are absolutely swooning.

They have no idea how a person like this could exist. The most beautiful person any of them has ever seen was in a tiny Irish pub in the middle of Westminster London on a Thursday at 2 in the morning. Alone.

It’s seems as though the entirety of the pub is transfixed. Every once in a while, When a new gaggle of girls stomp through the door, most likely as a last resort because it was the only place that was still selling drinks after the clubs closed. It seems as though every single time one of their eye lines will inevitably land to the boy? Man? And she will immediately get everyone’s attention with wide eyes and frantic pointing and then they all break into a fit of giggles once they take notice to him. Because sure, they’ve seen people like him before, tall and lanky, wearing black jeans and some sort of frayed t shirt while everyone else in London looks so plain. All with such a brooding expression that means they are well aware of how beautiful they are and find everyone else nonsense in comparison.

Often, a girl will nervously approach the black haired enigma and return to their table- pink from embarrassment when he only smiles and shakes off their flirtation. And his SMILE. It lit up his entire face and sent actual butterflies through the onlookers stomachs. It was a mixture of mischief and blatant boredom paired with a raise of his eyebrows in a combination that should not be so mind crushingly stunning.

And he’s been there for a long time, sitting alone at the bar, no one brave enough to actually sit next to him. And he’s not even drinking. Just switching back and forth between chain smoking and resting his head on his palm while he stares off into the distance. Because all night, it seems that whoever is picking the music had decided on the worst, most irritating disco music they could find. But then at 3 o’clock sharp, “the prettiest star” by Bowie starts to ring from the speakers- and that seems to get his attention. That’s when the otherwise crazy busy bartender emerges from a back room, now wearing a jacket.

The black haired man looks up immediately to the server, a tall guy of around the same age. Hot, but in a different way sporting a baggy patterned sweater and a shorter crop of messy golden hair, who is suddenly right in front of him. Before, the guy was running around the bar, mixing and serving drinks, seemingly paying no mind to man sitting at the bar. Only the occasional smirk, and sliding Shirley temples his way, that would make him roll his eyes and the bartender giggle.

But then something unexpected happens. That collectively makes all the onlookers gasp in shock. The bartender walks around the bar to him, leaning against the bar and smiling sweetly down at him, too close for them to not no each other. And the man stands up and grins stupidly, wrapping his long arms around his neck, and the bartender returns it. Leaning his chin on his shoulder and holding him closely around the waist. Both of them teetering back and forth on their feet like they were drunk.And he whispers something into the pretty ones ear that makes him laugh and kiss him square on the mouth.

It leaves everyone watching in shock, watching big eyed as they walk out together. Arms wrapped around the other in some way.

Oh, they all think. He was waiting waiting for his boyfriend to get done with his shift.

[thatndginger]

Hi K! Happy STS! What are your thoughts on a Shapeshifter coffee shop AU?

@writeintrees

Heya Milo!

So I went into a little detail a while back about a coffeeshop AU for Shapeshifter, but I've since gotten even more obsessed with this idea so follow me down the rabbit hole!

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Reese Tucker is Carlisle's business partner and the one who keeps Carlisle in check. Otherwise Carlisle would probably be opening up stores left and right and everything would go belly-up real quick. He does agree to open up a second location on the other side of town, at which point Kerr, Jay, and Warrick are called in to help cover shifts at both stores until the new hires can be left alone. Said new hires are:

Aleksei Rybkin - sweet, hardworking, and cannot be left unsupervised with Kerr or Warrick lest Shenanigans ensue. Usually steps in when customers are being rude or surly because literally no one can be mad at his adorable face. He's absolutely making faces at the customers behind their backs afterwards.

Kanda & Mayuri Salae - identical twins that only Kerr and Portia seem to be able to tell apart at first glance. Kanda is quieter and prefers to avoid interacting with customers if she can help it, while Mayuri is much more outgoing. They like to switch nametags and shifts occasionally to mess with people.

In addition to the new hires, there's a handful of new regulars that come with the second location -

Lex Causey - one of Carlisle's old friends and a doctor. Could never justify going to the Original coffeeshop because of how far away it was from the hospital she works at, but the second location is much closer. Quickly becomes friends with all of the staff, and regularly tries to convince Mayuri to become a nurse.

Elizabeth Beckett - a police detective that always stops in right when the shop opens for her morning coffee. During the transition period she and Jay meet, but have a terrible first impression because they're both kind of prickly antisocial disasters.

Olivia Collier - another detective and Elizabeth's partner. Even less personable than Jay, and likes to monopolize a back corner table for hours at a time with her case files, but buys frequent refills so the staff can't be too mad.

Luka Kovac - quiet, predictable, and frankly scary, no one really knows who Luka is or what he does, but they're all pretty sure he *actually* works for the mob. He spends a lot of time reading from their 'take one, leave one' shelf and scaring people away from a specific armchair he's claimed.

And some more scenarios, just because I can ^.^

-during the second store's first few months, when Kerr was split between both stores, somehow Adrien Montrose knew exactly which days Kerr would be at the Original store and would only show up on those days. Everyone was confused for weeks until Jay caught Kerr texting Adrien his schedule and learned they'd been lowkey dating the entire damn time.

-the second store is pretty similar to the Original in terms of decor and vibes, but it's only a single story on the ground floor of a newer apartment complex, so there's not nearly as much space. Instead of a bunch of windows, some parts of the walls are covered in blackboards so customers can draw on them. Warrick tends to draw simple murals to encourage customers to add to them, and the staff keep a scrapbook of their favorite penis drawings (the drawings themselves are usually quickly erased).

-After they managed to get past the bad first impression, Jay and Elizabeth find that they actually enjoy each other's presence in a quiet camraderie way. Jay even tries to flirt once, but ends up writing her pickup line on Olivia's cup by accident and has yet to live that down.