#not that long ago chocolate was so expensive

[piracyandpumpturns]

we r all so lucky to be alive rn

[seattlesellie]

ೀ spoiled. ( part one )

📞🕯️🎀 ₊˚⊹♡ “ baby , can you call me back ? i miss you … it’s so lonely in my mansion … “ 🧸🪽🍬

pairing: ellie williams x rich fem!reader

synopsis: the mansion you live in is getting too cold , the silence is way too silent , and not even reruns of sex & the city can help … long story short , you’re feeling lonely . wonder if you can think of someone in your contacts that can help and warm you up , a certain classmate perhaps ?

warnings: girly reader , kind of desperate loser ellie , bratty spoiled rich reader so don't read if that annoys you , allusion to smut , actual smut will be in the second chapter , this is dirty so mdni as usual !

an: i wrote this such a long time ago and it wasn't supposed to be two parts but well now it is !! i will start writing the second part if u guys want to so don't be shy in my inbox. not proofread unfortunately ♡

A perfectly manicured hand rests on the fluffy white and silky smooth duvet. the Egyptian cotton, to be exact, is nothing but lavish, a sanctuary of indulgence in the realm of your own private luxury. Then, you tap your nails atop it, and the fabric crinkles. You gently sigh, but it's more so a grumble, and reach over for the ‘Dunkin’ cup standing on your wooden bedside table. It perfectly matches every single one of the furniture in your extravaganza of a walk in closet, and the bed-frame as well. You take a slow, indulgent sip out of the icy cold drink, take an ice cube out with a straw, and gently suckle on it. You place the drink back on the table, shifting your gaze back over to the flat screen television.

Carrie forgave Mr. Big again, and now she’s seen frantically pacing around the streets of New York City in her shiny Manolo Blahniks. You arch your brows, humming in high pitched amusement. you have the exact same pair!

Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda always seem to bring you a sense of comfort. Usually, your bed brings you a sense of comfort as well, and so does an icy drink with specifically eight cubes of ice. Your room smells like French vanilla, a tinge of cinnamon, and the sweetest pie you’ve never learned how to bake. Most of the time, you’d bask in the scent and feel nice, and cosy, and your nose would scrunch and your nostrils would flare out, then you’d open your favorite food delivery app and order a nice ol’ package of nine chocolate chip cookies. Then, you’d pop open a bottle of champagne and indulge yourself in the sweets deliciousness.

But your appetite is less existent than snow in the middle of August.

You’re also freezing cold, fuzzy socks and all — goosebumps rising on your skin and feeling sharp like Japanese knives.

Your best friend of a white home cat, Toodle, elegantly extends his supple frame, his lithe form gracefully ascending to nestle within the cradle of your neck. His bell gently dingles, he yawns and mellifluously meows. Right now, it sounds more like an old mans groan.

“I know, Toots… m’bored too. And cold, Jesus…” you mutter towards Toodles, who, in his usual aloof manner, closes his eyes and surrenders to the soothing hum of his purring. You puff some air out of your mouth, brain wheels turning as to find out what’s the cause of this blue mood. The air conditioning is completely turned off, you’re sure of it, and the fireplace crackles with warmth. Your entire moisturized body is covered up by a ridiculously expensive thick blanket, and it’s not the short VS nightie that makes you feel freezing, you’re convinced of that. For some reason, the frosty sensation persists. You smack your lip-glossed lips before bumping your head against your mountain of pillows, emitting a low grunt of exasperation.

You don’t know the reason for your boredom, or for this bum mood, because albeit you’ve seen this episode about a gazillion times, it never fails to entertain the shit out of your brain.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re entirely alone (except for Toddles, of course, can't forget him) in a 10,000 square feet mansion. or perhaps it’s because the only lit room inside the mansion is your own.

But then you roll your eyes, because your parents are always away (at St. Tropez this time), so feeling alone isn’t a new and strange concept.

Alas, being alone isn’t the same as being lonely.

Your face twists at the depressing thought, ew. You’re not lonely, just… bored, and unamused, and the icy drink isn’t sweet enough and Carrie’s getting on your last nerve, and the 1,000 dollar blanket is starting to itch the hell out of your hyper-sensitive skin.

Which is why you get up from the bed in a moment of eureka, landing your feet against the fuzzy carpet and slide them into your Ugg’s. “Uh huh!” you chirp, you finally got it.

You’re experiencing an old friend of a feeling called (drumroll…) — anxiety, over your unfinished chem project! It must have masked itself in the form of frigidness and discomfort and loneliness.

But the project isn’t even due till next week, and you rarely get stressed over college stuff unless they’re due the next day and you’re sitting, staring down at your laptop screen, trying to communicate with it through telepathy or something of that sort.

Somaybeit’snotanxiety and maybeyou’rejustloney.

You shake away that uneasy and irritating thought, and sit your pretty butt down on the rolling chair. You click your shiny glittery pen (that always sheds some glitter onto your hand) and open up the thick as brick textbook.

You read the first question out loud.

The correct formula for aluminum nitrate is…

Valentino’s Lòco Toile Iconographe shoulder bag in hot pink?

Nope.

You shake your head, you have got to focus. You place your chin atop your palm and click the pen once more.

Al(NO2)3? or maybe it’s Al(NO3)3…

or maybe you’re so far off you need to close the book shut and throw it out of the window. You’ve always sucked at chemistry.

Which is why you were assigned to be tutored by that auburn haired, green eyed, slightly sullen, tatted up girl who went by "Ellie" — or "El", but you didn't know her like that.

Ellie, is the one who stuttered out your name as she realized you weren’t paying attention to her tutoring, as you had your gaze fixated on the black ink etched on her forearm, a half-covered flannel and a canvas of delicate veins. A bug, adorned with intricate botanical details, unfurled its wings across her skin.

“S’uh… A moth, with ferns around it n’stuff. It’s kind of faded now though”

Her voice was raspy and husky, and she stuttered out your name. Usually, you’d hate it when people got nervous around you. It made you feel odd, ostracized, and you always insisted — you were so damn sweet, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You wore sweet perfume, sweet as goddamn cherries and cupcakes, and your voice was soft and you always smiled brightly, and so what if your purse cost more than a college tuition?

But her nerves didn’t annoy you. In fact, you found them charming, and you found her sweet. You found that all of her “Uhhh” ‘s, and her “Mhhm” ‘s, all of her stammering and her lack of ability to keep eye contact with you to be… infatuating.

Then there was that rich voice, and those eyes, that smile, those hands, those damn toned arms, those biceps and the haircut, the way two short strands of hair always framed her face perfectly and her scent — that you could tell was just a cheap cologne, but mixed with her unique fragrance, proved nothing short of intoxicating.

It was also the fact that she seemed to damn know everything — and that she was always ahead of you, and that her face always bore that coy little smirk when you got a question wrong (which you seemed to get more often than not), and that she would grab your Swarovski pen out of your hand and scribble down the answer for you, just to explain it in detail later.

The way she licked over her bottom lip and bit as wrote down.

With her long fingers and all.

When she spoke, her breath smelled of mint and the faintest tinge of weed, which made you think of how lovely it must be to be able to transform into a damn joint just so she could place you in her mouth and suck —

now you’re sticky, and god now you really are distracted, and not by a cute purse or the sound of rain pouring down on your window. Toodles stretches his tiny limbs and you hear his bell faintly dingle again. He climbs down from your princess bed and jumps up to sit at your lap. You caress down his white fur and he purrs.

You wonder if Ellie likes cats.

You know she likes pussy.

You have got to get a grip.

You massage your temples, attempting to focus on the written down questions again, but the words and the numbers seem to mix into a cacophony of odd symbols and letters, and you’re still so goddamn cold.

Albeit your eyelids droop down slowly, eyes spazzing out of focus, the assignment must be done today.

“Just, finish the damn work and go to sleep. Yup.” You mumble to yourself, a habit you picked up as a result of being alone for most of your childhood, and having to opt for the help of imaginary friends to keep you comfort. Alas, you’re older now and only have yourself to talk to.

You try and follow your command.

The problem is, you don’t know jack shit.

You wish Ellie was here, with her hair sticking to her forehead and your pen in her hand and her old chuck’s glued to her feet, as she sits down on the spare chair aside you with her jaw resting on her knees.

You wish you could hear her faint chuckle as you get another question wrong.

As a tutor, of course.

Not even as a friend, because she’s not.

Definitely not as a lover, obviously, because that would truly be so far fetched from reality — although… right now, you can’t help but think of the way her eyes fall down to your chest as a crimson blush creeps up her cheeks.

And you keep thinking about the time you purposely let your bra strap cascade down your shoulder, just because you wondered how she’d react — Which was with averting her gaze to the side and clearing her throat. Now you think of the time you wore an extra short mini skirt, not that different from the rest of them although a bit tinier, and how you kept rubbing your thighs together just to see whether she’d notice or not, which she did…

You groan and slap your palm against your forehead.

Then, you stare at another question and then at your phone. Toodles chimes in with a high-pitched meow.

“Oh my gosh Toots, so true! I should text her the questions, duh”

You’re not delusional at all, by the way.

So you send her your address.

In the meantime, you make sure your studying environment and your room are as tidy as possible. You grab your sparkly pink pen and place it near the textbook, and you grab a matte black pen for Ellie as well, a thoughtful gesture.

You also apply some strawberry scented moisturizer on your body, and spray your sickly sweet perfume on your pule points.

You slip your feet out of your slippers, and you wear your favorite heels. However, you keep your little nightie on. You’re supposed to feel comfortable, this is your house after all, and the heels — are just a courtesy, you are expecting company, and opening the front door with house slippers is entirely rude, and the silky robe… It’s long enough and proper. Ish.

You stare at your reflection down the mirror, and for some reason, you feel utterly nervous. You’re all dolled up for a person who isn’t a stranger, but who also isn’t a friend. When you coat your lips with some minty gloss, Toodles stretches his tail upwards and meows.

“Psh. Do not judge me, Toots. This is normal, I do this all the time”

Which again is a total and complete white lie, because if it was a regular friend coming over, you wouldn’t have even bothered to fix up your makeup, and you’d barely even get up from the comfort of your own bed.

As a matter of fact, not many people come by your house at all. You have your fair share of friends, but you’d much rather hang out by the mall or at one of their mansions, yours always feels just, utterly suffocating — as giant and spacey as it might be. And sure, you’ve had hook ups before, but you always went rigid when they tried to slip past your panties, and you were always… dry, as an autumn leaf.

Ellie makes you feel anything but dry.

Physically — you shake your head and try getting rid of the thought by giving yourself some good old whiplash.

You find yourself pacing around your room, until you manage to cascade downstairs as soon as you hear the bell ring. With each step you take, your heel taps the lavish ceramic pavement.

“Stay”, you gesture towards your fluffy feline companion, who responds with a squinting of his eyes. “Don’t freak out our company”

You look at Ellie’s face from the intercom’s shiny screen. You look at it so hard you nearly forget to press on the button that’s purpose is to let your tutor-guest in. A couple of strands of her auburn bangs stick to her forehead. Ellie scratches her eyes with the back of her hands and she straightens up her spine. As she waits for the gate to open, she puffs some air from her cheeks. She attempts to fix her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers, and seems to be murmuring something underneath her breath.

You’re not the best at lip reading, but your gut tells you she just whispered a “Hi”, and added your name, then — “Hey” adding your name once more.

It’s absolutely impossible for her to not be aware of how stupidly and irritatingly cute she is.

You press on the button and clear your throat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t practice your greeting in front of a mirror as well. Your robe cascades down your shoulder, you fixate on it and contemplate pulling up the fabric.

Toodles meows once more.

Yup. You should keep it down.

It takes Ellie a good five minutes to walk the full distance from the front gate to your huge white door.

Then she knocks three times on the wood, and you squeak like a mouse although you really were fully prepared.

Your tutor wears a blue flannel with a white undershirt tucked beneath. The first button is opened, revealing a tiny piece of her pale skin. Below, her legs are covered with tight skinny jeans with a tear on the knee (you’re not sure if she fell or if it’s done purposely so), and to your surprise — no Chuck’s, but Doc Martens.

Noted. She has more than one pair of shoes.

When you greet Ellie with a cheerful — yet ever so relieved and breathy “Hi”, you kiss her on the cheek like you do all of your friends, and you can smell that cheap cologne again.

Amber, citrus, musk, lavender.

There’s a hint of actual Ellie in the mix as well — smoke, herbs, sweat… did she run here?

When you hug Ellie you focus on her scent.

When you hug Ellie she focuses on absofuckinglutely nothing — Her body goes rigid and stiff and she doesn’t hug you back until two way too long seconds pass, and she finally manages to place her hand on your waist.

But she doesn’t hug or squeeze, she rests it there.

Then she coughs.

“Hey”

You take a step back and you can tell she’s a bit flushed, or flustered — but you take it as her just running. You lean your hand against one of the thick pillars. Her orbs travel frantically from your eyes down to your… legs, that are completely bare and smooth and shiny, then they run down to your feet, which are covered with heels…

You think she might say something about it, about you, how ridiculous you look, so you’re washed up with self consciousness and shyness which is something you rarely get to feel, unless you’re with that damn girl for some reason.

Then her eyes hyper-focus on… the ceiling?

You grant Ellie a half smile and you really yearn to break the silence — but she’s ahead of you. Again.

“It’s… you have a really high ceiling” she says, then immediately glues her eyes on to the floor.

“Uh, shiny floor…” she chuckles so freaking awkwardly, grazing the bottom of her left legs doc’s on the floor so it squeaks. Immediately, Ellie apologizes.

“Shit, sorry, my shoes fuckin’ muddy. I uh, ran here”

You gingerly smile and furrow your brows. You theory has been proven correct. “You ran?”

“Walked, like, not ran ran”

There’s the tiniest droplet of sweat on Ellie’s forehead, which she wipe’s swiftly and clumsily with the back of her hand when she notices your eyes scan it. Oh, she ran ran alright. You do feel a little bad, picturing Ellie’s shoes hitting below her ass as she runs through the streets of your city, with a packed and awfully heavy mauve backpack — smacking against her back with every step she takes. You almost pout, you’re still leaning against the pillar and you smack your lips together — gloss and all, out of habit.

“Could’a given you a ride, y’know” you light sweetly. Ellie’s scarred eyebrow arches up in response. “You have a license?”

You so want to shove her shoulder playfully, but you’re convinced it’ll make her go absolutely rigid again. Physical contact bricks her up — noted.

“Why is that such a surprise?” you flash her a teasing smile. She smiles back at you.

“S’just, thought you’d have a personal driver. Can’t really imagine you driving that monster of a Rover back there —“

You nod in complete amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Ellie teases, followed by a throaty chuckle. “Plus, took you more of a passenger princess type of girl”

And that sentence shouldn’t make you stutter the way you do next. It shouldn’t, but it does. You back away slowly and Ellie follows your footsteps.

“T-that’s, awfully presumptuous” you chirp. Her boots stomp on the floor and your heels click clack. “Plus, I don’t drive that Rover. My car’s in the garage with the rest of ‘em” you say matter-of-factly.

Ellie scoffs impishly behind you. You walk up the stairs and she follows suit. She’s confident when she teases, you think, which is a tad different than her usual awkward self, but if only you knew she nearly slipped down one of the steps as she noticed the tiniest, delicious, most precious piece of your flesh that was just exposed behind you as a result of your incredibly short nightie.

“Psh, so presumptuous”

As you walk towards your room, Ellie walks behind you although she has more than enough space to walk besides you. You get the feeling that she's nervous, even after her teasing and all, and you don't have to wonder why too much. Your house is huge, intimidating, filled with strange sculptures and paintings by obscure artists regular people have never even heard of. You don't have just one living room, you have three, and in each and every one of them stands a different technology piece of some sort. Also, your heels cost more than her outfit, could be more worth than the entirety of her damn closet, and most importantly — you're walking with a pink robe and some heels on.

When you reach your room, Ellie awkwardly smiles and straightens her muscular back. Then, she holds on to the straps of her backpack.

"First of all" you sigh, and now it's your turn to feel coy. "Thank you for coming over so late. I know it's like, absolutely ridiculous, and you know, you don't get paid for this so...", you flash Ellie an endearing smile, the apples of your cheeks rising sweetly as a humble thank you. "And, second of all... jus'... brace yourself?"

Ellie's brows arch up, but before she has time to ask — oh.

You both step into your lit room. Toodles follows by closely, entering the room as well, whilst rubbing his furry back against Ellie's calves.

"Yup..."

Ellie's fingers instinctively clasp onto the straps of her backpack once more, her eyes widening ever so slightly, but she fights to seem as unsurprised as she can — she fails miserably, because she gasps a little.

Your room is nothing but a... cotton candy dream world. A wall that's painted in pretty dusty pink, a princess bed that's nothing but a regal centerpiece. Above the bed, a canopy of gossamer silk drapes from a custom-crafted wrought iron frame, And the final sophisticated touch, a grand crystal chandelier, suspended from the ceiling. There are also clothes everywhere, empty water bottles, used sheet masks, a stack of books — some half-read, others forgotten, teetered precariously on a random corner. Ellie sticks out like a sore thumb. She stands out like a neon sign in a library, a skateboard at a black-tie gala.

You like it.

She clears her throat, stepping further into your room. "I take it black is your favorite color?" she titters sarcastically.

You giggle.

"Mhm, also I'm clearly very organized, and I hate clothes" you murmur and point out the pile of dresses haphazardly bunched in the corner of your room.

She should feel out of place. She should probably laugh, even sneak a pic — tell all her "cool" friends about how mindblowingly ridiculous the prissy rich girls room is. Instead, she thinks about how cute you must look cuddled up in a bed this big, how adorable it'd be to see your bed-head poking through the sheets at 8am, how sweet it must be to watch you skip around your room, trying on your shitload of clothes, throwing them in the air and huffing like a medieval brat of a princess. She wants to place a fucking tiara on your head. She sees your sticker collection from the corner of her eye, your vinyls, your candles, your crystals and Toodles' sofa.

And she likes it.

You take a deep breath. You shouldn't even care if she likes it or not, you shouldn't be bothered by it at all — you rarely are, but something inside of you yearns for... something.

"It suits you" she murmurs.

And that's certainly good enough, because it does.

You gesture Ellie to sit on the rolling chair next to yours, and her eyes still roam over the space of your room. “My room looks exactly the same, by the way… same uh, size too… n’stuffed animals… Shit, I like the elephant one”, she sarcastically remarks as she sits on the chair and hunches down, manspreading as she often does. Your eyes can’t help but roam down, because her damn thighs flexed under those jorts and you heard her, but you also kind of didn’t.

Ellie clears her throat and narrows her eyes. Jheez, she thinks, you must be absolutely exhausted since your eyes don’t seem to be able to focus.

“Huh?” you say, startled. You’re still standing up on those heels. Ellie sniffles and chuckles and her voice goes all quiet.

“Said pink nauseates me, that I hate those stuffed animals and that your elephant doll’s ugly as shit”

You roll your eyes and your tongue swipes over your glossy bottom lip. You bite it and you sit down on the chair. Ellie’s eyes scan over your chest and she averts her gaze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hate you, chem tutor” you huff, resting your head on the palm of your hand. Ellie doesn’t maintain a second of eye contact but she chuckles and it’s cocky.

“You need me, and you need an A in chemistry”

You like that side of her.

You let your eyes blink lazily at her, a cheeky little smirk forming on your lips. When you open your mouth again, just to smack it on your glossy lips, you brush your leg ‘accidentally’ against hers, and rigid she goes. “Mhm, I definitely need you, Ellie…”

The apples of Ellie’s cheek shine in bright crimson and her hand flexes. She grabs her pen and clicks on it once. You didn’t mean it like that, she so obviously knows or believes, but it matters nonetheless. You like that side of her so much more.

You cross your pretty legs and let the tip of your heel graze her chair. “So, you want a drink before we start studying?”, you’re way too damn close, she nods — but she doesn’t need a ‘drink’ she needs a damn water fountain that directly flows onto her mouth and satisfies that damn drench. Is it possible for her damn knee to feel hot? Why is her knee feeling hot?

“Anything specific?”

“Jus’ waters fine” Ellie manages to murmur, lips forming a teeny tiny, shy, crescent smile.

“I was thinking more… like, wine? I have a wine cooler n’my room… if you wanted water i’d have to like, go downstairs and… It’s so lonely in there” your voice is saccharine, delicate, and it and coaxes Ellie’s mind.

“Wine’s perfect, I love wine” says Ellie.

She hates wine.

“Mhm, red or white?” — Your question comes when you lift your butt off the chair and walk slowly towards the cooler.

“Uh, r-red. S’much… richer” Ellie falters, remembering vaguely the time Joel had mentioned white wine’s for pussies. When she tried a red one, she gagged.

“Impressive” you note.

Ellie rolls the chair with the help of her heavy Doc's, and watches as you pour the red liquid into two delicate glasses. Your leg, she notices, is clad with a shiny, delicate golden piece of jewelry. Her eyes scan upwards, towards your bare thighs — the flesh is glistening, almost appearing as if it's covered with oil. Her mind drifts elsewhere, to a world in which your nightie is nothing but nonexistent, and those thighs...

Her stomach grumbles, she firmly holds onto it. Why NOW.

"Hungry?" you place the glass on the table, slightly nudging it towards Ellie.

She's starving.

you flash her a devilish smirk, cocking your head to the side.

"Oh, uhh... nope"

Famished.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

A Firm Partner

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Lawyer Joel Miller x Female Reader Summary: Mr. Miller needs you to stay late... even if tomorrow is your birthday. Warnings: porn with very little plot, smut, unprotected p in v, office sex, couch sex, desk sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), joel has a filthy mouth, joel carries you and refuses to pull out while doing so, joel eats pussy from the back, probably the best way to ever wake up, law talk (but not a lot, this is an escape), no use of y/n Word Count: 3,400

A/N: Happy birthday dear @ohheypedrito! You are the absolute cornerstone of my Pedro obsession and nothing has been better than sharing in the delulu of him over the past couple of years. I can't believe we've known each other for 20+ years and all it took was Pedro Pascal to become so close. Sometimes I truly don't know how I'd be able to survive without our delulu yap sessions. Thank you for all that you do, and most importantly, being my friend. I wrote this while wearing my TTPD cardigan and listening to our shared delulu Joel Miller songs. 🪿 Thanks to @schnarfer and @mothandpidgeon for their input and always letting me talk about how much @ohheypedrito means to me lol. Please also enjoy the requested nose against clit and playful spank mentions gifted from @schnarfer.

Masterlist

—-

The conference room is full of your coworkers, engaged in hushed conversations with each other as you take your seat at the mahogany table. Joel Miller strides in, your eyes are instantly drawn to him as the room hushes, his mere presence commanding attention.

He settles into the high-backed leather chair at the head of the table, everyone and everything seems to shrink around his presence. Joel’s reputation precedes him, his firm is the most prestigious in Austin. You can hardly believe you landed a position here, fresh out of law school. But you’re here now, sitting mere feet away from the man himself. You admire his broad shoulders filling out his impeccably tailored suit, the dark green color of his shirt highlighting the golden glow of his skin and the deep chocolate brown of his eyes. 

“Good morning everyone,” his deep voice rumbles through the room as he begins to outline the case. You try to pay attention to him, try to focus on the case, but you can’t stop thinking about his plush lips. Would they taste of the strong coffee he’s drinking? How warm are they this morning? You’re mesmerized, watching the way his mouth forms each word, the slight Texas drawl rolling easily out. 

You’re interrupted from your reverie when you hear your last name and look up, your eyes meeting Joel’s. “You’re going to need to stay late with me tonight and get this taken care of.”

You nod, attempting to hide a sly smile as he continues on.

—-

The office fell silent hours ago, the last of your colleagues had long trickled out as the sun set. The only sounds now are distant noises from the city below and the clicking of your heels on the polished floor as you walk down the dark hallway to Joel's office.

You stop at the threshold, taking a quick moment to admire Joel. He’s sitting hunched over his desk, the light of his desk lamp casting him in a golden aura. His dark green shirt, usually crisp and buttoned to perfection, is now softened by the late hour. He’s undone the top few buttons, your eyes widen when you’re blessed with the glimpse of his neck and chest. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his toned forearms dusted with dark hair. His long, thick fingers absently tap against the stack of papers in front of him. Sensing your presence, he looks up, his dark eyes finding yours in the dim light.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “I need you to take a look. Close the door.”

The door clicks as it softly shuts, now it’s just you and Joel Miller in his office filled with polished furniture and framed accomplishments. The heady scent of him overwhelms you—coffee and expensive woodsy cologne—as you move towards him. Joel’s intense gaze follows your every move as you stand next to him. His shirt pulls taut across his broad chest when he leans back, running a hand through his hair.

“These depositions,” he says, gesturing to the papers on his desk. “Something’s not adding up.”

You lean in, acutely aware of how close he is as you scan the documents. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body as you reach for a page. He watches as you read through it, your eyes scanning through the typical legal jargon.

"What do you make of this discrepancy?"

"I think… we need to look closer at the witness statements,” you lay the paper down, searching for another file.

“I think you’re right,” he murmurs as he leans in to examine the paper.

“We should compare these statements side by side.”

“Mm, good idea. There’s more room on the couch.”

You nod, goosebumps prickling across your skin as you walk over and settle amongst the cool, leather cushions.

He sits next to you, impossibly close, you’re acutely aware of every point where your bodies almost touch. Joel leans back, the leather creaking slightly, as he casually drapes an arm along the back of the couch, just inches from your shoulders.

You try to focus on the papers in your lap, but you find it too daunting as he leans even farther in.

“What do you think?”

You turn your head slightly, your lips now mere inches away from his. Intense and unreadable dark brown eyes stare into yours. You can hear the ticking of the clock sitting on his desk and yet time stands still.

“I think…" your voice barely above a whisper. “We need to look closer.”

Your mind races, you can hardly keep any semblance of composure as he shifts slightly, his thigh now pressing against yours. The heat of his body seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

“Closer, huh?” he drawls.

You nod. Joel's eyes flicking down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze.

“Mr. Miller,” you whisper.

“Baby, you know you can call me Joel.”

“Joel…”

The papers on your lap flutter to the floor as he closes the remaining distance between you. His lips are warm, soft, and familiar, reminding you of the last time you kissed him–yesterday morning when he backed you up into the supply room, whispering against your skin how much he missed you. 

A soft whimper leaves your lips as your mouth opens, allowing his tongue to taste yours. A trail of fire is left on your skin when his hand slides up your thigh, bunching your skirt as he goes. He knows how to touch you and how to make you moan… Joel Miller knows you.

Charting a path, his lips move to your neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive spot he knows you love to be kissed at.

You’re whimpering, already writhing against the smooth, cool leather of the couch. All day you’ve tried to focus on work, tried to figure out the case in front of you, but your mind was consumed by thoughts of Joel’s body pressed against yours again. It’s been almost six months of sneaking around, of heated glances across conference rooms, of always feeling his eyes on you while you’re in the office. Six months of pretending you're just another associate, when really you're the one who knows exactly how Joel Miller likes to be touched.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day darlin’,” he drawls. “Been waitin’ for you.”

Thick fingers find the apex of your thighs, already slick with need. He clutches your thighs, parting your legs as his palm grazes along your silky skin there. He smirks, a devilish look, when he feels just how wet you are for him.

His lips find yours again, kissing you deeply, like he really has been waiting for you.

You’re squirming, aching for more, and when he slides a hand higher, skimming the edge of your damp underwear, you sigh his name. “Joel…”

“Love it when you say my name baby,” he growls, pressing his finger against the soaked fabric. “Can feel how much you want me.”

His fingers slip beneath the elastic, finding your slick, swollen flesh. A long moan escapes you as he parts your folds, stroking your needy pussy. Your hands fist in his dark green shirt, holding on as he his thumb circles your clit. His touches are confident and purposeful, working you over like you’re a case.

Open-mouthed kisses are trailed along your jaw and down your neck, nipping at your racing pulse before soothing it with his tongue.

“You’re so wet f’me, aren’t you?”

You moan an affirmative noise as he leaves one last, chaste kiss against your lips before he moves to settle on the floor between your parted legs, his hands gripping your hips tugging you to the edge of the leather couch.

He slowly drags your panties down your legs, throwing them behind him before bunching your skirt up around your waist. He spreads your legs wider, his brown eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of your pussy dripping for him.

“Look at you, baby, so beautiful. Been thinkin’ about tastin’ this pussy all damn day.”

His dark eyes meet yours before he dips his head, the tip of his nose sweetly bumping against your clit as his tongue licks against your aching cunt. Your fingers thread through his thick hair, holding him close as he laps up the taste of you.

The way his tongue slides along your slick folds, teasing and probing before plunging inside has you arching off the couch with a gasp. You feel his warm breath against your skin as he sighs contentedly, his mouth working tirelessly to taste you.

"Oh god, Joel…" you cry, fisting your hands in his thick, dark hair.

He hums against you, the vibrations making you shudder. He holds you in place as he alternates between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue against your clit, keeping you right on the edge.

When he slides two thick fingers inside your slick heat, you nearly come undone. He pumps them in and out, slowly, so achingly slow.

"Joel..." you whimper, fisting your hands in the dark waves of his hair.

"You taste like heaven, baby," he rasps. "Could spend all night right here, worshippin' this perfect little pussy."

The tension inside you winds tighter and tighter, your thighs starting to tremble on either side of his head. You're right there, chasing that peak you’ve been waiting to climb all day.

"That's it, baby," he rasps against your flesh. "Cum for me.”

His gruff words are your undoing. With a sharp cry, you shatter, your walls clenching around his fingers as your orgasm rolls through you. He works you through it, not letting up until you're spent, chest heaving and panting.

Your limbs are loose as you float back down to earth in the middle of Joel Miller’s office, he places a soft kiss against your core before crawling back up your body.

“You taste so fuckin’ good, darlin’,” he growls before kissing you. You moan, licking the taste of yourself from his lips and tongue. Your hands slip under his shirt, feeling the plush of his belly before the hard planes of his chest.

Joel pulls back, his dark eyes boring into yours with intensity. He grips the fabric of his shirt and with one swift motion, tears it open. Buttons scatter across the room, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. You smile and take in the sight of his broad, golden chest.

You fumble with the smooth fabric of your blouse as you quickly remove it, revealing your light blue lace bra. He growls, fixated on the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each breath you take.

His large hands run up and down your stomach as you reach behind and unclasp your bra, letting it fall away.

“Perfect,” he breathes before dipping his head to take a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud, teeth grazing lightly. His hand comes up to palm your other breast, kneading the soft flesh.

You're writhing beneath him, cunt aching with need as he sucks and nips at your breasts. “Please Joel,” you whimper.

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, a devilish grin on his face. "Please what, darlin'? Tell me what you need."

"I need you.”

With a groan, he pulls back, undoing his belt and zipper, shoving his pants and boxers down, his hard cock springs free, his thick shaft hard and ready to fuck you. Veins trace along the length of him, pulsing with need.

You lick your lips unconsciously, wanting to taste the bead of precum glistening in the dim office light. Your hands reach out, feeling the nest of dark curls at his base as you give him one, long and tight pump. His hand covers yours, and with an agonizing slowness, you both stroke him, spreading the slick precum along his cock.

“Fuck me Mr. Miller.”

He groans, his hips bucking slightly before hooking his arms under your knees, lifting your legs up and apart, spreading you wide open as he notches himself at your entrance.

One, smooth thrust in and he’s sheathed fully inside your wet heat.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good," he grunts, his thick cock spearing you as your hands roam over the flexing muscles of his back, your nails digging into his skin as he fucks you into the leather couch.

He pauses, his dark brown eyes locked on yours in the dim light of his office. You feel deliciously full, stretched around him.

"You take me so well, darlin',” he rasps, punctuating each word with a roll of his hips.

The leather couch creaks beneath you, his hands clamp down on your hips, yanking you against him as he pounds into your wet pussy. His breath is hot against your neck, as he sucks against the delicate skin there, fucking you senseless.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you up against his broad chest. You gasp at the sudden change, when he lifts you off the couch, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"Hold on tight, baby.”

You oblige, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Your breasts press firmly against his chest, nipples dragging against the coarse hair of him there. He walks you across his office over to the desk, his thick cock shifting inside you with each step. You exhale a breathy giggle when his palm makes contact with your ass, leaving a sweet sting against your flesh.

“Fuck darlin’, you feel so good wrapped around me like this.” 

His thighs flex with each thrust as he pounds you relentlessly. He growls your name, fucking into you, his legs set wide as he stands. Your head falls back, exposing your throat to his hungry mouth. He latches on, sucking and nipping, grunting against your skin. 

With one swift motion, he sweeps everything off his desk, scattering papers and pens to the floor before placing you on the edge of the desk. A small whimper leaves your lips when he pulls out, your pussy already missing the stretch of his cock. You’re pathetic for his cock, trembling with need, your legs spread wide. He steps back and looks you up and down, the edge of his mouth lifted in a cocky grin as he admires your wide eyes and heaving chest. 

“Turn around and bend over for me darlin’.”

You comply, sliding off the desk and turning around, spreading your legs wide, presenting your ass and cunt to him. 

“Mm,” Joel breathes appreciatively before you feel him kneel behind you. 

He pulls you back slightly, your pussy meeting his warm breath ghosting over your skin, a shiver of anticipation rolls through you when you feel the tickle of his beard on the backs of your thighs as he nuzzles against you. 

“Goddamn, you look good enough to eat.”

Your fingers scrabble for purchase on the smooth desk surface at the first swipe of his tongue against you. A long, low hum vibrates against your cunt as he delves deeper, his tongue worshipping every fold and crevice of your pussy. His nose bumps against your ass he buries his face between your legs, the wet sounds of his mouth working you over fills the office. 

You whine, your hips rocking back against his face, squirming all over his eager mouth. He sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling in relentless circles. Your legs begin trembling, barely able to hold you up. He chuckles lowly, before leaving one last kiss against your pussy. 

He rises behind you, his hands sliding up your back to grip your shoulders, his cock hard and lightly tapping against your ass.

“Easy now,” he grits, his voice rough and low. Your hips sway at the anticipation of feeling the length of him pulsing inside you again. 

The broad head of his cock teases your entrance before he pushes into you, stretching you wide. He leans over you slightly, one hand moving up to press between your shoulder blades while the other clutches the edge of the desk for balance. His skin meeting your skin echoes through the room blending with your heavy breathing. 

Your eyes flutter open, catching sight of the reflection in the window. Joel–his jaw clenched tight, brows furrowed together creasing his forehead, deep brown eyes watching his cock fuck your accepting pussy is backlit by the city lights twinkling outside. His power is on full display for only you and the secret you two keep. 

He pulls almost all the way out, swirling his length around your entrance, before sinking back in, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he anchors himself. Your fingers claw at the desk, searching for something to hold onto as his cock pistons into you. 

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me, can feel you gettin’ ready. Need to see your pretty face when you cum f’me.” 

He grabs your waist, turning you over with ease. He hovers above you, his broad frame caging you in, pressing your back against the smooth surface.

"Gonna fuck you so hard, baby," he promises. "Gonna make you feel it for days. You deserve it, don’t ya’?"

Wide eyed, and staring at him, you nod.

He sinks back into you with one deep thrust, bottoming out inside your slick heat, your head rolling back as he fills you completely.

"That's it darlin'," he rasps, his hips snapping against yours. "Take me so well."

Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him closer, deeper. His thick cock drags along your walls with each thrust, his finger finds your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. Your head falls back against the desk, a high keen escaping your lips.

"Look at me," he commands gruffly. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you cum for me.”

You force your heavy lids open, meeting his intense dark gaze. His brow is furrowed in concentration, a light sheen of sweat on his golden skin.

The pressure builds inside you with each stroke of his thick cock, every swipe of his finger against your clit. Your entire body feels like a livewire, every nerve ending alight within you.

"That's it, baby. You're so close, I can feel it. Your sweet little pussy's grippin' me so tight."

You’re teetering on the edge, ready to tumble over. Joel fucks you more erratically, his breathing labored. You know he’s cresting on the edge, right next to you. 

The tension inside you snaps. Your back arches off the desk as your orgasm bursts through you. Your walls clenching Joel's cock as you cry out his name, your vision going white at the edges. 

"Fuck, you're so perfect," he grunts. "Feel so good cumming on my cock."

A guttural groan tears from his throat as he stills, spilling deep inside you.

You cling to each other as you float down from the high, pulses gradually slowing. He places tender kisses along your jaw before claiming your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

"Should we get back to work?" you ask against his lips, a sated smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest pressed to yours. "I think we're done for tonight, sweetheart. Let me take you home, want to wake up next to you on your birthday." 

—

Your body feels heavy and relaxed with sleep, but there's a warmth building between your thighs. Slowly drifting into consciousness, you become aware of the source - Joel’s tongue lapping at the sensitive skin between your legs.

You let out a soft moan, your fingers instinctively carding through the thick tendrils of his hair. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he devours your pussy.

Blinking away the last signs of sleep, you prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at him. His dark eyes twinkle with golden flecks lit by the soft early morning light filtering through the curtain when they meet yours.

He pulls back slightly, his plush lips and beard shiny from your slick. A roguish grin spreads across his face as he gives you a wink.

“Happy birthday, darlin’,” he drawls before diving back in between your legs. 

—-

🪿

[frecht]

:/

[embbarnes]

Just As You Are. | B.B

summary: He tries his best for Valentine's Day.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Fluff | CW!Bucky x Fem!reader | Cunnilingus | PiV sex | Light dirty talk | Unprotected sex | Slightly insecure Bucky

a/n: I'm not big into Valentine's Day just because it feels very commercialized to me, but I like imagining it with Bucky. This plot changed so many times lmao but I think I am satisfied with how this turned out. If you're allergic to strawberries, just imagine a different fruit. Not beta read. ;; wc: 4.2k

Bucky stood motionless in the bustling store, his steely eyes fixed with a deep frown upon the endless aisle dedicated to Valentine's Day merchandise.

He didn't remember it being so...big back in the day. The sheer volume of products and options left him feeling completely overwhelmed, his mind drifting back to simpler times when a thoughtful bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate were considered more than acceptable tokens of affection for your sweetheart.

Now, he watched as frantic shoppers rushed past him, their arms laden with elaborate bouquets, towers of candy boxes, and enormous stuffed bears that seemed to grow more ridiculously sized with each passing year.

There were some shoppers who took a different approach, selecting items for personalized gift baskets filled with practical things like cozy socks or fragrant bath bombs. That seemed more personalized with his old-fashioned sensibilities, but you weren't particularly fond of long soaks in the tub, making that option feel somehow inadequate.

A wave of insecurity washed over him unexpectedly. Despite knowing that you had never once demonstrated materialistic tendencies or pressured him for presents, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he should be showering you with gifts. Traditional values ingrained in him insisted that as the man in the relationship, this was his role to fulfill. His heart warmed slightly at the mental image of you beaming with delight over an armful of fresh flowers or savoring each piece from a velvet-lined, heart-shaped box of premium, ridiculously expensive chocolates.

Truthfully, he felt completely lost about what would be the perfect gift for you. The confident, charming young man he used to be - the one who could effortlessly capture a lady's attention with just a well-timed smile or clever word - seemed like a stranger from another lifetime. These days, the gazes that would drift to him were filled with suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Defeated and increasingly anxious, Bucky turned away from the crowded store aisle, his mind spinning with uncertainty as he struggled to think of what to get you for this special occasion. As he made his way through the bustling shop, he passed by an enthusiastic florist who was eagerly displaying enormous bouquets of perfectly arranged, vibrant red roses.

The vendor was encouraging every passing customer to purchase one, his sales pitch well-rehearsed and persistent. The sight made Bucky recall a conversation from several months ago, where you had expressed your views on traditional romantic gestures. You explained that while roses were undeniably a sweet and romantic gesture, they felt somewhat predictable and conventional to you. Too ordinary, you had said, preferring instead gifts that showed genuine thought and consideration.

"Sure, roses are beautiful. I think they're a wonderful gift for birthdays or valentine's, whatever. But...I don't know. Everyone gets roses. I would be happy but it would also sort of feel like you didn't really try, since they're so abundant and common. It makes them feel less special. Hopefully that doesn't make me sound snobbish. I'd rather get a more personalized bouquet or...one with my favorite flowers instead." You glanced up at Bucky who was nodding and listening, remembering, for later.

Though the roses were beautiful, their pristine petals catching the store's fluorescent lighting to aid in their deep crimson coloration, Bucky could practically envision the polite but slightly underwhelmed expression that would cross your face if he chose such a common option.

Plus...why were flowers so expensive these days? A dozen roses for almost a hundred dollars? The modern pricing was ridiculous - back in his day, that kind of money could have bought several weeks' worth of groceries. Besides, a lot of the bouquets contained wilted flowers. If he got you a bouquet, each and every flower would be alive and well.

He didn't want to leave without getting you something special, something that would bring a genuine smile to your face. He stood there for several long moments, running his flesh hand through his hair as he considered what kind of gift would truly resonate with you, something that would perfectly balance thoughtfulness with appropriateness while still managing to surprise you.

After spending what felt like hours wandering through the store's aisles and watching other men pick the big red hearts off the shelves without a second thought, he began to carefully examine each heart-shaped box of chocolates, reading every label and ingredient list to ensure he found the exact type of varieties you had mentioned loving. Finally satisfied with a winner, he put it in the basket he grabbed.

Moving through the store, he made his way to the stuffed animal section, where he spent considerable time comparing different plush versions of your favorite animal, wanting to select the one with the perfect expression and the softest fur. That one looked too grumpy, that one looked lopsided, that one wasn’t proportioned right - but he found the perfect one.

Then rather than settling for a pre-arranged bouquet, he thoughtfully handpicked each individual flower, remembering all the times you had pointed out different blooms during your walks together, creating a personalized arrangement that represented all your favorites. Even with the care and attention he put into each gift selection, a nagging feeling of inadequacy crept in - everything he chose, while thoughtful, still felt too ordinary.

Bucky shook his head and paid for the items, ignoring the feeling.

Back at home, he arranged everything perfectly. He individually wrapped each item, positioning them precisely in the basket alongside the plush animal and chocolates. Taking his time with the flowers, he trimmed each stem at exactly the right angle and arranged them in the vase until the composition was just right. When Bucky finally stepped back to assess his work, his heart sank slightly, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

The entire arrangement somehow still didn't feel special or unique enough.

Alpine gracefully leapt onto the counter, her blue eyes focusing intently on the array of gifts laid out. She lowered her head, her pink nose twitching as she investigated each item curiously. "What do you think, girl...good enough?" Bucky asked softly, his fingers running through the ragdoll's silky fur as he gently stroked from her head down along her back.

After her inspection, Alpine cast one final, contemplative glance at the presents. Then, with typical cat-like indifference, she turned away from them, her fluffy tail held high like a banner as she delicately padded across the counter to the edge, and descended to the floor with one smooth leap.

"Bad, huh?" Bucky released a heavy sigh, his eyes lingering on the carefully chosen gifts as waves of uncertainty began to wash over him, his anxiety gradually creeping in and eating away at him.

He didn't have more time to wrestle with his uncertainties as the sound of keys jingling at the front door caught his attention. You made your entrance quicker than he had anticipated, your exhausted form slowly making its way through the doorway after what was clearly an demanding day at work. You kicked off your shoes in a haphazard manner, letting them land wherever they might. The weariness etched across your features told him everything he needed to know about the challenging nature of your workday.

"Hey," Bucky offered in greeting as he made his way over to you in the entryway, his mind racing as he tried to keep you from noticing the carefully prepared gifts just yet. Perhaps if he could buy himself a little more time, he might figure out something better to give you than the basic gifts.

A soft, tired grumble was all you could muster in response, though the gentle warmth in his eyes worked its magic in lifting your spirits considerably. "Hey..." you murmured an actual response, crossing the space between you to wrap your arms around his sturdy frame. He gladly hugged you back, letting you bury yourself against him.

The thought of spending the entire day at home with him had been your secret wish throughout your shift, but responsibilities couldn't be ignored. He had promised to make the evening special, and that thought alone helped you persevere through the long hours of your workday.

Bucky thought fast, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze with those intense steel-blue eyes. "How about a hot bath? I can get one ready for you, make it nice and warm - it'll be perfect for those sore muscles of yours...plus, I know you’ve been on your feet all day." He offered gently, his flesh hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. A playful smirk slowly spread across his lips as he added, "I could even feed you some fresh strawberries while you relax..."

"Ugh, that sounds so heavenly right now..." You agreed with a soft, appreciative moan, already imagining the soothing warmth of the water and the sweet taste of cool fruit.

Bucky made his way to the bathroom, wanting to create the perfect relaxing atmosphere for you after your long day. He tested the water temperature with his flesh hand until it reached that ideal warmth you always preferred, then clogged the drain.

While the tub filled, he selected your favorite aromatherapy soap, watching as it created billowing clouds of soft, luxurious bubbles that released that soothing scent you loved so much. He also scattered rose petals across the surface - special ones he had purchased with your other gifts. They would slowly dissolve into the water, but for now they created a nice, romantic display as they rested atop the peaks of foam.

In the bedroom, you gradually shed your work uniform, letting each piece fall away with relief before walking into the bathroom to meet him. He remained unaware of your presence for a moment until he turned, and when he did, he took the chance to admire you. Bucky rose up to his full height and approached you, his hands finding their familiar place on your hips. "You're so beautiful, doll..." he murmured, his voice full of affection as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, before adding, "Bath's all ready..."

"It looks perfect," you replied in an equally soft and tired tone, carefully stepping into the steaming bath water and sinking down with a contented moan.

God, it felt absolutely amazing - after countless exhausting days of non-stop work, your muscles were crying out for relief. Your back and neck were especially sore from hunching over your desk for hours on end. The perfectly heated water enveloped your body like a warm hug, melting away the tension and aches that had built up over time. The chosen aromatherapy oils filled the air with a soothing blend of lavender and eucalyptus that relaxed you even further.

"Thank you, Bucky... this is... exactly what I needed," you mumbled appreciatively, slowly sinking lower into the luxurious bath until the fragrant bubble clouds rose around your shoulders like a soft blanket.

Bucky's lip quirked up with a gentle, knowing smile as he reached for a plump strawberry from the delicate pink crystal bowl beside the tub. His eyes sparkled with affection as he held the fruit up teasingly, "Of course doll... now open wide~"

"Tease," you said playfully, leaning for the strawberry he held between his fingers. You gladly accepted the offering, letting your lips brush against the plump, red fruit before taking a delicate bite. The sweetness burst across your tongue as you savored each moment, watching his expression intently. Unable to resist the temptation, you gently caught his finger between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the lingering juice - a deliberately cheeky move to provoke a reaction.

Bucky's eyes darkened as he watched you, a knowing smile spreading slowly across his face. His fingers twitched slightly at the sensation of your tongue, and he leaned in closer. "Don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he warned in a low, honeyed voice that made you shiver, even in the steaming water. "You know exactly what'll happen. Besides, it's Valentine's Day..." He reached out to trace your jawline with his thumb, his touch feather-light and promising. "...I'll make it all about you..."

You couldn't resist the temptation that coursed through you, causing you to slowly emerge from the water just enough to delicately capture his hand between your teeth and deliver a playful nip. Your lips ghosted across his wrist and laid a kiss, "I think I wanna see what you mean..."

That's how you ended up on the bed with his face between your legs.

Your swollen, sensitive pussy being devoured by the soldier keeping your legs spread open. His tongue flatly lapped at you before he would encase your delicate clit in his lips and desperately suckle. The alternating movements kept you close enough to the brink of orgasm, but he wouldn't let you finish all the way yet.

"Bucky! Pl-please," you cried out desperately as he suctioned to your throbbing clit once more, his skilled tongue working magic against your sensitive bud. Your trembling hands clung tightly to the twisted sheets below your hips, your knuckles turning white from the intensity of your grip. Your cheeks were deeply flushed as tears of pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

It felt so fucking good - Bucky always dove into you like a starved man who hadn't tasted such sweetness in decades, you were a fruit from Eden and he wouldn’t stop until he has had all of you.

Which was kind of true, until you two had started dating and everything changed. Over time, he gradually gained the confidence he needed, becoming more and more comfortable with engaging in intimate acts. The hesitation that had once held him back melted away completely, and once that newfound bravado took over, he became a passionate and attentive lover who knew exactly how to make you come undone.

Bucky growled against you, tugging you even closer as he kept his face against your folds and lapped at you repeatedly. His eyes would peek at your expression from time to time, but he mostly kept them closed, purely focusing on your taste. So sweet and delectable, you were his favorite thing to lap up and devour. He never wanted to stop. This was his favorite thing ever. Being the source of your pleasure and hearing how you whined and squirmed underneath him.

"Come for me, baby...come on. Give it to me." He muffled against you as his tongue continued to move up and down with his repetitive licks, getting your juices and making sure to run over that swollen bud.

Fuck, you were. You were going to.

You moaned loudly as waves of pleasure coursed through your body, the tense burning sensation gradually building deep in your belly while your legs trembled uncontrollably. Bucky kept a firm hold on your legs, keeping himself buried in your pussy as he continued his feast. Heat radiated outward as you began to feel your nerves come alive, electric sensations traveling from your core and flowing down through your limbs to the tips of your fingers and toes. The pressure continued mounting until finally, everything began slowly blossoming and unwinding into an overwhelming, desperate climax.

When he pulled away from your folds, his face and dark scruff were thoroughly soaked with your juices. The smug, satisfied bastard slowly licked his lips and began climbing over your shaking body, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from your sensitive belly all the way up to the crook of your neck. "Y'r so soft...god, I love every inch of you," he whispered in that husky, desire-laden voice as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

"Bucky..." You whined needily, the desperate tone in your voice betraying just how affected you were, but you couldn't bring yourself to care - you were absolutely burning with desire for him. The delicious scratching sensation of his rough scruff against your skin felt absolutely divine, and you couldn't help but nuzzle your cheek against his strong jaw, seeking more of that friction. Your responsive action drew a knowing smile from Bucky as he pressed his body more firmly against yours, allowing his head to respond to your pressure and reaching his hand down to carefully position himself against you.

"Easy, my beautiful girl...I promise I'll give you everything you want and need. My perfect doll...just lay still for me, just like that...looking so gorgeous spread out underneath me..." He praised in that gentle, soothing voice that you normally adored, but in your current state of desperate arousal, his sweet words only served to turn you on even more. Something about it drove you insane.

When he finally breached you, your body arched off the bed and your hands immediately grabbed onto him, mindful not to claw at his heavily scarred shoulder.

The moan that escaped from between your parted lips was abruptly silenced as he captured your mouth with his own. The lingering taste of your pleasure danced on his tongue as it skillfully glided past your own, delving deeper to thoroughly explore every corner of your mouth. A deep, resonant hum of satisfaction rumbled in the soldier's chest and vibrated against your lips as he pressed into the kiss with mounting intensity, perfectly matching the quickening rhythm of the increasingly passionate snaps his hips made against you.

The gentle slapping that filled the room was drowned out by your cries of unison - the two of you spewing groans and moans of all kinds as his cockhead repeatedly kissed your cervix and coated it with his precum. The gummy walls of your tight cunt continued to squeeze and massage his cock with each little movement you made squirming beneath him and listening to his lower pitched sounds of pleasure.

"Bucky...ah, feels so good...feel so full," you whined and fell back onto the sheets, ignoring the gentle bulge that appeared beneath your skin each time he hilted himself inside you.

"So perfect for me, doll...made for me, made for my cock," he whispered with reverence, his voice thick and heavy. He leaned down, pressing hard, passionate kisses against your neck, which you willingly allowed. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your sensitive skin to him as he skillfully left a trail of bites and gentle purple bruises blooming across your flesh.

Prettier than any of those damned flowers he saw today.

"R'member when I bit all over you... 'round Christmas? I was so lost and confused back then and..nngh...all I knew was you. All I could think about was you. All I ever wanted was you...completely all to myself..." His voice came out rough and broken between desperate grunts as his hips pistoned at an increasingly frantic pace, his movements becoming more urgent with each thrust.

"Ah, yes...I remember it...you were so needy," You gasped breathlessly, a small knowing chuckle escaping your lips as you eagerly took him harder.

"Now look who's being needy...f-feel you squeezing around me so tight..." Bucky hissed through clenched teeth as he pushed even deeper inside you, his thick cock swelling noticeably with his rapidly approaching orgasm.

"Come for me, Buck Buck...I want it inside. Want you to fill me up," You reached up to him, yearning for more, pulling him down closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His silken hair cascaded down like a brilliant curtain, framing his face while he let out pants from slightly parted lips. The cool metal of his hand gripped firmly at the meat of your thigh, his touch both gentle and possessive, chilling the skin beneath it.

Bucky ducked his face down and pressed closer to you, a deep groan tore through his throat as his rapid thrusts finally stilled - you felt his thick member twitching inside you as he coated your pretty velvet walls in his cum. As his orgasm washed over him and made him thrust a few more times for good measure, the overwhelming sensation brought you to yours again.

You both panted, breathing heavily in unison as you relished in the feeling of him still tucked inside you, thick cum oozing out as you let out soft laughs together.

"That was absolutely incredible..." You breathed out in a contented sigh, your voice thick with emotion, "I love you so much..." Your lips tenderly found his in a series of gentle, loving pecks, while your fingers delicately traced patterns across his cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin.

"I love you too, babydoll. And actually, I have something special waiting for you in the kitchen..." He began, his eyes flickering towards the doorway. With a knowing smile, you gently guided his face back to yours, your fingers lingering on his jaw.

"Would that happen to be that beautiful arrangement of flowers and those decadent chocolates I spotted sat next to an adorable plushie?"

"Wait, what? How did you -"

"I saw the setup when you were preparing my bath earlier...sweetheart, you really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble. I feel terrible now." You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows, guilt evident in your voice. "Work has been so hectic lately, I didn't even manage to find time to get you anything..."

He drew you even closer into his warm embrace and gently rolled both of you onto your sides. As his softened length slipped free, you nearly whimpered at the loss of connection, you held the pout back for now. "Doll, you should know by now that I don't need fancy gifts or presents. What matters most to me is having you here, sharing these moments together.” He winked playfully before returning to a more serious tone, “You coming home to me is the greatest gift I could ask for. And you know what? The night's still young - we could curl up together and watch a movie, if you'd like..."

You smiled and nodded, letting out a soft chuckle. "That sounds wonderful, but I really think we should freshen up first...things got pretty messy and you made me feel all sticky." You whispered with a playful lilt in your voice, carefully lifting yourself from the tangled sheets. As you made your way towards the bathroom, your hips swayed flirtatiously, each step a teasing invitation. Pausing at the doorway, you glanced over your shoulder with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "C'mon baby...if you're good, I’ll do that thing you always like..."

His reaction was instantaneous.

Like a coiled spring suddenly released, Bucky leapt from the bed with the same sharp reflexes from his military days - every muscle alert and ready. His blue eyes darkened with desire as a roguish grin spread across his face. "Yes ma'am," he responded, voice husky with anticipation. In two swift strides, he crossed the room and swept you up into his strong arms, making you squeal and laugh with surprise, cradling you against his chest as he carried you eagerly toward the shower.

When your feet touched the cool tile of the bathroom floor, Bucky was already eagerly anticipating another passionate moment together, but you gently placed your hands against his firm chest, causing him to pause. Your eyes met his as you spoke softly but earnestly, "And just so you know, everything you got me was absolutely perfect. I love it all so much. You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble - just spending the evening together would have been more than enough for me, but...everything you did get makes me feel so special. The arranged bouquet with all those beautiful flowers, the adorable plushie of my favorite animal, and those delicious chocolates...it's all too much. You are perfect."

Bucky felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash over him at your heartfelt words, the tension he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying suddenly melting away. His voice was tender, slightly hesitant as he responded, "O-oh... yeah, of course. I...I really wanted to make tonight special for you in every way possible. I picked all your favorite colors and included those specific flowers you always stop to admire during our walks together...and I made absolutely certain the chocolates only contained ingredients and flavors I know you enjoy...and found you a soft, cuddle buddy to keep you company when I have to be away." He ducked his head slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he added with endearing awkwardness, "Besides Alpine, of course."

"Yeah, whenever she's in one of her affectionate moods and decides it's snuggle time," you added with a gentle, warm chuckle, your eyes crinkling at the corners. He swore his heart beat faster each time he saw those delicate lines. "You are enough, Bucky." You gazed deeply into his eyes, taking in every flicker of emotion that passed through them, before offering him a tender, reassuring smile.

Your hand came up to cup his cheek as you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, feeling the tension slowly melt away from his body as he relaxed against you. Drawing back just enough to meet his gaze again, you whispered to him with absolute conviction so he could feel the words as much as possible.

"You are always enough, and don't you ever doubt that for a second..."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[beaucate]

WITHERING PETALS.

SYNOPSIS. you weren’t normally as sensitive as withering petals, but balancing school and a personal life seemed harder said than done. . . (poly!marauders x reader) response to this request.

WARNINGS. angst. hurt/comfort. muggleborn!reader. reader is mentioned to be of a different house but not specified. reader described as fem but not specified. leg injuries. jealousy. ooc!sirius? Idk I made him a bit whiny here lol

A/N. Sorry this took so long :( life is always so busy and I’m forever grateful! But had to slow down since my creative juices kind of ran out for a moment. I put this through a website similar to grammarly to correct any mistakes and enhance descriptions; tell me if you like it!!

“No, darling. Quidditch has taken its toll on me this week.”

“Can’t do, angel. I love you, but I would rather not spend my weekend on studies.”

You didn’t even bother with asking Remus, knowing that the approaching of the full moon in a week would make you selfish to do so.

The skin of your nails was sore from the constant pulling and fidgeting; you weren’t normally so agitated. But you felt so helpless, as if nothing could possibly stick to your head — as if you were eleven again and seeing spells for the first time, knocking your thoughts unconscious.

They were blameless though, at least in your books. How could you possibly point an accusing finger at them for wanting to be alone? Even if it came at your own expense. But you couldn’t help but detect the sting that placed a home at your heart.

Blinking once, twice, your eyes grazed over the words on the thick book, fingers tracing each syllable with a mouthing of your lips. The atmosphere within the library was as heavy as the documents splattered carelessly over the table, and you wanted to scratch your head red at the sight.

“Are you alright?”

You jumped at the sudden calling, turning around to stare at a blond boy who’s gaze was heavy on you.

Dillon Abbott.

A male Hufflepuff who shared little to no classes with you, you only ever recognised him from his broom clashing against James’ from the quidditch games.

You nodded with a solemn smile, and you almost let the glazing of tears overwhelm your reddened cheeks. “Just a tad bit tired, is it obvious?”

He mimicked the tightness of your lips with amusement, eyes wandering over your tired features. Your hair was unkempt, strings and coils pointing to different directions despite the hair tie clenching them together. Two days worth of mascara clumped up beneath your eyes in a dotted manner, and your lips were plump and dehydrated.

And yet, Dillon could not stop staring.

“Beautiful as ever though, need some help?” He furrowed his brows as he read over the text near you, and you inwardly cringed at the proximity to which he’s near you.

You didn’t hear the cracks of the old wooden floors, nor the scent of herbs and chocolate that hadn’t registered through your nose yet.

And Remus found himself furious.

Days ago was when he’d last seen you. When any of the boys have if he were to be serious. They’d missed you, so dearly it ached their heart.

Sirius was the first to notice.

He’d woken up late as he normally does, and normally he’d be greeted with a sappy smile, and reddened cheeks that heated even further when he’d place a sloppy skin on the soft skin. But three days ago the sky seemed to be as dull as their dorm, and he’d pouted the whole 30 minutes it took him to get up from his bed.

“‘Anyone seen my darling girl? I’ve missed her face all day.” He grunted his way through the hall, a puckered lip and crinkled nose that had lily questioning if he were half dog.

No one bothered to answer the Black’s pleas, not even the whine that was present in his voice was enough to raise the other two boys’ awareness.

Sirius kept huffing till the next day, only seeing glimpses of you to which you dismissed him quickly of. He stood below the stands, watching as James’ jaw clenched and unclenched as he slammed a foot among the metal poles.

James was the second to notice.

His glasses were fogged up from the heat that has stretched itself on the apples of his cheeks, and so he deluded himself into that being the reason he could not see you when his match had started. The boy looked around, and the team stripped in yellow had taken advantage of his curiosity and slammed onto him with the tip of their brooms — splintering his ankle.

And yet, he held hope that he simply didn’t recognise you that day. It wasn’t until they’d tied with their opponents, a tick of his jaw present and eyes wandering aimlessly, did he take full notice of the stadium; your absence loud.

No teasing smile awaiting him, or cherry painted nails in his support to poke his ribs amusingly.

Sirius planted a hand on James’ back, squeezing it with a pitiful look. “Didn’t think we’d lose to the puffs, Merlin.”

James rolled his shoulder, shaking his head, a tantrum willed tone tracing his voice, “is she mad?” He huffed, casting a spell on his bruised ankle, “haven’t spotted her all week, and now she’s missed the game. Don’t think we’ve done anything to warrant that.”

The long haired boy scoffed, “she’s been studying her arse off for that test. She’s real smart, don’t know why I can’t get a hold of her.”

Remus furrowed his brows, watching them walk into the common room with misery carpeted on the lines of their faces. James’ eyes were welled up, and he’d harshly rubbed at his cheeks to gain awareness — refusing to succumb to tears. While Sirius’s bottom lips were puckered, though the tension planted in his fists was evident of his concern.

Remus stood up suddenly, grasping the wrinkled paper from the coffee table before leaving to where he knew you’d stayed. And that’s when he found himself glaring at the boy whose face inched too close to the rose coloured dangling earring he’d gifted you on your birthday.

Your jaw was clenched, and your glare was prominent as it landed on the three boys.

Remus had caused a scene, of course he did. He got the three of you kicked out after his voice aggravated beyond means. The librarian had sent a sharp glare at the three of you, dismissing you out of the library with a snarky remark that left your cheeks as bright as the gryffindor flag. Her pointed finger toward the door made your chest feel heavy with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything as the boys silently filed out, Remus giving you one last, apologetic glance before turning towards the door.

The common room was silent except for the heavy breathing of the group of you, filtering out the sound of the cackling fire.

Sirius’ brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He caught your eye for a moment before looking away, lips curling into a soft, unsure smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Once the door closed behind them, you slowly turned back to the table, your fingers lightly brushing over the map Remus had thrown carelessly onto the table.

You patted down the small portion of matted hair straying from your ponytail, a tired sigh slipping from your lips. The common room felt oppressive now, as if you hadn’t belonged there and the silhouette reflecting off the fire was highlighted onto the deep aches of your face, as if it had noticed that your discomfort was trying to swallow you whole.

There deep silence only bothered you for a temporary second, and then it was the sting. The hot, uncomfortable feeling of humiliation that rose across your chest, and how you felt as if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t have —despite their pitiful gazes saying otherwise.

There was so much unspoken tension, and it was beginning to eat away at your insides.

They cared. You could feel it when they were near you—the way they watched over you, the small twinge of James’ eyebrows when your legs shook from exhaustion. But when they pulled away, when they’d gotten distracted by quidditch or their own issues, it felt like you were just... left there, even if their intentions were as pure as daylight.

The desperation clung onto your throat like a mantra begging for its freedom; You wanted to call them back, to beg for their presence, to remind them that you still needed them—but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Something held you back, a small, nagging voice in your head telling you that maybe, just maybe, they needed to learn how to see you. Really see you. Not just as someone to check in on when it was convenient or when they noticed your absence.

“Merlin,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your eyes with your thumbs and palms resting on your flushed cheeks. This was unfair, you knew that. It had to be. But it didn’t make the ache in your chest go away. The loneliness that was felt when you were surrounded by them, or worse, when you were ignored by them.

The couch dipped, and this time you didn’t even need to crane your neck to know who it was. The familiar scent of wood of gel made your stomach flip, though it was more from frustration than anything else.

"Hey," James' voice cut through the silence, soft and unsure. He wasn’t quite sure if he should approach you— he hadn’t exactly been the most present lately. "Do you want to talk, lovey?"

You didn’t respond at first. Didn’t exactly know what to say. Instead, you leaned back into the soft pillows, crossing your arms over your chest in a quiet challenge. You weren’t angry at any of them, it was selfish to do, but you were tired — so terribly tired.

James lingered for a beat before moving closer in an awkward manner. The concern that was drawn on his face was unmistakable. His hand hovered near the edge your knitted sweater, his eyes searching your face for any sign of your thoughts.

"Listen, we’ve been stupid," James started, and you could hear the guilt that trickled in his voice. “We’ve been so wrapped up in ourselves-”

“we didn’t even stop to check on you. We shouldn’t have left you hanging like that.” Sirius interrupted, kneeling before you. His hands were rough, dry lines etching his palms, and yet; he grazed your bare knees with a softness that had your heart fluttering.

Your eyes flicked briefly to Remus’ observing eye, then back down to your lap. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” James countered, now so close to you, head lightly pushed down so that your eyes were at level. “It’s really not. And I... I don’t want you to feel like you’re carrying all of this on your own.”

Remus’ voice called from the chair he sat on, his usual sharp tone present, yet was laced with an undeniable gentleness. “James is right. We’re sorry. I’m sorry. We should’ve noticed sooner.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Not this genuine, earnest apology. You felt the knot in your chest loosen just a little, though it didn’t completely untangle from the fragile touch of your bones. Their behaviour still nagged on until it hurt, but his words were a buffer, a reminder that they did care — even if they hadn’t always shown it.

“Don’t apologize,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to feel this vulnerable, as if you were a burden, when you knew they would go to the ends of the earth if it meant being back your smile. “I’ve been... I’ve been difficult, too.”

"Don’t ever think that," Sirius said, his hands cupping your chin tenderly, thumb caressing your hot skin. His eyes softened as they met yours, voice taking on that deep, sincere tone you rarely heard from him. "You’re not difficult, love. You’re… important. And we should’ve made more of an effort to show you that. To make sure you’re okay. You deserve more than... than this."

There was a pregnant silence that followed, the tension slowly melting between the four of you as they each found their way to be near you. Remus, who had followed after the others, leaned against the hand of the couch, palms grasping yours, and his eyes dark with concern, though there was a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips.

“We’ve been idiots, and we’ll to make it right,” Remus said gently, his words a soft promise. “But we’re here now, and forever and ever, and we’ll stay as long as you need us.”

It was the first time in days that you felt like you could breathe again. You didn’t feel so alone, and you could feel your lips tugging upwards when James’ frames made contact with your fluttering lashes, lips leaving a wet tinge on your brows. “You can start by brushing my hair.”

[tteokdoroki]

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — KATSUKU BAKUGOU. setting powder.

about. whilst getting ready to meet your new boyfriend’s extended family — you learn that he knows a thing or two about doing makeup.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, characters aged up to 20s, enemies to lovers, meeting the family, new relationships, brief mention of injury and hospitals, reader wears makeup and dresses, pro hero!bakugou, nurse/doctor!reader.

“we’re gonna be late, sweetheart.”

leaning against the door frame, bakugou crosses his arms over his chest — his perfect lips pulled into a suave smirk as he watches you finish your makeup for tonight.

“wha…huh? you said i had twenty minutes?” you’re still half dressed, your boyfriend’s baggy hoodie from an old merch collection draped over your sweet little dress to protect it from your foundation, your hair is tied back and away from your face so it doesn’t get in the way and though you’re still trying to blend your cream blush in with one of those sponge things — katsuki thinks you’re the most adorable thing in the entire world.

pushing himself off the door frame, he sits behind you on the bed — still watching you work at the vanity whilst he fixes the cuffs of his dress shirt. “that was twenty minutes ago,” the blonde rasps affectionately and grasps your at your jewellery laid out on the bed. the rough pad of his thumb traces over the ‘K’ on the silver heart locket he’d gotten you for your birthday before he undoes the clasp and places the chain around your neck — being mindful of your hair in the process. “y’said you’d be done by then.”

you catch your boyfriend’s vermillion stare in the reflection of your mirror — his subtle smile when he sees his initials dangling from your neck. it feels you with warmth to know that no matter what, katsuki will always find you beautiful and will always love you. even with how chaotic your makeup looks when half done. “i think i spent too long in the shower ‘n underestimated how long this look would take,” you sigh, reaching for your lip gloss next. you’ll have to put it in your purse, do your lips in the car. “do you think they’ll mind if we’re any later than this?”

“my parents won’t. neither will inko. deku — i mean — izuku will, but he’ll pretend he ain’t bothered,” bakugou prattles down the list, making a note of tonight’s attendees. it was tradition that the bakugous and the midoriyas had a monthly dinner together, it had been going on since the two pro heroes were children. only now, their partners were invited since they were family too. family included you.

you hadn’t gone to U.A and you certainly didn’t know katsuki until he became an up and coming pro hero. the first time he’d saved you, by the sidewalk of the hospital you worked at, you thought he was brutish and stuck up. you’d hated him and he’d hated you. but over time, and more frequent trips to A&E after saving civilians or sometimes after being wounded in villain attacks — you’d come to appreciate bakugou’s brooding personality and observant nature.

he’d come to like you too. how much you cared for others and wanted to make the world a better place. you reminded him a little bit of izuku, in a strange way.

so one night when you were on call, katsuki brought you flowers instead of a stomach wound that needed stitches and you’d given him a kiss instead of berating him about being careful, over vanilla and chocolate pudding cups from the hospital cafeteria.

signing impatiently, you bring katsuki back to present day. “i wanted to make a good impression on your aunty and on your best friend,” rubbing your arm nervously, you cast your gaze over the mess on your vanity — expensive products splayed across them in organised chaos.

“you will. they’re gonna love you. they already do,” bakugou stands behind you now, rough palms smoothing over your shoulders. “izuku says you’ve made me less bitchy at work. whatever the fuck that means.”

you giggle, eyes sparkling in delight as you look at the blonde in the mirror. “really?”

“really,” he nods sheepishly. the way you look at him makes him feel so loved. it’s new to him. nice to him. “now, whaddya need help with s’we can hurry up ‘n hit the road.”

you begin to ramble on, perking up at the idea of katsuki helping with the rest of your routine.“well… i’ve done my lashes, my eyes, my base and blush… i can do lips in the car. aside from putting on earrings and fixing my hair all i need is to set my face with—“

“settin’ powder,” bakugou grabs the little pot from your vanity as if he knew where it was all along, picking up a little face cushion as well as he prepares to get to work. “got it.” he dips the cushion into the translucent powder, rubbing the excess off on the back of his hand before leaning in real close to dab at the areas he thinks you need it. like your t-zone.

your boyfriend’s touch is like magic on your face, perfectly setting your makeup while making you feel like a pampered princess. “who taught you how to do this?” comes your shy mumble, his proximity to your face causing you to grow flustered and squirm in your seat. “h-how are you so good at it?”

“keep still, i’ll be finished faster if y’stop squirmin’ sweetheart. don’t wanna mess up what you’ve done already,” pausing his actions, katsuki gives you a toothy smirk — revelling in how bashful you’ve become under his touch while he helps you with your makeup. “…grew up behind the scenes of fashion shows ‘n shoots. so i picked up a thing or two i wanted to make sure i could still do it so i watched a couple of videos on it too. ‘n i noticed…you always put so much time ‘n effort into your makeup. wanted to help make the process easier for you.”

you feel as though you could melt at katsuki’s kind words and gesture as he dabs at your face a little more — tongue caught between the tips of his pearly white teeth as he sticks it out in concentration. he’s so cute it makes you want to scream. “you’re sweet,” you coo appreciatively, stilling yourself to let him finish before he pulls back — satisfied with his work. “i love you.”

it’s not the first time you’ve said it to one another, but the three words are still new to the both of you. “i uh…i love you more,” a pink, rosey hue rises on the surface of bakugou’s tanned skin and his red, loving eyes dart away from your face bashfully. “‘m gonna get your shoes ‘n jacket ready by the door while that sits. don’t forget your settin’ spray after you brush that shit off — oh ‘n don’t take my hoodie off until you’ve done that. don’t wanna ruin your dress, kay?”

“okay,” you respond fondly, hiding your smile at his very specific instructions. “i’ll be down in a minute.”

katsuki nods hesitantly, standing up as he gathers your belongings and outerwear — ready to load them up in the car, when he suddenly pauses in place. “you look beautiful tonight, sweetness. you always do.” he adds as one last parting message, before disappearing down the hall.

leaving you wondering how you ever lucked out with such a man. one who’s not only kind and gentle and loving, but a pro hero and a makeup artist at that.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[pennylanewrites]

needy [eren yeager]

tags: aphrodisiacs, f!reader, bestfriend!eren, weirdo!eren, panty sniffing, masturbation, thighjob, multiple orgasms, lots of cum, spitting, pussy eating, panty stuffing, eren eats his cum? porn with little plot enjoy

aot masterlist

your friend eren loved snooping around your house. he would read your diary to make fun of you, use your expensive skincare products ‘because they smell good’ and eat your snacks.

this time, he was rummaging through your kitchen as you took a shower. his eyes grew wide when he found a sleek box of, seemingly expensive, chocolates. he pulled on the golden ribbon and looked around before popping one in his mouth. it was sweet and tart as it melted on his tongue. he hoped you wouldn’t mind if he ate one more.

how long had you been in the shower for? eren was spread across your couch, scrolling through his phone when he viewed your instagram story from last night. a mirror selfie of you in a tight, skimpy outfit and a drink in your hand.

“the fuck?” he muttered, looking down at his sweatpants.

images of you, naked in his shower flashed through his head. that was months ago and you promised to each other it was a one-time thing. so why the fuck does he have a boner right now?

when he heard your bedroom door close, he quickly got up and ran into the bathroom. the room was still steamy, and everything smelled like your body wash. sickeningly sweet caramel, but there was something else.

eren palmed his hard cock over his sweatpants, looking around until his eyes fell on the clothes strewn across the floor. he leaned down and his hands caught a piece of white fabric.

eren wasn’t really thinking straight when he pulled his pants and boxers down. neither when he fisted his cock, your panties still in his other hand. he brought them up to his face, stuffing his nose against the fabric.

now this, this was your smell. sweet and tart, like the chocolate he shamelessly stole from you.

“shit, shit, shit!” the middle part of your panties was stuck between eren’s teeth as he rubbed his cock, making a mess all over his stomach.

eren found you lying on the couch, bare legs hanging over the arm. his cock twitched when he looked up and you were wearing one of his old band t-shirts.

“hey.” eren’s voice came out weak, whiny. you grinned behind your phone, finally looking up at him.

“hey, you.” you lifted one of your legs up, poking his thigh with your toe. he caught your leg and pulled, making you yelp.

“hey.” he sat on the other end of the couch and pulled his hoodie down. you moved until your head was resting on his thigh and turned your attention to your phone. from where eren sat, he could see the curve of your breasts under the cotton shirt and your thighs squeezing together.

he could still smell you. taste you on his tongue.

“did you eat my candy?” you asked, flipping your body over to sit on your stomach. you looked up at him with a mischievous grin.

“w-what?” he could feel your breath, hot against his thigh and your fingers stroking his calf.

“did you?”

eren remembered you earlier that month, searching up aphrodisiacs on your phone. you had said you were curious to try them and showed him a box of chocolates you wanted to order.

“you should be more careful, ‘ren.” the nickname you gave him shot straight to his cock and he could feel it get harder.

“don’t call me that.”

“rennie.” you smiled against his thigh, eyes never leaving his.

“fuck you.” he lifted you up and held your body against him, slamming his lips against yours.

you lifted one of your legs over his lap, lowering yourself right on his erection. a groan escaped his lips and his hands gripped your waist. he guided your hips, gently rutting against his pelvis.

“sorry i ate your candy.” eren pouted against your lips. “but i really wanna fucking come now.” he tugged on your shirt, breaking the kiss apart to remove it before attacking your tits. his hands squeezed every inch of your body as he popped your nipple in his mouth, tugging on it desperately.

you got off his lap, just to remove your shorts. eren pulled his cock out, painfully hard and already leaking against the fabric of his hoodie. he shamelessly stroked himself while you took your shorts off.

“keep ‘em on.” he didn’t let you take off your underwear. he wrapped his arms around your hips and pulled you down, this time your back pressed against his chest. he lifted you up easily, spreading your thighs slightly with his free hand so he could place his dick between them.

“eren…” you threw your head back, kissing the length of his jawline softly.

“shit, y-you’re squeezing.” he looked down. you gently rocked your hips, thighs wrapped delicately around his cock. you both took in a sharp breath when his cock hit against your clothed clit.

eren couldn’t take his hands off your body, even if he wanted to. one hand fiddled with the frilly hem on your panties, the other wrapped snug around your chest.

“spit on it, baby.” he urged you. you leaned your head down, looking at the sticky pre-cum smeared all over the inside of your thighs. you spit right on the tip of his cock, like he asked you to, earning a guttural moan behind you. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” he pushed on your thighs, keeping them squeezed shut as his cock twitched between them. a painfully hard bite was left on your shoulder when eren finally came all over the front of your panties. he smeared it even further with his cock tip, before lifting you off him and placing you down again.

“what are you doing?” you blinked at him. eren kneeled on the floor in front of you, spreading your legs open and placing them on his shoulders.

“cleanin’ you up.” his lips felt hot against the skin of your thigh, his tongue flattened to clean up his mess on your thighs.

his green eyes, hidden under furrowed brows and teary eyelashes, stared up at you when he finally reached your middle. your chest heaved as you waited for his move.

eren wrapped his lips around the tainted front of your panties, sucking it clean. with trembling fingers, he hooked them to the side, pleasantly surprised to see his cum had leaked under the fabric too. he swallowed with a grin against your stomach.

“can i touch you?” his voice shook you out of your thoughts. you nodded hastily, shuddering when his cold fingertips came in contact with your clit.

he let a dollop of spit fall on your pussy before replacing his fingers with his tongue. your hand shot straight to his hair, pulling him snug against your heat.

eren had always been noisy. his sloppy kisses and licks and smooches echoed around the living room. he moaned against you when his nose bumped against your clit and, oh god he could smell you.

“you taste so good.” he pulled away just to praise you, his hand palming his cock again. it was more painful this time, sore and swollen, but he had this urge. he couldn’t stop touching himself.

searching for your discarded panties, he wrapped them around his cock this time. the fabric he had stained before, now turning a dark shade of gray again with his pre.

“ren, i’m gonna come!” you whined, the knot in your stomach about ready to come undone. if his mouth wasn’t attached to your pussy, you would have seen him smirk. he pressed his palm against your lower stomach, kept pressing until you cried out his name.

“is it sensitive, baby?” he coos, the soft pecks against your clit making you jolt. you tried shutting your legs, but eren was stronger. wrapping his elbow around your thighs, he pushed them back until they were on your shoulders and returned to your sensitive cunt.

“please, eren!” you whined, trying to push away from him.

“just a little more.” his words came out slurring as he licked around your fluttering hole. “need to come.” he muttered. he sharpened his tongue and pushed it inside you, making you gasp. he curled it around before pulling out and spitting inside. wet fabric came in contact with your pussy. your eyes shot open when his fingers worked their way inside you, along with the fabric.

“shiiit.” his voice strained as he got up. “gonna come.” hovering over you, he let your legs fall and they wrapped around his torso instinctively. his cock slapped against your clit before he started rubbing the tip on it, moaning loudly.

out of breath, he sighed softly when hot spurts of his cum dripped between your folds, the fabric bunched up inside of you catching most of the liquid.

“fuck, fuck, thank you.” he let his whole body fall against you, hands falling on your shoulders to pull you closer. “thanks.” he muttered between more profanities.

he slid down, leaving soft kisses on your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. you let out a sigh when he went back to kissing your puffy clit again.

“shit, baby.” he carefully removed the bunched up panties, watched them drip with his cum. “can i fuck you now?”

[dollfacefantasy]

Special Day

pairing: mafia!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: this year your husband wants to give you a special present for your birthday

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (fem receiving), fingering, daddy kink, breeding kink

word count: 5.2k

a/n: birthday fic for someone i am so happy to know and call my friend, @explorevenus. i love her so so much, she's one of the most fun and kindest people i have ever known. she's so totally cool and you all should wish her a very happy birthday.

For my pretty little doll on her special day. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.

That’s the message scrawled onto the scrap of paper that’s attached to the hanger on the closet door. On the hanger, dangled one of the prettiest dresses you’d ever seen in your life. Your favorite color, flowy and shimmering. Of the hundreds of things he’d asked you to wear over the course of your relationship, this had to be in the top three.

It almost made up for the fact that he was going to be on the job for nearly the entire day. You weren’t even confident he’d make it home in time for the dinner reservations you had, but if you had to be alone, at least you would look good doing it.

If anything, you tried not to let his absence bother you too much because it could be worse. You make a point to yourself to remember that today wasn’t like years ago when you would’ve spent the whole day at work just to come home to an empty house. So far you've spent it out, getting your nails done, lunch at one of your favorite places, some light shopping. And it was all on his dime. This was the one day a year where he truly gave you no limits, no allowance, no teasing about your debit card being worn out. Your birthday always was about letting you indulge in anything you wanted as much as your heart desired. You reminded yourself of that when you felt the familiar pain of longing tighten up your chest.

It wasn’t like the feeling was a foreign one. He’d been at work on every birthday you’d had since the two of you got together. He’d treat you to the shopping spree combined with sending you a lavish arrangement of flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals, or whatever you had been wanting that year. Then he’d come to you the next day, or once you started living together, in the middle of the night. Always climbing into bed or coming up behind you with a hushed “‘m sorry, babydoll” and some gentle kisses to your head. And you’d never complain because the next day before you even had a chance to get annoyed, an expensive new bracelet would be on your wrist, and he’d deliver his apologies between your legs with his tongue, fingers, or cock. Your choice.

For the week leading up to your birthday this year, you had just been silently hoping it would be different. Considering he had been spending more time with you lately, and less time in sketchy meetings, it didn’t seem unreasonable. The higher he climbed in the dark world that he worked in, the closer you came to living the glamorous life he’d promised you from the beginning. His higher position scored the two of you the penthouse you currently sat in. It got you vacations to exotic places and clothes you previously only would’ve been able to afford in your wildest fantasies.

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm orange-pink haze over your room. You figured you should put on the outfit he’d chosen for you. Lifting the dress up, you realize there’s something else attached to the hanger. Obscured from view at first glance is a delicate lingerie set, lacy pink bra and panties with rosebuds embroidered across them in rows. A smile rises on your lips as you slip off the clothing you had on and unclip the dainty articles from the hanger. Your fingertips smooth over the lace while visions of Leon’s hands dancing across your chest, squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipples, flash through your mind.

You slide the thin straps onto your arms and reach behind to clasp it into place. Then you pull the panties up, looking in the mirror at how they fit over your hips. The dress comes after these. You put it on and are left blown away by his choice for you. It looked good. Showed you off, highlighted your assets in the most flattering way.

As you admire your reflection, the main doors to the apartment open and close. Keys rattle as they’re dropped on the side table. He enters the bedroom and you hear a hum of adoration rumble from his chest.

“There’s the birthday girl,” he says softly as he makes his way to you.

Your eyes capture his gaze with a fond glance. He’d actually made it back when he said he would. Maybe things were looking up. You turn your back to him, revealing the parted fabric that left your back and the hem of your panties exposed.

“Zip me up?” you request.

Without a word, he pulls you close by your waist. You knew he loved doing this. Picking what you wore and watching your body slip into it, filling out his fantasies. His fingers tug the zipper upward and secure the dress together. He presses a tender kiss to your neck and inhales a deep breath of his favorite scent in the whole world, your perfume. His arms wrap around you as his palms rub down your body, over your belly and to your hips. He leaves a few more smooches on your throat as he directs your stare back to the mirror.

“That dress looks gorgeous on you. My perfect little doll,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you respond, catching his eyes in the reflective glass ahead of you. You scan the picture in front of you. His large frame engulfing yours, damn near lovesick expression on his face, hands and arms as possessive as they could be in such a basic stance.

“No, thank you,” he says, “You been having a nice day? Being a good girl? Staying safe?”

You sink back against his chest more as his low voice seeps out against your skin. “Mhm,” you answer with a slight nod.

“Yeah? You ready to have some more fun tonight?” he whispers, lips brushing your earlobe.

You nod, sweet and docile. God, it was like you melted in his presence. Could never hold onto anything with him around. It all went out the window in order to get his praise and feel the warmth of his affection on you.

“That’s my baby,” he coos with one more wet kiss on your cheek. He backs up as if he’s about to let you go, but as you turn around, he grabs your jaw. The pads of his fingertips gently dig into the flesh of your cheeks. In that loving and condescending tone that sent heat rushing through your body, he asks, “Who’s my pretty girl?”

It was such a simple thing. You didn’t know why it worked, but it always did. A big smile spreads across your face, and your eyes flit away with timid modesty.

“Me,” you confirm, tone soft but sure.

“That’s right,” he says simply and pulls you into an actual kiss.

After that, you’re almost giddy, high off the small gesture. It made your blood run hot and your head swim with a dizzy feeling of love. You all but prance to the rack against the wall that holds your shoes. Slipping on some matching heels, you face him once more and do a little motion to show off the completed look.

He chuckles at your twirl and opens his arms. You immediately go to him and find your place in his grasp. Kissing the top of your head, he mutters “What’d I do to get the sweetest girl in the world all to myself, hm?”

You shrug, and that’s all he needs before the two of you are ready to go. He stuffs his wallet in his pocket and walks towards the elevator with you tucked to his side. His fingers coast down your jaw and stroke your hair. Your eyes stay locked on him from the doors shutting to the little ding letting you know the trip is over.

The two of you float outside to the luxury car Leon rode around in now. Not even drove because he had been given a driver recently. All the two of you had to do was simply slip into the backseat.

He holds you close, nearly on his lap for the duration of the ride. One hand massages the back of your neck, keeping your head against his shoulder. The other delves beneath the skirt of your dress only to knead your plush thighs and feel your skin between his fingers. All the attention keeps your head spinning and your body craving his love.

It’s only around twenty minutes before the car pulls to a stop in front of the restaurant. You’re greeted by the familiar twinkling lights and neon letters of one of your favorite places. You beam at him and take his hand. He watches your pleasant reaction, so pleased he could make you happy with something so simple.

Getting in is quick and painless since he had called ahead of time, dead set on making this as special for you as possible. You’re seated at a booth in the back. It’s not completely private, but well secluded from the other patrons filling seats.

He slides in first, grinning as he pats the cushioning next to him. You follow, and immediately, he pulls you close. Your thighs are squished against each other beneath the table. His lips are caressing your neck as you skim the menu causing you to squirm and laugh softly.

“You get anything you want, pretty baby. Tonight’s all about my precious girl,” he whispers.

You nod and nuzzle into the affection a bit, brushing your nose with his. After deciding what you want, he orders your meal and drink. The two of you talk, and from this alone, it seems to be shaping up into the perfect night. You talk about everything and anything, catching up with him like you hadn’t in a while. You see the Leon you love, your Leon. The guy who comes home late with dark eyes and a flat voice is nowhere to be found, and you couldn’t be more pleased. He stays close the entire time, seemingly not able to help how touchy he was with you.

Eventually, your orders arrive, and things continue to look up. Your smile won’t leave your face as you eat and drink. Laughs fly between the two of you like neither of you had ever seen something bad in your lives. It’s only hours later, towards the end of dinner when you can see him simmering down a bit. His expression grows more serious. Different from usual though. It’s not stern. It’s more… vulnerable. He pulls you flush against him yet again and squeezes his arms around you softly.

“I’m happy you’re having a good time, sweetheart. You know I love seeing that pretty smile. And you should know, I’ve wanted your birthday to turn out this perfect every year. But now I can actually provide that,” he says, continuing to grow more genuine.

You nod, not totally sure where he’s going here but eager to find out.

“Usually, I’d have something big for you to open at the end of your day,” he starts. He almost looks nervous at this point, and it’s concerning you, “This year, I don’t have anything like that because I thought we might do something different for your main gift.”

You look up at him and shift your body to face him a little more. He had your attention now. You try to mentally run through different possibilities for a different kind of big present. Vacation? No, you’d done that before. Moving? That also seemed unlikely. Maybe it was related to his work? You honestly had no clue.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I think it’s time we start trying for a baby,” he says, his eyes going soft and his voice dropping to be more hushed.

Your heart jolts inside your chest. You almost don’t believe you heard him right. He must have said something else. That or he was just playing the most cruel joke in the entire world.

“But you said you didn’t want any?” you say skeptically.

“I know I did. But… I was wrong,” he says with a slight smile. 

Leon had told you on each rare occasion that the topic of kids came up that he did not want any under any circumstances. This life was too dangerous, he wouldn’t have time for them, he wanted you all to himself. All were reasons you’d heard over the years. You’d honestly just shoved your small hopes for a family away because he seemed certain of his position on the topic. You’d come to terms that it would never happen. It was him or the white picket fence fantasy, and you’d chosen him with no real hesitation.

“And you just changed your mind out of the blue?” you ask.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. He kisses your pulse point as his fingers start tracing small circles on your arm. “No, no. I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he whispers.

Your breath hitches at the sensation of his mouth on your skin again. You tilt your head back and shut your eyes, letting him work. You were already buzzed from the drinks you had, and this wasn’t making it easier to think through your line of questioning.

“I’ve been having these dreams, y’know,” he breathes as if he senses your uncertainty, “Once every couple days, I’m seeing you pregnant. You’re looking fucking gorgeous, belly swollen and bright smile on your face. Then I wake up. And after a few times, I realized I don’t want that to only be a dream anymore.”

He continues trailing his mouth along your skin, leaving small love bites scattered throughout the sheen remnants of saliva. Your head is swirling with the mix of his actions and words, and what it means. He wanted you pregnant. It didn’t sound real to you even with his brief explanation.

“You want to change the entire direction of our lives because you had a few dreams?” you ask.

He laughs softly into the crook of your neck. “I’d been thinking about it anyway. I’m not getting any younger, baby. I guess I’ve softened in my old age cause what I want more than anything is to see my precious little doll holding our baby,” he says with a mix of teasing and seriousness in his voice.

It makes you smile and exhale with amusement. You turn your face in his direction and catch his lips in a real kiss. When he pulls away, his breath is coming out in heavier puffs. His eyes, blown out with love, are locked in a stare with you. His hand slips down to your midriff, palm flattening over your tummy.

“It wasn’t so hard to realize, babydoll. I’d be fucking insane to not want to see you carrying my baby. You’ll be the prettiest little mama,” he whispers.

His voice had become huskier, his thumb moving back and forth on your bottom lip. You were completely enraptured with him right now. Your head was growing fuzzier by the second, and the desire for him to fuck you full of cum was only getting stronger.

“You can’t even understand how much I’ll love watching that belly grow. How it’ll start sticking out of every shirt you have till we have to buy you a whole set of new ones,” he murmurs against your skin, “And don’t even get me started on how these are gonna fill out.” His hand moves to your breasts, gripping the plump flesh under his palm .

Now your breath was picking up a bit too. You shift in your seat in an attempt to alleviate the building tension in your center. His kisses become more aggressive and simple touches morph into rougher grabs.

“I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you, babydoll. Gonna have to fuck you like we’re still trying even when you’re in the last few months,” he grunts.

The softest whimper escapes you, but he hears it. You feel his smirk against your skin. He lightly nips at your throat and pulls back, letting you see his smug expression in its entirety.

“You like that idea, yeah?” he coos quietly, “So much attention for you, baby. Constantly being doted on. You’re not gonna lift a finger for nine months. Gonna let me take care of everything while all your energy goes into growing our baby.”

You look up at him helplessly. Big, sweet eyes that remind him of a puppy. He grins as your head bobs up and down in a nod.

“My good fucking girl. Let’s get out of here,” he says.

You’re quick to follow him out of the booth after he drops a couple bills on the table. Your fingers lace with his as he leads you to the main doors and back to the car. You take him in as he guides you. Just a few moments to admire his broad shoulders and muscular biceps. His protective grip and eyes that seemed serious to everyone else, but you could tell held more mischievous intent.

Once you reach the car, he opens the door for you, giving you a quick smack on the ass as you climb in. He’s right next to you after that, and as the engine comes to life, you almost wish he’d waited to have that conversation in here instead. Because now you were gonna have to sit here, turned on and untouched for the ride back. Heated skin and glossy eyes, it was pretty obvious how you were feeling. Most likely everyone in that restaurant and the driver sitting one seat in front of you all knew that Leon was going to fuck you dumb as soon as you stepped through the doors to your apartment.

You come to figure though, that if it’s already so obvious, what’s the harm in being a little more overt? Scooting over to him, you lean into his firm side. He looks down at you knowingly. Your fingers curl over his thick thigh, nearly brushing the most sensitive area of his lap.

“Feeling a little impatient?” he teases softly.

You nod. Sure your driver could hear murmuring, you just hoped he couldn’t make out exact words.

“Yeah, what do you want me to do about it?” he mocks, “You need Daddy’s fingers in that tight cunt? Can’t even wait till we get home to cum?”

You bite your lip to muffle the whine blooming in your throat. Your face burns at the use of the title that melted your mind down to a few simple words. Yes Daddy. Thank you Daddy. Pretty please. Wanna cum. 

With another nod, you sink further into his chest. Your eyes remain up and keep their focus on him.

“Well, since it’s your birthday…” he starts. His hand swoops beneath your dress, bypassing your thighs this time and cupping your pussy, fingers coasting over the damp fabric.

You were pulsing with desire, your heart thudding against your chest. He pulls your lacy garment to the side to run his digits through your folds and feel the slick that had gathered for him. A low chuckle leaves him, and all you can think is how grateful you are for the radio being turned on, no matter how low the volume. From how wet you were, you were sure in dead silence you’d be able to hear more lewd noises than the words spilling from Leon’s mouth.

“Oh, you really can’t wait. You’re already making a mess all over my seats,” he whispers.

The pad of his finger swirls over your clit, and you hum quietly in relief. The pressure in the pit of your belly releases a bit as the warm flow of pleasure courses through you. Your eyes flutter shut, your hands hook around his arm for comfort, and you press your face to his shoulder to obscure your reactions to the feeling.

“My perfect little doll. I press the right button and look how well you behave,” he breathes.

You suck in a breath, narrowly avoiding a whimper tumbling into the car. He plays with your bundle of nerves for a minute more before slipping two fingers down and slipping them inside you.

Your fingers dig into the sleeve of his suit, clutching it as he pumps in and out of you. He works himself in, up to his knuckles. Your thighs part a little more to give him some space to work with. He shakes his head and playfully tuts at the display of need.

“Poor baby, Daddy got you so worked up, didn’t he?” he coos softly against your head.

You nod quickly. All your focus is on keeping quiet as his fingers move between your walls as you clamp around them. He smiles and continues lightly. It was your birthday so he would be nice, wouldn’t try to embarrass you too bad.

You’re so wrapped up in the throes of ecstasy he’s bringing you that you don’t even notice when the car has stopped. The only thing you notice is his fingers are now gone and you feel painfully empty.

Your eyes dart up when you lose the warm, filling sensation. Unlike usual, you contain your whine of protest as you realize your moments away from getting what you really wanted.

Like a movie of the beginning of the evening playing in reverse, you both make your way back to the elevator. He keeps a firm hold on your hand as he takes the lead. You stumble behind, all but collapsing in his arms once you're in the elevator. He leans down into some sloppy kisses. Your tongues meet, and your lips smoosh against each other fervently as if you’re running out of time.

After what seems like forever, you hear that little ding, and he wastes no time pulling you into the apartment. You’re kissing on the way to the bedroom, hands roaming one another as you bump into furniture and nearly knock clutter off tables. His suit jacket is gone before the bed is even in sight. Buttons on his shirt had already been popped open as he throws you on the bed.

He climbs on top of you, continuing to make out with you for a moment. His lips start to head south, finding their place on your neck again while his hands start pushing up the skirt of your dress to bunch it at your waist. There was no teasing tonight. You were the birthday girl after all, and he intended to keep his word that the evening was about you.

His entire body drifts downward now. Placing himself on the end of the mattress, you nearly can’t see him from fabric that was hiked up. You can feel him though. Tongue and teeth grazing along your inner thighs, making you shudder.

In the midst of his frenzy of desire, he seems to remember something. He rises to his knees and starts to properly remove the dress from your body.

“Almost forgot to unwrap my gift,” he says.

He’s discarded the dress to the floor in no time. You lie there, on display for him in the lingerie he’d chosen just for this. His hands stroke your sides as he takes in the view of your nipples pebbles beneath the embroidered rosebuds, the soaked patch of fabric between your thighs. He’s lost in the sight of you, feeling almost as hazy as you did.

“Sweet baby, the only present I ever need,” he mumbles before lowering himself to the bed again.

He yanks down the pretty panties and tosses them over to sit with your dress. Then you finally feel some of the relief you’d been craving. He dives into your cunt, lips moving as he envelops your sex in the heat of his mouth. 

His tongue strokes up and down the velvet skin. He laps at your clit, paying attention to the precious bundle of nerves that had you crying out and writhing in his hold. You reach down and tug at his hair, causing a loud groan to emanate from the junction of your thighs. He devours you with increasing fervor.

“Pussy’s so fucking pretty,” he mutters into you, “So cute. My favorite toy.”

Your head falls back while your hips roll against his face. Gasps and whines erupt from your throat freely as you rotate between clawing at the sheets and pulling at his hair.

“All for you Daddy,” you choke out, trying not to devolve into a complete mess just yet.

He smirks up at you, enjoying the pathetic lilt in your voice. His thumb rubs your clit in quick strokes now while his mouth takes a quick break to speak. 

“That’s right, baby. All for Daddy,” he repeats, words coming out slow like you’d struggle to understand if he spoke too fast, “All mine whenever I want it. Isn’t that right?”

“Mhm, whenever you want,” you babble back.

“My smart girl,” he teases before returning to licking your cunt.

The room is vibrating to you. You’re so high in the clouds you can’t register anything in your mind that isn’t him. You vaguely feel him working two fingers inside you again as his lips wrap around your clit and suck on it in a way that causes you to shriek.

He laughs and continues on, holding your body in place as it jerks and seizes under his touch.

“Good girl, babydoll. Cum all over Daddy’s face. You deserve it,” he encourages you.

You keep cumming. Your slick coats his chin and mouth, and he laps up every drop that he can. He pleasures you through the high. Once he’s worked you over the edge, and he can tell you’re coming down, he pulls off.

“My favorite sound in the whole world. Those pretty noises you make while you let go for me,” he murmurs as he crawls back on top of you. He nuzzles your neck, leaving some kisses on the skin in the wake of your powerful release.

“You know that normally, I’d keep going, but I think we both wanna get to the next thing. Want me to breed that sweet pussy till I’m firing blanks,” he says.

He finishes pulling his shirt off and removes the clothing from his lower body quickly. He’s back on top of you before you even register he was gone. Lazily stroking his cock, he slides it between your folds, gently fitting up against you.

“My little doll ready?” he whispers.

You hook your arms around his neck and nod. He can tell by your languid movements that you’re almost loopy off your release.

“Yeah you are. My perfect girl,” he whispers as he slides in, sheathing himself in the warmth of your pussy.

He grunts and tightens his hold on you as he sinks all the way in with no resistance. Your walls flutter around him, already beginning to charge up the hot coils in his belly.

“Swear you were made for me,” he mumbles into your neck, “Pussy made for me to fuck full. Precious little face made for me to kiss.”

“Mhm,” you hum absentmindedly. You hook your legs around his waist, locking his hips against yours as he starts to grind himself into your cunt. His pelvis rubs against your sensitive clit while the head of his cock prods all your favorite spots deep inside.

He grunts and groans against your throat. Both of your hot and sticky skin slides against the others. His breath fans across you in hot pants as he starts working his hips a little harder, rocking in and out.

“Everything about you is all for me. My perfect doll. My good girl. My gorgeous fucking wife,” he growls.

You nod eagerly as you pull him closer. His hips smack against yours repeatedly, his heavy balls clapping against you with each thrust. Your breaths are shaky. It feels like you're headed towards another release with no ability to hold it off or stop it. You whine for him and squeeze around his length. So fucking tight, he actually whimpers to stop himself from blowing his load.

After a while more, he knows it’s imminent for both of you. He keeps pistoning his hips, rutting deep inside you while kissing you and capturing those sweet little sounds in his mouth.

“You there, babydoll? Gonna cum again for me?” he asks quietly, watching for the nod he knew you’d respond with. Once he sees it, he works a little harder, bringing you to the peak. “Yeah? You ready for Daddy to cum too? I know you are.”

With his voice rasping in your ear, his cock drilling deep inside you, it only takes one more thrust of his hips for you to reach the brink. You spill over into your second release. Your hips buck, and your chest heaves as the second round of ecstasy zips through you.

He hums as you contract around his shaft, clenching and drawing him in further, as if you’re crying out for him to give you his cum already. His cock twitches inside of you as he gasps and erratically fucks it into you. His entire body weight is pressing you down into the mattress as he lets go and gives up on not crushing you beneath him. It only added to the pleasure though. It was the closest you’d ever felt, and not only because his cock was bumping your cervix every couple seconds.

Soon enough, he’s spilled all that he can into you. He remains on top of you though, keeping you right where you should be. His arms snake under your body and the shift causes you to whimper since he still hadn’t pulled out. He holds you to him like you really were his dolly, peppering kisses along the side of your face and dragging his nose against your head.

“So good for me, like always,” he mumbles.

You reciprocate the affection with a few lazy kisses of your own. Your arms rest around him with no actual grip, simply just a way to show you return the sentiments.

The two of you just lay there like that for a little while, taking in each other, enjoying the peace that comes with release. You break the silence soon enough with a whisper.

“Think this has been my best birthday yet.”

He smiles and smooches you a few more times. “You deserve it, baby.”

“Thank you for making it perfect for me,” you say and tighten your limbs around him.

“Mhm,” he hums like it’s nothing. He then pulls back a little and looks down at you. “I don’t know why you’re talking like it’s over though, sweetheart. There’s still a few hours left of your actual birthday, and even then, I’m not gonna let some numbers stop me from fucking my gorgeous wife.”

You return the smile and pull him into a few more pecks.

“And I wasn’t lying, we’re going until I’m absolutely certain you’re knocked up,” he murmurs as he rocks his hips against you again, drawing a soft whimper from your throat, “And you know how precise I am. Probably shouldn’t make any plans for tomorrow, actually, probably need the whole weekend too.” He looks at you with a cocky smile before continuing the roll of his hips.

[strang3lov3]

My Treat

Roman has a very special present to give you on your birthday, whether you want it or not.

Tags - dddne, noncon, face fucking, fingering, unprotected piv, rough sex, creampie, overstim, forced orgasms, degradation, mocking, intox kink (drunk reader/sober Roman), dacryphilia, manipulation, coercion, victim blaming, whooo boy. Roman’s gonna have some tender moments, but don’t be fooled. He’s a fuck and a half. Maybe even dark!roman? Excessive use of the nickname ‘birthday girl’ and too many dick in a box references. 4.4k words A/N - HAPPY BIRTHDAY @cum-a-calla !!!! You know much I love you and your work. Meeting you has been a highlight of my 2024!! I love you and I hope this nasty Roman scratches alllllll the itches. It had a tentative start but I’m really pleased with how this turned out 🩷 i tagged my usual roman readers but no pressure to read if noncon is not your thing, i will see you next time! @endlessthxxghts, you know what you did. thank you for your eyeballs and for holding my hand through it♡

9:27 and Roman’s still not yet graced his office with his less than illustrious presence. Not that you really mind, as his lateness gives you time to get work done without his hovering, his mocking comments and juvenile jokes at your expense, his nitpicking. With your morning work completed, you rest on his uninviting, scratchy office couch and inspect your manicure, freshly done for the occasion. 

Then, the doorknob rattles, jerking you from your peace and in comes Roman all self-assured and weirdly confident, his pelvis leading his awkwardly long strides. He spots you immediately, smiles with crinkling eyes and those little dimples appearing on his cheeks. He’s got a bubblegum pink pastry box in one hand and a cardboard drink carrier with coffee cups balanced neatly on top of it.“Hey, hey, birthday girl!”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “I didn’t tell you it was my birthday.”

Roman smirks mischievously, that infuriatingly smug tilt to his lips. “I have my sources,” he replies cooly, setting down the items on his desk. With flourish, Roman opens the pastry box and pulls one of the drinks out of the carrier, the one drowning in chocolate swirls and topped with more whipped cream than there is coffee in the beverage. “For you.” He holds the drink out for you to take. “I believe this is your Frankenstein coffee-shake-thing.” 

“You know my order?”

Roman scoffs and rolls his eyes for maximum effect. “Yeah, I know your order. Cookies and cake and ice cream all blended up with just enough coffee to pretend you’re a big girl. It’s just fuckin’ liquefied dessert, am I right?”

You take the drink from him and take a sip, humming at the sweetness as it hits your tongue. “Close enough,” you joke, and Roman pumps his arm in excitement, the satisfaction in his eyes. Digging through the trash days ago to copy the scribbled order on your old, empty cup was disgusting, sure. But worth it to see that pretty smile of yours. 

Roman beckons you to his desk with a curl of his finger. Excitedly, you make your way over and inspect the box of pastries he’s brought. Four oversized cupcakes, absolutely dripping in frosting. They’re from that bakery you’re obsessed with—the one you’ve maybe mentioned in passing once, because Roman really doesn’t do thoughtful. Or so you thought. It was obnoxiously out of his way, of course, but you deserve it. 

“Uhhh…” Roman points to the cupcakes, “That’s carrot cake, and then chocolate, obviously. Strawberry shortcake and birthday cake. But I call dibs on the birthday cake.”

“But it’s my birthday.” 

“Do you think I give a shit? I mean, I do. A little. Got you a present and everything.”

You perk up at that, eyes widening as you reach for the chocolate cupcake. “Yeah?” you ask, “What is it?”

“My dick in a box. What else would I get you?” he grins shamelessly. 

Roman watches you laugh as you suck a bit of frosting off of your fingertip. His cock twitches in his pants and he bites down on his lip, eyeing you up and down. He reaches into the pink box for his birthday cake cupcake and takes a bite. “Mm. Fucking delicious,” he mumbles, mouth full. “So what’s the plan, huh? How’s the birthday girl living it up tonight?”

“Uhm,” you hum, pulling back a little bit of the cupcake’s wrapper to take another bite. “The usual. Working for you, then going home.”

“Seriously?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

“That’s your plan,” he deadpans.

“Yeah,” you say again, shrugging.

Roman shakes his head, disbelief painted all over his face. “No. You’re celebrating. Properly,” he adds with a pointed look, as if daring you to argue with him. Which, of course, you do. 

“Oh, I don’t think so, Roman. What’s there to even celebrate? Do birthdays even matter past turning 21?”

“Yeah, of course they do. And what’s there to celebrate?” Roman parrots your question, pausing to eat another bite of his cupcake. “Oh, I don’t know. The fact that you’re alive,” he answers, smirking as you roll your eyes. “And hot,” he adds. 

You press your lips to hide your smile. “Yeah, see? You know I’m right. So here’s the deal: you, my dear, are going out tonight and you’re getting shitfaced.” 

“Rome-”

“Non-negotiable,” he winks, and it sends a flutter through your stomach. His charm convinces you, almost. Almost. 

“Mmmmaybe,” you hum, tilting your head. “With who, though?”

“With this handsome devil, obviously,” Roman says, pointing to his face and swirling his finger around in a circle. “What other sucker likes you enough to take you out on a pity-date for your birthday?”

“Wow. Gee, thanks, Roman. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Well, you know. It’s my specialty,” Roman says, reaching for your face. 

Your eyes widen as his hand makes contact, thumb swiping across the corner of your lips to collect a bit of chocolate frosting. “What–”

Roman smiles at you and sucks his finger, “It’s my treat,” he tells you, voice dropping a notch, mischief written all over his stupid grin. How flustered and bashful you are. Too fucking easy. 

The sun dips below the horizon, painting Roman’s office in warm shades of pink and orange as he closes down the tabs on his computer. Not that he was really doing anything, anyway. Just Connections and Wordle, and he sucks at both, but still plays them religiously. He’s gotta learn to beat you somehow and unfortunately, he can’t cheat very well at those games. Roman sighs loudly and dramatically, running his fingers through his hair before he stands up and stretches like he’s done real work. “C’mon, birthday girl. Off we go.” 

You glance up from your phone, startled. “Wait, now? I need to go home and change. I’m not wearing, like, going-out clothes.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Roman groans, throwing his head back. “You’re hot. You’re always hot,” he says, slipping into his jacket. He grabs yours off the coat hanger and holds it open, motioning for you to come over and slide your arms into the sleeves. Roman takes your purse and continues, “So hot, in fact, that I’m gonna give you my dick in a box for your birthday.” 

“Creep.” You zip up your jacket and turn around, snatching your bag back from Roman. “Stop making that joke. You’re a walking lawsuit.” 

“Mm, thanks, but it’s not a joke,” he mutters, straightening out the front of your jacket. “I’m as serious as a heart attack. I put a bow on it and everything.”

“Sure, Roman.” 

Roman holds the door open for you, mumbles “Ladies first,” and hits the lights on his way out. He follows you to the elevator and takes it to the garage level where a black car waits for you, vapor spilling from its exhaust. Roman plays the gentleman act well, swinging the car’s back door open for you, too. He gives his driver the name of some bar he thinks you’d like, and you’re on your way. It’s not a long drive, but he pours you a glass of champagne anyway. 

“Roman-”

“You gotta get wasted. Don’t fight the birthday rules. And,” he adds, pouring himself a glass, “This is the good shit, too.” 

Cautiously, you take a sip of your champagne. Before you can even put your glass down, Roman’s topping it off.

“See? Fancy bubbles.”

“Mhm.” 

By the time you reach the bar, you’re already buzzed. Warm, giggly. Just how Roman wants you, and he’s eating it up. He ushers you inside and straight to a private corner booth, then orders you appetizers of all varieties. The food keeps coming, and so do the drinks - Roman never lets you have an empty glass and keeps your attention entirely on him.

And then, it happens - the moment he’s been working towards all night. His hand lands on your thigh under the table, and it rests there with a casual confidence. And you don’t move it, either. Your inhibitions are lowered enough to the point that there’s no polite brush off, no shy smile as you timidly wrap your fingers around his wrist to kindly shove him away. You don’t even flinch. Fuck, do you even notice?

He lets you talk his ear off. Whether he knows what you’re talking about or not, he’s nodding along, pretending to listen intently to you. Throwing in the occasional hum of interest to really sell it. And you’re smiling, cheeks are warm as you slur your words, telling him all about this and that and the other as you launch into another tangent. Something about your neighbor or your fucking cat or whatever. Roman doesn’t give a shit. He snaps his fingers at the server and points to your drink.

You take a sip from your glass, then lazily toy with the melting ice in your glass with your stirrer. “Well,” you announce, a little hiccup breaking your sentence, “I think I’m wasted.” 

“Are you, now?” Roman’s grin stretches wide. 

“Pretty sure.” 

Roman smiles and claps his hands together once. “Well, there we go. My work here is done, birthday girl. Thanks for humoring the boss. You’re a real, you know - team player, or whatever the fuck HR would call it. A good sport.”

You laugh at him, and Roman’s already sliding out of the booth and waving down the check. “Shall I take you home?” 

“I haven’t-” you hiccup again, “Haven’t finished my drink.” 

Roman waves dismissively. “Meh. Take it with, who gives a shit. Call it your fuckin’ party favor.” 

Giggling excitedly, you slide out of the booth and Roman wraps your jacket around your shoulders, his hands warm against your flesh. You stumble a bit when you begin walking, like the floor is crooked or something, sloshing your drink onto him. “Shit, m’sorry, Rome.” Those first drunk steps always hit you hard.  

“You’re fine. I got you.” Roman wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes you tight, tapping his fingers against your back in a way that’s equal parts soothing and impatient. Just like before, he helps you into the car, hands steadying your wobbling frame. 

The ride is a blur. As the vehicle moves, the motion relaxes you, lulls you into a haze. You’re resting against his shoulder, which is your own doing. He didn’t have to wrap an arm around you and tuck you into his side or anything. 

Your breathing slows, and your eyes are fluttering shut. Roman notices immediately. Awake. Roman needs you awake. “Hey,” he mutters, patting your cheek lightly to jolt you into semi-alertness. “Eyes open. You’re not clocking out on me yet, need to finish that drink, yeah?”

“M’dunno,” you mumble. “Kinda-”

Roman takes the drink out of your hand and brings it to your lips, encouraging you to drink the rest. “Yeah, no. You do know. Drink up,” he tells you, tone flat. “Waste not, want not.” 

You take a few more sips, not counting them, though Roman sure as hell is. He makes sure you drink it all, every last drop. He needs you completely intoxicated. Absolutely fucked. 

The car pulls up to the building, and Roman’s out before the driver can even shift into park. He’s got a hand on your arm, moving you forward. The world tilts again, but he’s there, patiently guiding you to the elevator. Your eyelids are fighting a losing battle by the time you’ve reached the top floor, and Roman guides you inside and turns on the light. 

“Wait- wait a second,” you mumble, eyes adjusting to the light as you take in your surroundings.

Roman gives you a look and raises an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“This isn’t my home.” 

“Yeah, no shit. You’re in my home,” he replies. Roman watches the gears turn, your brows are knit together and you wear a pout as that first little bit of uneasiness sets in. “Doesn’t really matter though, does it? You’re at a home, y’know. Still a roof over your head. I can’t just leave your drunk ass alone somewhere.”

“I guess,” you mumble, blinking slowly. “Can I uh, can I have some water?”

“You’re not thirsty,” Roman cuts in, voice clipped. “You’re just tired. C’mon, let’s get you into bed, yeah? Bedtime for the birthday girl. She partied too hard.”

Roman takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom, his grip more steering than guiding. Everything’s still spinning in dizzying circles, but there’s an added layer of…of something. You can’t name it yet, but it’s there. That strange feeling in your gut, the itch in your chest. You’re nervous. Why do you feel nervous? 

Roman locks the door behind himself and sits you down on the edge of his neatly made king-sized bed that smells like laundry detergent and himself, then kneels in front of you to pull off your shoes one at a time. The casualness of it all, the intimacy of his fingers brushing against your skin. It makes your skin prickle. Roman stands up again to undress you, unbuttoning your blouse and tugging on the zipper at the side of your pencil skirt. “Get this off next,” he mumbles, pulling it down.

“Roman…”

He cuts you off with a dismissive shh as the fingers of one hand work the buttons undone on his shirt, then shrugs it off his shoulders and leaves it crumpled on the ground.

“Rome, stop- what is this? What are you doing?” The quiver in your voice and the slur to your words betrays you. You tried to sound firm.

“Giving you your last gift,” he says casually, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Duh. It’s my dick in a box, remember? I man-scaped for you and everything.”

He’s not being serious, right? There’s no way. “Pretty small package,” you joke, trying to ease some of the tension you feel. It doesn’t do much.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, and his eyes are dark. “Good things come in small packages, so fuck you.” 

You’re not sure how to respond. “Right,” is all you murmur. You manage to crack half a smile, laughing without much humor. “I guess I just - fuck, I really want that water, Roman,” you complain, pressing your hand against your forehead. You feel lightheaded, fuck. 

Roman doesn’t flinch or show any of that manufactured tenderness from earlier. “Yeah, I know. Everything, everything, everything. You’ll get it when you get it, okay? Relax.”

You groan quietly, rocking on the bed. “I guess I just don’t get the joke,” you say, changing the subject. “Like, how is your dick supposed to be a present for me?”

Roman scoffs. “How isn’t it?” he says. “It’s thoughtful. Wrapped nicely and everything. It’s all about the presentation, you know?”

“Umm…sure.”

As a silence hangs, you gather your strength and concentration to get up - you need water. Advil. Coffee. You’re ready to be done being drunk, ready to feel in control of yourself again. Roman’s drunk, too - has to be, even if he doesn’t totally seem it. He’s not slurring his words, his eyes aren’t droopy or red, he’s…unnervingly him. You hope to god he won’t remember this. You hope you won’t, either. You try to stand up, but Roman sits you back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“W-”

“Water, I know,” he snaps.  He tilts his head back and groans as he rubs his bulge, cock hardening beneath his touch. Your mouth drops open as he sucks in his belly and reaches for the button of his slacks, then unzips them. “So I lied, birthday girl. It’s not in a box, but-”

“Stop. This isn’t a funny joke. I don’t want this, Roman.”

“It’s a gift.”  

“But I don’t want-” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t - don’t fuckin’ be like that,” he snaps, sliding his pants down his legs until he’s clad in only his navy boxer briefs. “What do you say when I do something nice for you, huh? What do you say?”

“St-”

“Wrong. You say thank you. Say ‘thank you, Roman’.” 

Roman waits with both of his brows raised, but you never thank him. And something changes then. He’s always had an ugly streak, but this is different. There’s something sinister, almost, like a mask has slipped, exposing something awful that’s been festering beneath the surface. The crumbled facade. Your heart pounds so hard in your chest that you feel it in your throat. 

“You’re being kinda rude,” Roman says with a wave of his hands. “Like, really rude, actually. This whole night, I did it all for you.”

“And I can appreciate that, Roman, I do appreciate that. But I said-”

Roman crushes his palm against your lips, not allowing you to complete that sentence. “I have ears,” he bites, reaching under his briefs to pull out his cock, now at full mast. He moves the hand that’s on your lips to your shoulder and forces you down so that you’re kneeling on the floor, pinned between his body and his bed. Nowhere to run. 

He’s quick in how he does it, or maybe it’s the alcohol that’s fucked up how you process reality. Roman shoves his cock past your lips, harshly hitting the back of your throat so that you gag and choke. Tears blur your vision, though you can’t distinguish whether it’s from the pain or the rising fear. You reach for Roman’s torso and hit him as hard as you can, but he doesn’t stumble. Instead, he simply pouts at you. He takes both of your wrists in his hand and begins rocking his hips. 

“Oh, perfect - the fucking waterworks,” Roman mutters, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as his thumb brushes away the tears streaking down your face. He tilts his head, studying you with that sharp, calculating gaze, like he’s cataloging every tremble and shudder, filing it away for later. “Always so dramatic, aren’t you, sweetheart? I have to give credit where credit’s due, though. Oscar-worthy performance. Truly.”

Roman pauses, his smirk tightening, the false gentleness in his touch a sharp contrast to his words. “You know,” he adds, voice low and biting, “maybe if you’d been a little less… I don’t know, yourself - kinder, sweeter, less of a goddamn buzzkill - I wouldn’t make you choke on it. Just a thought.”

Roman’s cock tastes salty, slightly sweaty, and you’re disgusted that you kind of like it. The smell of him, too, that musky and heady sort of scent. Still holding your hands above your head, Roman squeezes your wrists hard enough so that your bones grind against each other. There’s a pinching, aching pain between your shoulders as Roman fucks into your mouth, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat with each thrust.

You’re growing aroused despite yourself. You can feel yourself dripping into your panties, the dampness making you feel sick. Roman slides in and out of your mouth with abandon, zero regard for your comfort.   

He draws out of your mouth entirely, biting his lip as he admires the sticky, shiny mess of your saliva and tears on his cock. You attempt to pull away, but with a tug of his hand, Roman holds you exactly where he wants you. “I don’t think so, birthday girl. Where the fuck do you think you’re off to?”

Roman thrusts into your mouth harshly once more. There’s no gentleness to it at all, just raw fucking ferocity. He ruts into your mouth so fiercely, turning you into a drooling, crying, choking mess. The tears rolling down your cheeks - god, he loves them. It fills him with a unique sort of confidence. Power. 

“Cry all you want,” he taunts. Your lips are sore with the repeated motion of his cock drawing back and forth between your lips, jaw throbbing, nose rubbed raw from the coarse thatch of his trimmed pubic hair. Roman continues to roll his hips, relishing in your warm, wet mouth and the way your sobbing makes your throat tighten around him. With your forehead bouncing against his stomach, you squirm and whine in discomfort as he uses you. The brutality. You’re at your breaking point when finally, finally you feel Roman begin to twitch and pulse in your mouth, and you brace yourself for his release.  

Instead, he pulls out. 

That’s it? Is that it? Is it over? You think it’s over. Maybe - god willing - he had a change of heart. 

“Th-thank you, Roman,” you whisper, voice wobbling. That’s what he wanted, right? A thank you?

“Oh, now you remember your manners,” Roman mocks. “How convenient. Too fucking late, birthday girl, ‘cause now this is really my treat.”

Roman forces you to your feet and pushes you onto your back, then climbs over you. He pins your arms above your head in one hand and with the other, reaches between your thighs and pulls your panties to the side. His fingers glide through the pool of arousal at your core, effortlessly slipping through your folds. 

“Please get off of me,” you whimper. “Stop.” 

“Why would I stop? You’re fucking soaked,” he says. “And I bet when I do this-” Roman purrs, pushing his ring and middle fingers into your slick cunt, “-you’ll get wetter. Won’t you?” 

He curls his fingers repeatedly, expertly stroking that sensitive spot inside you. The pleasure makes you cry harder. God, you just want it to be over. If you weren’t so drunk you could probably get out from under him. But your limbs are heavy and uncoordinated, your head is spinning. If you managed to leave, he’d drag you right back to his bed. 

“Shh, do you fucking hear that? Listen to yourself.” Roman covers your mouth to quiet your cries, and you hiccup beneath his palm. He goes quiet too, the only sounds in the room being his heavy breathing and the wet, sticky noises your pussy makes as he fucks you with his fingers. “Sounds to me like you fucking want this.” 

With his hand still on your mouth, Roman uses the other to stroke his cock. Your panties are still tugged to the side when he enters you, one brutal, violent thrust that has him groaning and you wincing in pain. 

Roman lowers his head and bites into your shoulder as he fucks you, rolling his hips over and over into you. You wish it didn’t feel as good as it does. You wish you weren’t so wet, so complicit. That’s what you are, aren’t you? Complicit in this?

“Give me your fucking hand,” Roman pants, taking one of your hands and wedging it between your two bodies. “Goes right here,” he mumbles, pressing your fingertips against your clit. “The quicker you come, the quicker it’s over,” he whispers. 

You nod under his hand, closing your eyes as your fingers circle your clit. If you pretend that Roman’s not here - or, even if he is - that it’s not happening like this, you can do it. As you rub yourself, you do your best to detach from everything going on. It’s just Roman on top of you, Roman inside of you. A body on a body, a body part in a body part. Nothing else. That pleasure deep in your gut is just pleasure, a sensation and nothing more. Dreading your release, you moan under Roman’s palm to coax release along and there it is - your orgasm. 

How deliciously you pulse around Roman’s cock. How needy your moans are, and what’s that you’re doing with your legs, wrapping them tightly around his waist? Roman grins and licks your neck. “Yeah, that’s on you, isn’t it?” he taunts. “Whose fault is that?”

“M-mine,” you cry. 

“That’s right,” he says, kissing your neck. “Now do it again. C’mon, birthday girl, give me another.” You cry harder, shaking your head no. “Come on! It’s your special day. Treat yourself and come for me one more time.” 

“I can’t,” you sob, voice muffled by Roman’s hand over your mouth. He gives you a look. If you do as he asks, it’ll all work out better for you. He knows it and you know it. 

“God, you’re a mess. Your fuckin’ snot’s all over my hand,” he spits, wiping his hand on your torso, then builds the pace again. “One more,” he reminds you, kissing your tear-soaked cheek. “Fuck, you take it so well, honey. Like you’re made for this.” 

Roman repeats his words and a variety of other praises, insults, and swears as he fucks you deeply. He’s got you pressed in half, your knees on either side of your chest as your hips ache in the position. The angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh how he knows what it does to you. Poor fucking thing. Tired, sore, drunk, overstimulated. Partied too hard. 

You don’t even have to rub your clit - the way Roman’s got himself angled has his body doing all the work, pubic bone adding the necessary pressure against your clit to make you come. You can’t quite identify your orgasm as it begins to build; no definitive start, but when it’s there, it ruins you. Washes over your body in waves, devastating you. Your climax coaxes Roman’s own, though you hardly register his pulsing cock as he spurts thick ropes of his spend inside you. 

Roman pulls out of you then, leaving you with an empty feeling as his come seeps from your cunt. He leaves the room and the tears have stopped, but an occasional sob wracks your body every few seconds. He returns to you with a big glass of water, ice and straw and everything. Your trembling hands can’t hold it so Roman does instead, guiding the straw to your lips. 

If you enjoyed, please lmk! Hop in my inbox or reblog with some kind thoughts 🩷 it means the world to me.

roman tags <3

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[admirationandromantics]

Chocolates

Fucking hell, the way I had to take several breaks from this. Most intense writing I think I've done. Anyway, this was also a request (plus a little creative freedom from me), so hope you like it. Also think this is kinda intense, so I'll have warnings. Everyone should already know my blog is 18++ also.

Warnings: drugging (kinda), fingering, penetration, p in v, unprotected, pleading, teasing, edging, heavy buildup, overstimulation (fr), blowjob.

I think that's it, at least I hope. Don't stop sending requests! I promise, I see them, but it takes some time to write these things <3

Word count: 3,6k (Unedited)

I put the warm drinks on the table, taking the controller and turning on the tv. Josh and I were going to have a movie night, the last get-together before christmas. Sadly, everyone else left early to go home, and the only ones still on campus were us. I didn’t mind though, usually enjoying his company the most. Except for when he jumps me or pranks me, that little shit. The little love I have for him immediately fades, and I feel nothing but contempt for at least five minutes. His warm behaviour usually fixes my temper. 

“What do you want to watch?” I shout to the kitchen, scrolling though several. 

“A Christmas one!” 

I move to the Christmas category, unsure about what to pick. I could put on a sappy romance, a scary one or something like that. I decide to take the romantic one. He’ll hate it, considering his specific taste in movies. I turn it on, pausing while waiting for him to join me on the couch. 

“And here we are” he exclaims, walking over and putting a bowl of candy in front of us. It’s filled with a variety, chocolate, gummies, and sour jellies. I am quick to grab one on the top, putting it in my mouth. The sourness gets to me, and I have to fight a grimace from appearing. 

“What are we watching?” he sits down beside me, arm going over the back of the couch. 

“Something great” I smile, unpausing it and letting it roll. The movie name appears, and he sighs. 

“Really? This crap?” 

“Shut up Washington, you could’ve picked it you were here”

“I was in the other room!” 

“Shhh, pay attention” I put my finger in front of his lips, eyes still plastered on the screen. This is a great movie after all. A sudden sharpness is felt on my hand, and I jolt at the sensation. To my left, Josh bit my finger, his tongue gracing over it slightly. I pull it away, drying it on his sweater. 

“You’re disgusting” He only laughs, that playful smile on his lips. 

“Not as disgusting as this movie’s gonna be” I roll my eyes at his remark. 

“Have you seen it before?” 

“No” 

My mouth opens wide in surprise. How dare he judge before even having seen it. I shake my head, looking back on the screen and urging him to do the same. I take the bowl of candy, placing it on his lap for easy access, without having the responsibility of keeping it steady. 

During the film, I occasionally look over at him, and he’s always paying attention to it. He likes it, I know. I can’t help the smile that creeps on my face. I move closer, head resting on his chest as we continue watching. 

“Chocolate?” he asks, one arm going around my body. I open my mouth in response, and he takes one out of the bowl, putting it in my mouth. This is not unusual for us, normally being close and touchy. I guess that’s the type of person he is. Maybe it grounds him, or makes him feel secure. I suck and bite, swallowing the piece of candy not long after. It tastes weird, and I take a normal gummy to get rid of the flavour. 

As we keep going, he often feeds me small pieces of chocolate, and I let him. I know he brought it, and it was some expensive shit he bought a while ago. I don’t want to be ungrateful, so I keep swallowing them. 

Twenty minutes go by, and I feel my body heating up, chest heaving a bit. I look around, wondering what happened to the temperature. 

“You good?” he asks, looking over at me. 

“Um, yeah. Is it hot in here?” 

“No, we opened the windows before the movie” 

I nod in response, trying to ignore the warm feelings creeping through my body. Another ten minutes go by, and I feel crazy. I refuse to believe that a small room with an open window can be this warm in the middle of winter. Do I have a fever? Am I sick? 

I suddenly feel very aware of his hand on my arm. Thumb rubbing regularly up and down. A shiver runs through me, thinking about the other things his finger might do. This is not an unusual thought, but I’ve never gotten so worked up so quickly from it. My heat aches for stimulation, and I press my legs together instinctively. Don’t start rubbing, don’t start rubbing. You’re literally laying on top of him for goodness sake, I keep chanting to myself. My breath quickens, and I try to stabilise it, now wanting him to see me like this. Why am I getting so incredibly worked up? 

His hand suddenly grabs my arm hard, letting go as quickly as he squeezed. I let out an uncontrollable gasp, my hand racing to my mouth to stop any other sounds from coming out. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine” 

“You got a sore spot here or something? So sorry” he apologies, arm going further down, stopping on my waist. Shit, I should've kept my mouth shut. Every part of me feels like a sore spot, each caress and small movement making me leak. God, there was definitely going to be water damage on the sofa if he kept touching me. 

The worst part is that he isn’t even touching me inappropriately, hand just resting on the side of my waist. His fingers trace the hem of my shirt, sliding a little under it, touching my bare skin. He’s caressing me, skin to skin. God how I want him to continue. 

This is not normal. Feeling these feelings so intensely as I am right now. How did it come to this? Have I been touch-deprived, sex-starved? I pleasure myself regularly, so I don’t know why this sudden wave has come over me. I can only think of one thing to do. 

“I-I have to go to the bathroom” I whisper, feeling cripplingly erotic and needy. It feels like a thirst I’m unable to clench, like I’m about to come at any given moment. I try to stand up, feeling my legs almost give out. This was not gonna be easy. I walk, but am stopped by a hand holding mine. 

“The movie is almost over, can’t you wait a bit?” he smiles. It’s kind of guilty, but I don’t react to it. Instead wondering how his lips feel on my-

“Okay, sure” 

I sit back down, now beside him and not on top. Maybe this’ll help. Before I’m able to calm down, his hand moves under my thigh, dragging my legs over him, causing my back to hit the couch. Fuck. I’ve never been so turned on in my life, imagining him slamming me down, slowly moving from my legs and up. 

His hand graces up and down my thigh in a rhythmic motion, each slide giving me goosebumps and getting me wetter. I kill a couple of whimpers trying to escape my mouth, biting my lips to stop a loud gasp. 

I haven’t paid attention to the movie, my eyes are either on him, imagining filthy things, or closed, trying to regulate my breathing and sounds. He keeps eating from the bowl, but never the chocolate, only the other candies. He loves chocolate, why isn’t he eating? Has he done something to it? Like that time I tasted a clump of cayenne pepper in my popcorn. 

“Eat the chocolate” I order him, and his face shifts to me. He smirks, knowing that I’ve figured something out. 

“Why?” 

“Because you’ve done something to it” 

“No I haven’t” 

“If you haven’t, then eat it” 

He still keeps his smirk intact, holding eye contact while taking a piece and putting it in his mouth. I feel confusion wash over me, adding another feeling to the bothering emotional mess I am right now. If he ate it, he didn’t do anything to it. 

“There you go, would you like me to eat another one princess?” he teases, hand moving from the outside of my thigh to between them, making me smack them shut on him. The nickname, the eye contact, smirk, teasing and his movements. My hand flies to my mouth, looking away as I try to contain my sounds. 

“Struggling a bit?” 

I look over at him again. He knows what he’s done, and I know it too. His teasing nature and playful expression. He’s loving this. 

“You fucking -ahh!” his hand moves lower, fingertips grabbing my flesh, leading me to stop mid sentence. 

“Careful, you seem a bit worked up” 

“No shit Josh!” I yell, becoming a hot mess. He laughs in response, taking another chocolate and putting it in his mouth, tongue going a little out of his mouth to catch the thin slice. 

“What the hell Josh!” 

“What?” he acts innocent, trying to hold his laugh. 

“Why did you do this to me, I thought I was going crazy”

“Aren’t you usually?”

“Josh!” 

“Okay, okay, just wanted to see if they worked and didn’t want to placebo myself, so I had to try another method”

“And that was me?” 

“Damn right” 

“Jesus Christ” 

He starts laughing, fingers still gracing up and down my legs, making me bite my lips. No way this man was gonna get any more satisfaction out of me. 

“It was worth it”

“Worth it?”

“Seeing you squirming under me the whole time, struggling to keep quiet. Every little touch, even the ones I didn’t mean to give gave such grand reactions” 

“God I hate you”

“Do you really?” 

“Ye- fuck!” his hand moves over to my heat, tender touches in a teasing manner. My hips automatically jolt, pulling myself closer to him. 

“Fucking hell, you’re desperate for me” 

“Don’t you have anything to wear off the effects of this thing?” I plead, my body turning to putty from his touches. 

“I mean, no, we could fuck it out but-” 

“Yes do that” 

His expression changes to surprise as I keep squirming, desperate for some type of release or friction. I could literally come from a single touch right now, so close to the edge. 

“Nah” he shrugs, throwing my legs off him and taking another piece of chocolate. 

“What?”

“You’re desperate, you don’t know what you want” 

“I swear to god Josh, if you don’t-”

“What are you gonna do? Your body is so tensed up right now that you can barely take a step” he crosses his arms, biting his lip slightly. 

“Josh, please” 

“No” 

“Fucking hell” I gasp, throwing my head back to contain myself. He looks over at my pathetic mess of a girl. 

“I mean, I guess it would be different if you did it with someone you’ve actually wanted for some time” 

He knows something, he must know something. Why else would he pine me like this, trying to get a confession out of me. I have to give out, my body needy and pining. I sit up, placing myself on his lap so we’re face to face. He only smirks in response. Of course he knows, I haven’t exactly tried to hide my feelings. 

“What?” 

“You know what” I state, closing the distance and kissing him. He returns it, hands going to my upper thighs, getting me to grind on his already hard boner. His face pulls away, already a breathing mess. 

“I want you to tell me, tell me you love me” 

I lean forwards, barely touching our lips. 

“I love you Josh” 

His hand moves to the back of my neck, pulling me into him in a sloppy kiss. He gets rougher, teeth biting down on my lower lip. My arms go around him, tugging at his sweater from behind. He leans forward, letting me pull it off and throw it on the floor. He does the same to me, not even looking at my bra before clasping it off as well. He’s not in his right mind, eyes glossy and lustful. Is this how I’ve been looking the entire evening? He goes straight for the kill, kissing and biting my collar and chest, taking my boob and leaving dark marks all over. 

None of us can control the sounds we make, the room filling up with groans, whimpers and moans. He tries to take my pants off, and I sit up so they make it down to my knees. I pull them off the rest of the way, leaving them with our tops. His hand goes down to my heat, feeling the soaked panties. 

“Christ, you’re wet” 

“I’ve been trying to tell you” 

“Something has to be done then” 

He moves the fabric to the side, fingers gracing my folds all the way up to my clit. My breath hitches, and I push myself against him. A small snicker leaves his lips as my head rests on his shoulders. My hips buckle, trying to take advantage of his fingers. 

“I want to see you” he whispers in my ear, his other hand pushing me back down on his lap, face to face. He inserts two of his fingers, fascinated by my blushing mess of an expression and sounds. I start moving, trying to get more out of him, and he smirks at my attempt. My hand flies down to do it myself, but he’s too quick, grabbing my wrist and placing my hand on his shoulder. He loves this, having full control when I’m not even able to control myself. His fingers start pumping in and out, thumb rubbing my clit at the same time. How does he do it? How is he so good at this? The tightened knot in my stomach finally pulls, and I come all over him, only feeling ecstasy for a small moment before a new tension starts building up. 

“Already ready for more? This is gonna be a long night” 

“Shut up and do your thing Josh” 

“Harsh words coming from you when you’re at my mercy” 

“Wait for the chocolate to hit and let’s see how you feel then” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll keep going” His fingers continue their attack, the other hand pushing my body against him, giving him access to my neck. He moves away the stray hairs, and starts kissing my collar. Wet and weak ones, some barely touching. I cry out as I come again, euphoria and dizziness overtaking me. I hold his shoulders firmly, needing to set my balance. He smirks against my skin, keeping his pace and technique, ready to get me going again. 

My body is already tired, but the effects of the chocolate still rushes through my body, making me all hot and bothered again. 

“Come on, you can do it one more time for me” 

His words fuel me, making me wetter and desperate. I need him inside me, I need to feel him. 

“Josh…” I whimper, his fingers working their magic, and stacking a third orgasm on me as I come. He laughs. 

“This is actually awesome” 

“You sound like a child” I say, breathless and sloppy. 

“I’m just fascinated” 

“God I hate you” I whimper, the tension already starting to build up again. How much of this substance did he give me?

“If this is hate then I’m loving it” he smirks, cheeks red and face hot. He’s starting to feel the effects, and I know it. I lower myself on him, pushing down and grinding. His head falls back as he groans, hands flying to my hips, guiding me. I look down, and start messing with his pants, unbuttoning it and gliding down the zipper. He’s hard, making a tent in his boxers. I grab him, earning a small whimper in reply. 

“Cat got your tongue Joshy?” I tease, getting wetter by the way I treat him. Oh, how he was gonna get back. I jump off him, sitting down below the couch and pulling his pants down. I do the same with his boxers, leaving him naked in front of me. I take it in, seeing how beautiful he’s in the dim yellow light. My eyes fly over his toned stomach, each curvation being highlighted by the shine. He’s breathing heavily, heaving almost. I notice the slight twitch of his hand, fingers struggling to stop themselves. He wants to get off, and he’s trying not to. 

I’m not going to be that mean, and I lean forward, grabbing hold of his dick, slowly jerking up and down. He falls back yet again, finally feeling the pleasure he’s been craving. My other hand goes to take off my underwear, sliding the fabric off my feet. I push myself forward, taking a long lick over his shaft, making him let out a choked moan. With my lips at his tip, I take him in, as much as possible. My hand still remains on the base of him, still moving. My head follows the movement, bopping myself up and down as the tip reaches the back of my throat. 

I feel tears in the corners of my eyes, struggling not to fall. I can’t help the sounds coming out of me as I keep up the pace. His hands take hold of my head, forcing it up and down. 

“Yes, yes, just like that” he moans, desperate and needy. I let him work my head, grabbing my hair harshly. My hand wanders to my heat, rubbing and stimulating the area. I look up, his eyes wild and lips wet. He starts twitching in my mouth, letting me know he’s nearing his edge. He stops mid-push, slowly dragging my head off him, making a loud pop-sound. I relax in his hands, feeling his thumb clean off my chin. 

“Get up here” 

I oblige, getting on top of him again and colliding. Our lips lock, tongues fret as we make out. He slowly moves us, leaning my back down on the sofa. My hands wander to the back of his neck pulling him closer. I’ve never wanted someone so close before, needing to feel him all over me, to touch me everywhere, cage me, lay on top of me, just melt into me. His hand grabs my jaw, tilting my face to the side as he leaves kisses down my neck and stomach. He hoists my legs upon his shoulders before taking a lick over my heat. 

“Fuck” 

He keeps going, sucking and stimulating my clit, making me come over his mouth. He doesn’t stop, fingers moving inside me, making me get off and keep the euphoric high I’m drunk on. I get dizzier as he continues, trying to milk me all dry. I come again, throwing my head back and crying out. Tears of pleasure and pain fall down my cheeks, breath hitching and desperate. 

He moves over to me, letting me taste myself on his tongue. He looks satisfied, at least a little. Proud of himself and his accomplishments tonight. I stroke his hair, pushing it out of the way. He’s gorgeous. Breathless, sweaty, horny and beautiful. 

“Are you okay?” 

I smile, nodding in response. “I’ve never felt better” 

He smiles, too tired to keep up his cocky persona. I feel his dick gracing my entrance, begging to be let in. I lean towards him, signalling for him to get into me, to fill me up. He does as told, slowly pushing himself in, my walls surrounding him. It goes easily because of our arousals, juices mixing and spilling. He gets all the way in, and I gasp at his size. He doesn’t waste time, moving quickly, going all the way out before slamming into me again. The window is still open, probably making the whole neighbourhood hear us. His hand moves to my clit, rubbing as he continues moving. 

“Josh…” 

“Yeah, I’m here”

“I’m gonna” 

I cum again, body almost shutting down. I can’t move my arms or legs, the overstimulation and continuous cumming making me sore and exhausted. I tighten around him, not meaning to, and he moans my name. He leans over, kissing me and making us swallow each other's sounds. I come again, legs twitching and core tightening again. Pain and pleasure mix as they run through my spine and up to my head, coming out as yet another scream. 

“You’re doing so well for me” he whispers, voice choked and tired. He was almost done, almost done getting off from being with me, in me. A last deep thrust seals it, and his head falls in the crook of my head as he comes and twitches. 

We’re both breathing heavily, trying to calm our pulse. As the chocolade wears off, I sense how sore I am, how tired and destroyed my whole body is. At the same time, it’s filled with happiness. I’ve had sex with Josh Washington, my Josh, who loves me. 

A kiss on my neck brings me back to reality, and I look down to see that he’s gained his strength back. That was fast. 

“So, did you like the chocolate?” 

“I’m gonna kill you” 

“You can try, but that doesn’t stop the fact that you love me, and just came like… how many times?” 

“Jesus Christ” 

“That’s what I thought” 

His hand moves to caress my stomach, and I suddenly feel really cold. The room is freezing, and I shuffle closer to him, stealing his warmth. 

“Want to take a shower?” 

“If I can walk” I smile, not really knowing how to get up. 

“Luckily, I’ve got arms” he teases, standing up and taking hold of me. 

“I’m still gonna kill you”

“Sure you are”

[readychilledwine]

The Art of a Dress

Summary - After commissioning you to make some of his mother's designs come to life, Rhysand faces the reality that artwork is more than what's painted on Feyre's canvas and even fabric can envoke memory.

Warnings - Parenting, children, vague mention of death, angsty-ish, Liz not doing the Venus and Junon dresses justice, platonic reader relationship

A/n - The first of my Christmas fics that don't center around Christmas. I was inspired to write this after talking to @daycourtofficial . It's how I imagine Feysand having a daughter will go.. Her and Feyre would constantly coordinate or match outfits. They'd be that mommy daughter duo.

✨️Master Masterlist✨️

Starfall.

Rhysand was beyond ready for Starfall. The cherished holiday had begun to mean so much more than just the traveling of souls across the sky almost 7 years ago.

Specifically because of the little girl holding his hand, her long dark hair bouncing with each step as his son and Feyre walked behind them, warm cups of hot chocolate in hand. Nyx had grown into a handsome young male at 20 years old, turning and winking at his little sister as she held Rhysand's hand.

“Do you think y/n got the dress perfect, daddy?” Deep blue eyes looked up at him as Lenora looked up at him. Her sweet face was etched in concern.

Rhysand only felt his lips twitch up, thinking of his long time friend. You had been trained as a seamstress by his mother, and your designs had quickly become demanded all across the Night Court. Fashion was art to you, it held no boundaries, no limitations. It was self expression, freeing.

For that reason, you were the only one he trusted to create the twin gowns he had found in his mother's sketch book. “Without a doubt, starlight,” he said to her. “It is probably better than we imagined.”

“It's just my big birthday,” she whispered, almost afraid you would disappoint her.

“Every year is your big birthday, Lala” Nyx rolled his eyes before opening the doors to white shop filled with many windows. Each window had a different display. Gowns and decor showing off y/n's skills and mastery of the craft.

You had opened today just for the High Lord and his family. The Inner Circle was already all seated as you locked the doors and then hugged Feyre, “I think we start with you, momma,” you said to her. “I need to talk to Rhysand really quick if you three want to head back,” you motioned towards the velvet sitting area for Nyx and then the dressing room for Feyre.

Lenora had already run to Azriel, picked up in his arms as you looked at Rhysand. “So, we need to have a gentle talk.”

Rhysand gave you a playful shoulder shove, “Price is no concern. I know you probably put in a lot of effort.”

“It's not about price. It's about Lenora. These dresses were originally designed for your mom and sister. Who your daughter looks a lot like.”

Rhysand brushed it off, having mentally prepared, at least he thought, “I'll be okay.”

You only nodded. “Then we should start.” You followed Feyre only laughing as you saw her face. The dresses you had been given to design were works of true artistry and would fall into the history of Night Court iconic moments.

The dress was a deep rich black with a fairly simple top. A straight strapless neckline with black beading that was heavier towards the top and faded to the drop waist. Two solid panels of matching black fabric at the top and on the waist.

The skirt was where the magic began.

The skirt was layered with elongated scallop shapes that felt almost flower petals like. Each one had silver and purple jewels and sequins sewn into the edges and up. Even the train matched the details, not a single spot looking out of place.

You had spared no expense on this dress, which, to Feyre, meant her daughter's matching dress would be just as fantastic.

Feyre was silent except for the occasional emotional huff of air as you pulled up the hidden zipper. “Is it comfortable,” you asked softly.

“Yes. Not even nearly as heavy as I expected.”

You nodded at her statement, “The fabric is from Scythia. It is so buttery soft it's extra gentle on your skin. I won't get into the details on the sequins and jewel work with you. Your dear husband.. spent far too much money getting me the ones he wanted for quality.”

The High Lady nodded, “Can we show them?” You helped her step down before opening the curtain. It was a collective gasp as the first of two dresses made its debut.

Rhysand immediately circled his mate like a hawk, checking the quality of the beading placement, the cuts of each scalloped edge. “Fantastic,” he finally approved. “You look beautiful, Feyre Darling.”

Feyre was all smiles before glancing at Lenora, “I imagine you don't want to wait to see yours?”

“No,” the princess immediately ran into the dressing room, making you laugh as you pulled the curtain and began helping her.

Her dress was similar to Feyre's, only adapted to fit her slender and youthful self. This dress had heavy black beading on the strapless top. This dress had a scalloped edge neckline that seemed to melt into the drop waist. The skirt had an over layer, scallops that matched Feyre's in color and design, only this dress had one layer before falling into full shining black tulle skirts. The back was your favorite part. Those scallops continued in the back, that petal look and texture running just the train of the princess-like gown. You and Rhysand had selected this to be Lenora’s dress for weight reasons, and as you zipped her up, you didn't regret that choice.

You glanced at the little princess in the mirror, “Do you love it?”

“Yes,” her excited scream had the room beyond them laughing.

“Is it comfortable?”

“Yes!” She ran out then, you laughing as she did and barely making it to the curtain.

She had expected joy, smiles, and laughter. She was welcomed with silence, with Azriel immediately having to leave the room, Cassian squeezing his hands together. Amren and Mor touched Feyre and Nyx, indicating for them to follow the two of them out.

Rhysand had prepared, he told himself as his hands shook. He had mentally readied himself to see his daughter in this gown. Yet that preparation failed in comparison to seeing what he was looking at.

Cassian stood, “I'm so sorry,” he left the room, tears beginning to fall.

“Its not you,” you murmured to Lenora as her little lip trembled. “Shh. It's not you. Give daddy a second.”

Rhys closed his eyes before walking over and kneeling down to her. Lenora broke the silence, “Is it ugly?”

“Mother no,” his voice was breaking. “I'm so sorry baby. This Isn't the reaction you deserved you just-” he looked up at you before taking a deep breath to continue. “You look like your auntie.”

“Like Auntie Ness or Auntie Elain," she glared. There was a right answer.

“No. Like my sister. Like Evangeline.”

The almost 7 year old felt her little face falling. She knew her dad had a sister. One who was gone. But she didn't know the reason why. “Is that why you're all sad?”

“They aren't sad,” you whispered before leaving. "Trust me, dove.

Rhysand thanked your intervention silently. It gave him a moment to process and breathe. “You look so beautiful and grown up,” he studied her face. His daughter wasn't the spitting image of him. No, Lenora was his sister. That same fierceness in her eyes. The same emotional need for approval. That same desire. He had not seen it before, but something about this dress highlighted it.

Cassian was the first to return, “I'm sorry,” he said to Lenora. “I needed a second. I hope you can forgive an emotional old male.”

“Do you think I'm pretty,” she brightened up.

“Oh absolutely. Prettiest girl I've ever seen.” Only Rhysand knew the significance of that sentence. Of who it was last said to. “Might have to tell Ness she needs a new Starfall date and keep you all to myself all night.”

Lenora made a little shocked face before cuddling with Rhysand, “But daddy promised me a dance.”

“I'd surrender you once to your dad. Then all Uncle Cass time,” his voice and smirk were playful though it didn't reach those almost sad eyes. Cassian hugged Lenora, taking the healing that came with that contact and sighing softly “Give Uncle Azzy a few more minutes. Y/n is talking to him.”

And a few more minutes is what it took. Azriel entered with a small box in hand. A little tiara you had paid Neve to make to match Lenora’s dress inside. He wordlessly turned his niece to face the mirror before opening the box and placing the amethyst and grey diamond tiara into her long dark curls. His hands then went to her little shoulders resting there. “Do you know how much we all love you,” Azriel asked her.

“More than the stars?”

All three males nodded. “You look so much like her,” Azriel's voice was tight. “And that is a special thing. Your aunt was a light in darkness. Her smile and laughter brought unmatched happiness when your dad, Cassian, and I needed it most.”

“And now you do,” Rhysand told her, finishing Azriel's thought while squeezing his brother's bicep. “You are perfect, my little love.”

Lenora smiled at herself in the mirror, then as Nyx entered in the suit that coordinated with his baby sister. Her brother wasted no time bringing added excitement to the room by carefully picking her up and standing in the mirror. “We are good looking.”

“Very,” Lenora giggled. “You're handsome.”

“You're breath-taking.”

The three older males watched the sight silently. Feyre joined them again and rested her head on Rhysand's bicep. Mor entered again, still wiping tears. Amren only smiled as she came in with you.

Nyx was still talking to Lenora, pointing at things in the mirror to show his little sister details she missed. The older fae were all silent, this moment closing a wound that they'd hoped was long forgotten.

Nyx, the very image of his father. Lenora the very image of her long gone aunt.

Rhysand finally cleared his throat, “Nyx, let your mother stand by Lala. I want to see the dresses side by side.” The princeling nodded and set his sister down, standing with a hand out to help Feyre onto the pedestal.

“Stunning,” Mor said first. “They're fantastic.”

“Artwork,” Amren flatly said. “These gowns are artwork. They will need to immediately be put in your family archives, High Lord.” A murmur of agreement filled the room, your face flushing.

“You did amazing,” Azriel whispered in your ear. “We had a little doubt this time around with how she drew these.”

“Me too,” You admitted. “I definitely did too.”

Lenora looked gorgeous the next night, faelights twinkling off the jewels on her and Feyre's gown. Nyx currently was waltzing with Feyre. The two of them were only outshined by the birthday girl on her very special day. Her and Rhysand were swaying, her father having picked her up to do so. “I love my dress, daddy.”

He hummed, “I love it too. Happy birthday, my starlight.”

“Thank you,” she leaned her head into him. “Its the most special birthday.”

“The most special birthday for my most special girl,” he said. “Always my most special girl.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites

[kitasgloves]

idk if you’ll see this and it’s low key my first time requesting but like..Dazai and chuuya with orange cat girlfriend?

I'm ready to deliver anon 💪🏻

I've discussed this with a friend before and agreed that NAKAHARA CHUUYA is a Norwegian forest cat. I don't see Chuuya as some sort of guard dog or a chihuahua (it's fucking ridiculous). Sure, he's loyal to the Port Mafia but he's a pretty independent person. Norwegian forest cats are typically aggressive and cautious around strangers but they become affectionate when they get familiar with you. And I think that is very much like Chuuya.

Now, Chuuya with an orange cat gf is an interesting pair. Usually, I view Chuuya as someone who's reserved and can depend on himself, he does not seek chaos nor prefers to get entangled in it, however, you seem to attract trouble wherever you go. Your boyfriend always finds you in ridiculous situations that end up in catastrophe.

You try to cook spaghetti for date night, the kitchen almost sets aflame. Going on a date with him at a restaurant, you two were escorted out for getting into a fight with another couple (Chuuya caught the guy ogling you, got pissed off, and tried to kill him all the while you filmed it instead of prying him off the poor guy). Celebrating your anniversary by going on a romantic camping trip with him, you two ended up getting lost from your tent while getting chased by wolves (don't worry Chuuya saved you).

Your natural curiosity was usually the cause of trouble. You seemed to love to fuck around and find out. You're fortunate that the gravity manipulator adored you or else he would've lost his patience long ago. Chuuya does think that your clumsiness and playfulness add to your charm. You were always so outgoing and bright that it was difficult to resist you.

The mafioso was cautious of you at the beginning. He was closed off and didn't engage with you, since you were just a random civilian and he was part of the Port Mafia. You would always see him at your local stores or even the park just relaxing. However, with your persistence in constantly bothering him, he was starting to see how you genuinely wanted to get along with him. He tries to get to know you while slowly letting his guard down. When he sensed no maliciousness from your intentions, Chuuya felt like he could breathe easily.

The way you tugged on his heartstrings by learning all about his preferences made him think that he had to keep you in his life. The fact that you let him be vulnerable around you solidified the moment that he fell for you. It was a long time before he confessed to you, he was afraid at first considering he has lost a lot of dear people in his life, and he wouldn't want to permanently lose you. But after pondering and mustering enough courage, he confesses to you. Chuuya was bombarded with your sweet and wet kisses all over his face, and it made his insides melt.

There are even moments where you draw out the playful side in him too. Just like cats, you and Chuuya enjoy playing around. I would see you two going on dates that involve extracurricular activities like ice skating/rollerblading, hiking, swimming, etc. I also think Chuuya would love to take you on expensive and fancy dates just to see you dolled up for the occasion. And yes, he loves to spoil you with clothes and jewelry as well.

However, I think he's a bit peeved with your eccentric taste in food combinations or music. The executive spotted you mixing chocolate with pasta (rip Italians) once and he never wanted to talk about it again. You also love sending him weird playlists that have incredibly specific names, nonetheless, he still listens to them during his spare time.

"Babe, what are you doing up there?"

Chuuya peeked up on the tall tree where you were stuck, clinging to one of the branches. You grinned down at your boyfriend. Chuuya sighs.

"You know what, don't explain"

"Catch me!"

"What? ...shit! Wait—!"

Without having enough time to activate his ability, Chuuya ended up getting squished on the pavement by his girlfriend. He groans while he feels your giggling weight on top of him.

"Baby, you could've at least waited until I activated gravity"

"Whoops, sorry. Are you hurt?"

The gravity manipulator shakes his head but you lean down to kiss him, hoping any bit of physical pain would magically go away. This makes Chuuya smile and envelope you in his arms.

"You are one silly girl, [Name]"

"Can you carry me back home?"

You batted your eyelashes at him and you know it's enough for him to yield. Oh, how can he say no to his eccentric but lovable girlfriend?

Okay, we all know and agree with the fact that DAZAI OSAMU is a black cat. He's both weird and mysterious. So, him being paired up with an orange cat gf seems natural. Black cats are perceived as intelligent and aloof so I had a feeling that you met Dazai during his time at the Port Mafia.

You were nothing but a disposable civilian who had a quirky personality. And yet this quirky personality of yours has managed to capture his heart. You always found Dazai in public places (I mean, he's always wearing dark clothes so he was easy to spot), and you often tried to strike up a conversation with him. When you found out about his suicidal tendencies, you didn't mock or scold him. Weirdly enough, you started giving him more unique ideas on how to off himself.

"Try mixing bleach with a milkshake, I heard you wouldn't even taste the bleach"

Dazai suddenly looked at you with glimmering eyes and proposed for you and him to commit double suicide. Shockingly enough, you agree. So, when you both jump into a river and Dazai ends up being alive but you haven't emerged from the water yet, his body turns cold.

"Oh shit"

He starts to frantically search for you in the water. To his relief though, you finally swam up to the surface with...is that a fish in your mouth?

"Look! I caught one while I was at the bottom of the river!"

From that day forward, Dazai has officially fallen for you. However, he doesn't confess his feelings to you yet. It was not until he left the Port Mafia and began working at the Armed Detective Agency. He hasn't seen you ever since but that doesn't mean he doesn't think of you often. He has dreamt of your face with that fish in your mouth.

The moment you reunited with him felt like destiny. He was chasing a criminal down the street with Kunikida when all of a sudden, the criminal got hit by a car. His breath hitched when he saw you stepping out of the car and rushing to see if the criminal you hit was alright. Dazai felt like he was seeing you for the first time again.

You recognized him immediately and called him by his first name, which made his heart flutter. Dazai felt like he couldn't waste another moment without telling you how he felt. So, just like back then, he offers you to jump off into a river like before in another double suicide attempt. This time, he feels glad that both of you emerged from the water.

At that moment he tells you how he loved you then and now. You tackled him into a hug which sent you both plunging into the water again. But you gave Dazai a proper kiss when you two swam back to land.

I have a feeling that Dazai loves to enable your weird behavior. He'd encourage you to try outrageous things like diabolical food combinations or bungee jumping without the rope (he swears he's not trying to kill you, okay?). He doesn't have to stress about you being harassed by other men since your logic is to behave as crazy as possible so you won't get picked on. But if some bastard persists in bothering you, all Dazai has to do is stand menacingly behind you, truly channeling his scary black cat aura. It's enough to send them away while shitting bricks.

I've mentioned before that you give Dazai suicide ideas, it's clear to him now that it's all satirical. However, when you tried to off yourself once (as a joke of course), thinking it would make your boyfriend laugh, instead he firmly grabs you by the shoulders and gazes at you intently with his black eyes that are void of light.

"Don't ever do that again"

He scared you at first and almost made you cry. Dazai felt bad and apologized to you by cuddling you and feeding you your favorite food. As much as the thought of double suicide excites him, the idea of you dying genuinely disturbs him.

Dates with him aren't expensive. He's down with strolling with you on the streets and kissing on sidewalks or going stargazing on the rooftop with your legs dangling on the edge. He adored your jokes and silly pet names that you would call him. He'd pet your head affectionately like a cat.

Dazai would often indulge in your antics. You two enjoy chasing each other all over the house or outside like cats. You love plopping on top of him and rubbing your cheek against his chest. Even though he's on the skinnier side, Dazai is strong enough to support your weight and carry you around. He too enjoys snuggling against you and stealing all your body warmth.

You two were walking home after another double suicide attempt. Both of you were soaking wet from jumping into the river. People gave you and your boyfriend weird looks as you two entered the local fast food. Dazai was fishing his pockets and chuckling before whispering to you.

"Darling, I may have lost my wallet again"

You paused mid-chew on your burger and blinked at Dazai. You smiled reassuringly at him.

"Don't worry I'll pay—"

Your stomach drops when you can't feel your wallet in your pockets. You cast Dazai a look and he immediately knows it. Both of you looked at your surroundings and back towards each other. Immediately, you and Dazai made a run for it, bolting out of the establishment with one of the employees cussing at the two of you. Dazai couldn't be happier and content spending the remainder of his existence with you like this.

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Can you write something hinny that includes the phrase “you are everything to me” or something in that vein of romantic confessionals?

This turned out a big angstier/sadder than you might've hoped, but here it is anyway <3

It wasn’t a very happy birthday, all things considered. 

There had been cake - chocolate. Presents - more than usual. Singing - respectably on-key. Guests - so many that they’d spilled out into the yard. All the typical ingredients for an excellent party. 

But.

Mum had been crying when she’d frosted the cake. 

Ginny had received a new broomstick (Harry), a lovely necklace (her parents), expensive French perfume (Bill and Fleur); a particularly good haul, even for seventeen. And yet, she’d swallowed the lump in her throat when, rather than a customary box of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products, she’d opened new Quidditch boots. Happy seventeenth, from George, the card had said. Just George.

Their plucky rendition of Happy Birthday sounded hollow without Fred shrieking an off-key upper harmony. Mum had always said he ruined it, all those years of birthdays with seven kids. Now, without it, the song seemed broken beyond repair. But, asking them not to sing it at all had seemed worse, somehow. 

Mum and Dad and Bill and Fleur and Charlie and Percy and Audrey and George and Ron and Hermione and Harry and Kingsley and Hagrid and Luna and Neville and Hannah and Andromeda and Teddy and…

No Fred. No Lupin. No Tonks. No Collin. Their absence was glaring. A dementor that sucked all the happiness from the room. 

She’d put on a brave face through it all. Eaten the cake even though it tasted like tears, thanked them all for the gifts that had broken her heart, cheekily conducted a song that she’d rather never hear again, tried to breathe around the gaping chasm her brother had left behind. 

Not a very happy birthday, at all. But they’re trying to make it one, and perhaps eventually the trying will work. 

One has to hope. 

For now, the firewhiskey will have to supplement. 

Ginny is pleasantly buzzed by the time the non-family guests have gone. Mum is busying herself in the kitchen, trying unsuccessfully to hide a new bout of tears. Her father and brothers - sans George - are all lazing around the den, half heartedly listening to the wireless - Wasps vs. Tornados. George had gone up to bed an hour ago, but Ginny couldn’t blame him. Hermione, Percy, and Fleur are talking about the Beauxbatons exam curriculum, something Ginny wants exactly zero part in.

One person, she notices, is conspicuously absent. 

She finds him out on the swing in the garden, looking out over the orchard, a glass of what appears to be firewhiskey in his hand. 

She allows herself a moment just to look at him - disheveled hair and handsome face and sharp jaw. She knows, logically, that Harry is safe now, and yet she can’t quite quell the old instinct to drink him in. One last look at him, like she might never get another, like she’ll have to cling onto this one, ration it out to recall when she needs to. 

It’s stupid, anyway. The memory of him had never been even close to the real thing, but in that long year apart she’d never stopped trying to remember the exact shape of his eyes, the way he had a dimple in his left cheek when he smirked at her, the way his hands were solid and sure and so good at making her feel things she’d never–

“Gin?”

He notices her standing there, and offers her a half-smile through the darkness. She can just make out the glint of his eyes behind his specs. 

“Thought you’d left,” she says, aiming for teasing but ending up somewhere just shy of it. “Alright if I join you out here?”

“Of course,” he says, as though offended she’d even asked. “Plenty of room.”

There is, but she snuggles up next to him anyway, her added weight causing them to sway gently on the swing. He drops an arm over her shoulder, and a kiss to her temple, and pulls her up against him. The vague thrum of anxiety that had plagued her all day seems to quiet under the warm weight of his touch. 

“Happy birthday,” Harry says. He’d said it earlier, with everyone, but she likes hearing it again, just for her. 

Ginny hums. “Yeah, I suppose. Mum’s crying again, and George went up to bed ages ago. Dead grim in there. Dunno why Mum insisted we do this whole party when it’s made her so bloody miserable, I’d have been alright with a normal dinner.”

“It’s your seventeenth, though,” Harry points out. “Suppose she wanted it to be special. It should be special.”

“Well, we put on a good show of it, anyway,” Ginny says, reaching over and snatching the glass of firewhisky from Harry’s grip and stealing a gulp. She relishes the burn of it. 

Harry lets out a small breath of a laugh, pinches at her side for her thievery, but he lets her do it anyway. He tugs the glass back out of her grip once she’s finished and takes another gulp himself. 

“It’s what we’ve got to do though, isn’t it?” Harry says suddenly. “Pretend it’s alright until it is.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’ll ever be alright, really,” Ginny says cynically, snuggling deeper into Harry’s embrace. “Or at least, it’ll never be the way it was.”

“No,” Harry agrees, and he sounds more serious than she wants him to. 

God, what is wrong with her? She used to be better at this: lightening the mood with a joke or some good banter, fighting off the gloom. She doesn’t want to sit out here on her seventeenth birthday with her boyfriend and talk about death.

After a minute, she can sense Harry is searching for words. She leans back so that she can look up at his face, and finds he’s staring straight ahead, chewing on something. He seems to be on the precipice of speech, but then he takes another gulp of his drink. 

“What is it?” Ginny breathes. 

“Nothing,” Harry says quickly. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” Ginny says firmly. She can’t imagine ever finding anything he has to tell her stupid. 

He looks down to meet her eye, and god. He makes her feel too much, like her heart is overbrimming and spilling out over her bones. 

“I just…” he struggles. He seems to find his words. “I was just thinking that I’m really glad I chose to live so that I could be here at your shite birthday party.”

“Oh, thanks,” Ginny snorts before the entirety of his words strike her. “I really appreciate–” She cuts herself off and sits up straight. “Hang on. What do you mean, ‘chose to live’?”

Harry averts his eye and takes another sip of firewhiskey. 

The question hangs in the evening air, and as the silence swells, Ginny realizes she isn’t sure that she wants to hear the answer. 

They’d spent weeks, filling each other in about the last year in dribs and drabs. She doesn’t yet have the full picture of all he’d been through, of all that had happened, but she doesn’t begrudge him. There are sore spots in her own past she’d rather not press – not yet, not just now – things she hasn’t been able to find the words to say to him yet. 

She reckons the same is true for him, too. She’d never wanted to press him, but it had not escaped her notice there is a gaping hole in her understanding of what had transpired in May: Harry, dead in Hagrid’s arms. 

He’d gone into the forest to die, and he’d come out alive. That’s all she knows, and frankly it’s all she’d mustered up the courage to ask. There seem to be too many painful doors to open down that particular avenue, things like why didn’t you say goodbye and did you know you’d come back and were you scared and I thought you were dead and I felt like I was too. 

They hadn’t touched it, and yet Harry seemed to be offering it to her, now. 

“What do you mean?” she says more softly, more bravely. “You chose to live?”

And so he tells her. Slowly, and stilted, but his hand is warm in hers. Snape’s memories. Learning that he had to die. The long walk into the forest. Finding Voldemort. 

“...I closed my eyes and I thought of you,” Harry says, like it’s just some part of the story, like he’s not breaking her heart and stitching it back together in one with these words. “So that you’d be the last thing I saw, and then he did it. Avada Kedavra. And I was gone.”

He presses a hand to his chest, and Ginny can picture the green light striking him there. She can’t fathom any of it, how difficult it must’ve been for him to walk to his own execution, how scared he must have been, how he could possibly still be sitting, living and breathing, beside her now. She grips his hand so tightly that it’s a wonder he has any feeling in it at all. 

Harry shifts uncomfortably, and his words are awkward now. “I still don’t know if any of it was real, or if it was just something I imagined while I was… wherever I was. But I… I spoke with Dumbledore. Or… I imagined I did, I dunno. About a lot of things, but mainly that I could choose to go, you know, on. Or I could go back and live again, if I wanted.”

He explains of the protection his mother’s love had left him with, that had tethered him to life despite the Killing Curse to his chest. 

Harry’s grip on her hand tightens, and he turns to meet her eyes fully for the first time since he began speaking. He wipes his other hand wearily over his face, and sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit drunk. This is… it’s your birthday. I didn’t mean to–”

“Harry,” Ginny interrupts gently. “Go on.”

Harry inhales, bracing himself against the memory. “I knew if I chose to come back, I’d be coming back to the war, and Voldemort, and everyone I loved dying. And for a minute the thought of just… leaving it all behind, being at peace with my parents, and Sirius, and Lupin…”

Ginny can imagine how strong of a pull that must’ve been. She grips him harder, as though he’s facing the choice again at this moment and she might be able to tether him to her with her fingers.

“But then I thought of you, and the life I wanted – I want, with you. And I knew I had to come back, even if it meant dealing with all of the shite that came with it.”

Just like with the rest of it, he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s said anything of any particular import, but the words burrow under her skin and make a home there, painful and vulnerable and hopeful. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says anxiously, interrupting himself as he looks at her expression. “Shit, Ginny, I didn’t–”

Ginny realizes she has tears streaming down her cheeks. She wipes them away impatiently. 

“--shit timing, it’s all a bit heavy for your birthday, isn’t it?” Harry babbles. “I just said it because I know today was dead grim, and you’re right, things will probably never be the same. But I just kept thinking that I’m so glad we’ll get to do it all again next year and for the first time that doesn’t seem like–”

She cuts off his anxious babbling with a kiss, hard and searing, and she holds his chin in her hands, precious, appreciating how very close she came to rationing memories of him for the rest of her life. 

She pulls away, her head still spinning with all that she’d told her. She needed to think about it, ask more questions about Snape and Voldemort and Horcruxes and blood magic. But most pressingly: “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You’re telling me that I’m the last thing you thought of when you went to die, and the reason you decided to live?”

Harry stares at her. “Well, when you put it like that– I suppose, yeah. Yes.”

Ginny shakes her head slowly, helplessly. “Harry.”

“I love you,” Harry says, like this is all the explanation that’s needed, because perhaps it is. He’s said this to her every day for weeks, but this is the first time she truly appreciates that love is a verb; that he’s not describing a state of being but rather something he’s actively doing: loving her. 

“I’m not always the best with words–” Harry continues, and Ginny nearly chokes. “--but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s not even a competition, really. You’re everything. I didn’t mean to put pressure on you, or anything, I realize now how that all sounded and–”

“I love you, too,” Ginny says fiercely, ignoring any out he’s offering her, like she’d want one. “And I want to talk about the rest of it, all of it. I can’t believe you had to– I don’t even want to think about–” Ginny shakes her head. “You haven’t put any pressure on me, other than I don’t know how I’m meant to respond to that in a way that measures up–”

“No, you don’t–”

“But I love you,” Ginny presses on. “So much. And that’s what I want with you too, all of it, everything. I always have. I’m… so glad you came back because I don’t know what I’d have done if–”

“Gin–”

Ginny kisses him again, desperate. Harry says he’s the one who’s no good with words but Ginny has never been less articulate in her life. Instead she tries to pour the contents of her heart into the fingers she runs through his hair, the grip of her hands over his chest where his heart beats reassuringly beneath his warm skin, the press of her lips against his. 

She pulls back, eyes wet, breathing heavily. Harry’s looking at her with that soft wonder that he sometimes gets, an expression she might understand a bit better now. “That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, but if you ever try to go off alone and die again, I will kill you myself. Don’t you ever do that again, alright?”

Harry grins. “Alright. I think I can manage that.”

“Good.”

A grin spreads across Ginny’s face, and now they’re just two grinning idiots on a swing who want to spend forever together, and for the first time there isn’t any glaring obstacle in the way of it. She allows herself to picture it - a nice cozy home to share, a wedding, kids with messy hair and green eyes, a life that might grow around the grief in her chest. 

She settles back into his arms, snug against him, miraculously alive and hers. She loves him so much it has nowhere to go. 

“I am sorry your birthday was shite, though,” Harry says. 

“It wasn’t,” Ginny says, and she means it.

[imaginesmai]

Taken - Azriel

This is long and this is messy. I don't know where this came out, but shoutout to @marscardigan because she requested this fic so long ago I almost forgot. Enjoy the ANGST.

This is a fic inside the baker!reader universe from Right around the corner. You don't need to read the fics to understand but it will help you!

Plot: you're taken in the worst possible situation, and Azriel fights against time to find you.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, blood, wounds, death (not main characters).

You should have closed the bakery a while ago, you knew. You should have also taken a few days off and relay on Elain a bit more. As a matter of a fact, there was a long list of things you should have done better, most of them converged in the last month, but you were busy. And stubborn.

A very busy, very stubborn, very pregnant baker who was closing the bakery way too late.

You had been lucky that morning when you had won the first argument. It was Nyx birthday in a few days, and the boy wanted a special cake with the shadows of his uncle. And you had been working on it even if you were supposed to be on house arrest, only because Azriel was with you at all given time.

But that day, your mate had a meeting and he couldn’t stay with you, so originally you weren’t supposed to go. Originally. Since Azriel loved Nyx as much as you, he had agreed to leave you at the bakery on your own and not chain you to bed.

You hoped that agreement was still valid if he discovered how late it was.

“Alright” you muttered, looking down at the cake with your hands resting on your swollen belly. “I think it’s coming just fine, huh? One more floor and it’ll be the event of the year”

The cake had a base covered in black chocolate, small curls that simulated shadows coming from the bottom. You had already finished the worst part, and had the rest of the shadows ready in the oven for tomorrow.

While you admired your work, you rubbed your hands absentmindedly across your stomach. At the beginning on the third trimester, you looked ready to give birth. Maybe it was because of the wings, or maybe the baby already took upon his father’s size.

“I hope your tastes are less expensive than your cousin’s” you said, smiling when your rubs were answered by a strong kick. “That didn’t feel like agreeing”

The shadows that were already yours pushed you once more to the door, like they had been doing for the past hours, since the sun came down. Raising your hands up in defeat, you took the first step back home.

“Alright, I’m going. I’m going” you chuckled as they pressed more urgently now that you started walking. “I’m fine, it’s late but I’m finishing. Promise to put my feet up when I get home”

Talking with the shadows and with your baby was as common as talking to yourself. Just as Azriel, you seemed to understand what they wanted to tell you. You endured their constant tugging and pulling as you closed off the bakery.

Only when the door was locked and you turned to take the few steps to your house, you realized just how late it was.

“Oh” you blinked, looking around you. The babe sent another, softer kick.

The street was empty, the night silent. Not even the few cats that purred in the shadows happened to be there that night. Even though it was a summer night, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you put the key on your pocket and took the already usual wobbly steps.

At any given moment, you liked to think, you would have been more aware. Azriel had trained you for it, his family had too in the last years. But still, that one time you would have used any of that training, you couldn’t.

Your hand only made it to the knock of your door when the faebane arrow went clean through your shoulder. A clothe covered your mouth as the few shadows tried to blind whoever was behind you, not given you any time to scream or call for help. Gripping onto the last thread of consciousness, you tugged on the bond.

-

The meeting was taking far longer than what he would have liked.

It was supposed to be easy, to talk the problems out and to let Keir go with a warning. That was why Rhysand had asked him to come along, so that his shadows would snoop around while the male was busy. Because, if the high lord had known it would take so long, he wouldn’t have dared to separate Azriel from you.

Since you both solved your last argument, things had gotten better. He was ready to give himself to you, to become a better man for you and to be what you needed. And seven months ago, it had kept going – you were pregnant, with his child.

And if Azriel thought you were beautiful before, watching your body swell with a new life, watching you become a mother, made you perfect. The thought of you and your future child was what kept him put during hours.

He had known you were at the bakery alone; had known he was supposed to be home before dinner. But he waited, because he didn’t have a reason not to. Azriel felt a tug at the bond during the meeting, and sent a reassuring pull back.

He waited, until Keir left and he put a foot out of Hewn City. Cassian was waiting for them with his arms crossed, his back to their brothers.

“Missed us much?” Rhysand teased, letting himself smile for the first time in that day. “Is staying with – what’s wrong?”

Cassian turned around and his face fell. Azriel recognized earlier than Rhysand the fall of his shoulders, the slump on his wings. There was tension and pain written all over his face. His spymaster-mind ran over a few possibilities before his brother locked eyes with him – an attack to Velaris, an update about Beron’s plans, the revolution in the human’s lands. He even had time to worry about Nyx.

Then, he locked eyes and his breath got stuck in his throat.

“What?” he blurted out. The look on Cassian’s face threatened to swallow him down a spiral of panic. “Cassian, what?”

“What happened?” Rhysand asked, although he was already reading the general’s mind.

“Y/N’s been taken. Don’t know where yet or why” the general spoke, without dropping Azriel’s burning gaze. “I’ve got guards up in the sky and through Velaris”

“Taken?” the high lord asked again, frowning.

“Your shadows came into the wind house, somehow… Nyx knows. He told us what they saw. We are looking for her already, don’t panic. We will find her”

Rhysand could see through Cassian’s eyes, the burst of Azriel’s shadows and a crying Nyx in his room, waking him up. His son telling him about the shadows warning him in his sleep, asking the general if it was true and why they said that.

He looked at Azriel, who looked as pale as the bone wall behind them. The Illyrian tried to come up with something to say, just as he had done in so many similar occasions. It was him who remained calm when Rhysand went under the mountain, when Nyx’s life was threatened just after he was born. Azriel made plans, he was a skilled warrior.

Still, he could only tug on the bond and horrify at the emptiness that came back.

“I can’t feel her” he confessed, finally looking away from Cassian to Rhysand. “Why? Why can’t I feel her?”

“She isn’t dead” his brother answered immediately. “You would know. It’s the faebane, you won’t feel her if they have used it. Cassian, what do we know?”

“No smells, no traces. Bakery was empty and her apartment too. They must have taken her in between”

“Who would fucking take a pregnant woman?” Azriel blurted out. “She’s pregnant. She’s – fuck! In between? It’s – it’s two steps! There’s no space in between!”

“What else?” Rhysand ignored him.

“They sent a note”

Azriel’s panic died down for a moment when Cassian handed his high lord the note. He quickly snatched it away. Barely able to keep in place, he turned his back to his brothers and shamelessly used his shadows in his favor.

He heard his name being called, felt Rhysand demanding to be let in. His own power wasn’t a match for the high lord’s, but it would keep them out enough to read the note.

One of the first rules he applied when it came to kidnappings was to keep the family and loved ones out of it. They didn’t think clearly, and without wanting to, could endanger the victim. But it wasn’t just a person, it was you.

So, ignoring his own rules, he opened the note.

If you want Y/N and the baby safe, the spymaster will present himself at the given coordinates before sunrise. Impaled with faebane and with no hidden tricks. Once we deem so, we will deliver the girl in Windhaven.

Each hour past sunrise will be paid. Don’t be late.

We do not appreciate being hunted.

There were words, that made sentences, and that should have made sense. But all Azriel could see was your name, the word baby, and feel his chest tighten. That wasn’t a clue, there was no way they would find them before sunrise and bring you home to him. Right then, he understood why they kept family out of those types of matters.

The note was snatched out of his hands by a very angry looking Rhysand, with a pained Cassian behind his back.

As Rhysand read the note, Azriel let himself have a moment of sorrow. He turned every emotion upside down, explored them instead of refusing to acknowledge. For years, he had feared the possibility of you being taken from his side. There would be time to panic once he had you in his arms, to worry about the baby once he could touch your belly once more and check your pulse and breathing.

Azriel tugged on the bond once more, feeling the crushing emptiness back. There was nothing, and he was threatened to become nothing too. Instead, he tugged on the faint, thin bond that was still developing. It was barely a thread of your own, fragile but promising.

The bond with your child had been the cause of your discovery. One day it was only the two of you, and then Azriel felt something else. He tugged on that and, even if he didn’t receive anything back, he knew.

“They’re in the mountains” he looked at his brothers. “Can’t say where, but far from Windhaven”

“How are you sure?” Cassian asked, but Rhysand smiled knowingly. Sadly.

“The other bond. You shouldn’t pull too hard, Az. It’s – “

“I won’t. But I’m not letting one second go if I can find her” Azriel cut him off with a hard look. “You’re wasting your time in Velaris”

“Don’t you dare, Az”

Cassian words were lost in the wind as he winnowed away, Rhysand barely touching his forearm. He knew he shouldn’t tug on the bond so soon in his child’s life, that it would only put him at risk. Risk an early labor, risk your discomfort. But if it meant it would take him back to you, he would rip the word apart piece by piece.

-

You didn’t know how, but after all those years, all those good memories built that replaced the bad ones, you just knew. You recognized the painted walls, the stains on the ground, and the smell from the fire.

Nothing had changed over the centuries that had passed by, you realized. The tavern was just as terrible as it had been, just as dirty. They were just as tall and broad as they were, although not that many. And you were that scared girl that they ripped their wings from, tucked into a corner.

While they stared at you, you only hug your belly and tried to keep your tears at bay.

You had woken up a while ago, and they had only whispered between them. From what you had gathered, they didn’t expect the pregnancy, and were worried about it. The one who had clipped your wings so long ago wasn’t around, thanks to Azriel, but you recognized their faces.

You also recognized the blood stains on the ground and walls, courtesy of your mate and probably the reason you were in that position.

“It has closed” one of them broke the silence, frowning. “Why has it closed so soon? We just took it out”

“Must be the babe” the taller one, whom you remembered to be called Sandor, shrugged.

“It’s the third time – “

“All right, girl, you already know to stay put” Sandor sighed, as if it was a simple routine.

You refused to talk, refused to anger them just like you had done in the past and pay for your actions. It wasn’t just your life in the game, and right then, your priority wasn’t it.

With only the moon light through the window, Sandor knelt in front of you and grabbed a clean arrow. Two bloodied ones were discarded on the ground, ripped out of your shoulder and arm. Apparently, they didn’t want to risk you healing around the arrow, in case it would somehow affect the baby.

That didn’t mean they weren’t willing to stick another one once the wound was closed and there was a chance of Azriel feeling you through the bond.

For a moment, Sandor hesitated. It was clear that he wasn’t comfortable about your belly or the situation. Hurting you to get Azriel might had been fine, but hurting pregnant-you was debatable.

“Just do it, man. You might already ring the bells and light a bonfire” the nameless one snapped.

“Do you want to do it?” Sandor turned around on his knees. “Clyde, I’ve got a pregnant woman at home. And she looks ready to burst”

“It’s not your woman, it’s his. Do you want to stare at what used to be Burton?” Clyde pointed to the darkest stain. “Tell him if he wants to consider, take his time”

As they argued, you finally felt it. A tug, a breeze, nothing more than a feeling, but it was there. It was Azriel pulling at the bond like his life depended on it, with so much strength you were sure he was using power that wasn’t only his.

You blinked surprised at the change. It had taken you all your willpower not to panic when you woke up feeling nothing on the other side, and they hadn’t let enough time for your body to recover from the fae bane to feel it again. But as they argued, you silently cherished the discovery. Maybe it was the baby’s strength, maybe it was the cauldron leaning in your favor or any other force, but not only you were healing fast – you were getting the bond back.

Still looking at them, you tugged back. The bond went silent for a second, and you pressed against it again. You were hit with an overwhelming amount of worry, of fear but also love and relief. Azriel’s emotions became yours, and you were so glad it was about to be over that you unfocused your gaze.

It was enough for Clyde to notice your far-away look, and realize what was happening.

“Fuck, she’s warning him!” Clyde rushed forwards, taking the arrow out of Sandor’s grip. “You think you’re so smart?”

You blinked your fogginess away when he walked towards you, coming back to your senses. There wasn’t enough amount of love or assurance Azriel could send you that would stop you from panicking.

“No, wait” you pushed yourself farther into the corner as he moved closer, screaming at Azriel as loud as you could through the watered bond. “I didn’t! I didn’t!”

“You knocked-up, useless, brat” he gripped your ankle and pushed you towards him, your back and head hitting the ground. “Let’s see how you tell him this”

The momentary pain of hitting the ground wasn’t enough to drown the anguish of having a new arrow dug into your leg, just above your knee. The ceiling became blurry and his voices tuned out as you screamed in pain, your bounded hands trying aimlessly to break free.

You couldn’t remember the pain from the first one, seeing you were knocked out, and Sandor had managed to make the other one hurt less. But Clyde pushed his body weight onto your leg, the bottom of the arrow piercing the ground. You looked up and watched horrified as blood started leaking out through your pants and under your leg.

Moving away from him only caused the arrow to shift, but being near him was putting your baby close to the monster. So, in your panic, you tried to ease the pain by lifting your leg while shifting farther into the corner.

“How’s the bond now, uh? Is your pussy boy there?” he chuckled, while Sandor looked away. “Go on, tell him how bad we are”

“We should move” the third one spoke for the first time. “If he has felt her, he knows”

“You heard the boss” rough hands tried to push you up while you cried out.

“No” you repeated, letting Clyde put your whole weight up and almost collapsing after him. “Please, just let me go. Let me go”

Gone was the keep-quiet-don’t-talk. The tears kept rolling down your cheeks as Sandor stepped on your other side, holding you up a bit gentler than Clyde. Your baby started kicking on your side, and between the pain and desperation, you felt like throwing up and passing out.

Their chatter as they discussed what to do next was background noise. Certainly, they weren’t taking the arrow out that time, risk or no risk of being sealed inside and affecting the baby. You could barely stand up between your kidnappers and remember how to breath at the same time.

You wanted Azriel, that was the only thing you were certain. You shouldn’t have closed so late, you shouldn’t have gone to the bakery on your own, and you shouldn’t have gotten out of bed that morning. The baby agreed with you, answering each thought with a powerful kick to your kidneys and bladder.

You tried desperately to think about positive things, to keep yourself sane enough. Closing your eyes, you thought about him. His hazel eyes, that shone with a special light when he saw you between the crowd. His mouth, that curled up so lightly every time you stared at him. The freckles in his cheeks, that one that snuck up to the corner of his eye.

You could almost hear his voice reminding you to breath carefully and gain control of your body when the pregnancy pain hit, and you tried to do the same. Taking a deep breath through your mouth, holding it in. Letting it go through your nose.

“Oh, sure, because winnowing her again is the best solution, right?” Sandor scoffed loudly.

You moved your toes lightly, relieved to notice that despite the burning and overwhelming pain, you could still feel everything. From your feet to your head, you twitched every part of your body, finally able to breathe through the pain.

That didn’t mean you could move without them hauling you up, or that the baby was anymore happy.

“Enough! We’re moving now. Grab the things. We winnow – “ the anonymous man startled you, making you look up.

“I need to go the bathroom” you whispered, although it was heard as if you shouted it.

Three pair of eyes looked at you with raised brows, one pair certainly more annoyed than the other two. You didn’t know how far had it been since they took you, but it was still night time. During the last weeks, you had been paying a visit to your bathroom at least once every two hours.

And that was being generous.

The babe kicked again against your bladder, making your knees wobble. If you didn’t catch a bathroom, in a minute, you would have to let go.

“Sure. Do you want me run a bath too? Clyde, you could massage her feet. Is our lady tired of standing up for so long?”

“Nestor, she’s pregnant” Sandor was the only one looking slightly affected by your request. “My Lorren – “

“Your Lorren is home and we are here. Stop with Lorren!” Clyde let you go to push Sandor’s shoulders, which made you stumble back.

“I’m not carrying her if she’s gonna pee herself”

“She’s gonna be a big girl and hold it, right?” Nestor gave you a tense smile. “And you’re going to winnow her to the cabin”

“I’m not taking her to the cabin, man”

And while you stood up and waited for them to decided where to take you, you felt your bladder giving up. It wouldn’t be the first time you peed yourself, and with the strength your baby was kicking you right then, you were amazed that you managed to hold it for a few seconds.

Clyde and Nestor kept arguing loudly about the cabin, while Sandor just looked at you with a scrunched nose. You would have felt embarrassed, but you were in pain, you were scared and tired. It was hard to stay standing at any given moment with your belly. Whether it was the wings or the baby’s size, you were heavy.

The discomfort of the arrow was starting to become secondary. Even though you had just peed yourself, you still felt the kicks against your bladder – and almost against every part of your soul. You gripped the only thing available when another wave of kicks hit you, that being Sandor’s arm.

The man realized at the same time you did what was happening, although he didn’t have time to voice it out.

“Damn it!” Clyde barely missed the door coming out of its hinges. He didn’t miss the knife that embedded itself on his throat.

“Sandor, shoot him!” Nestor yelled to his friend, who was too busy keeping you off the ground now that the only support was holding his open neck. “Shoot!”

“Pathetic”

His voice was like a cold breeze in the summer, the feeling of his shadows helping you gently to stand up making your breath speed up once more.

Azriel appeared like a dark angel through the open door, his eyes not even leaving you as he stopped an arrow with his bare hand. His wings covered the moon behind him, but they didn’t stop the next figure coming through. Before Clyde hit the ground still chocking on his last breath, Rhysand had winnowed himself and Nestor out of the tavern.

You briefly wondered if death by Azriel’s hands right then would have been better than by the spymaster’s hands later.

Your mate said nothing as Sandor was ripped out of your side. Only by gripping his arm and pulling him away from you, you heard the awful crack of his arm breaking into two.

Sandor cried out, only getting a few seconds to acknowledge his arm before his left wing is ripped out of his back. Azriel’s shadows assessed your body with a sickening speed, coming to the same conclusion you had.

You were lowered softly onto the ground, silently watching what Azriel had always hidden from you. The unleveled part of him, the one that came out when someone he loved was in danger. He feared that part would take you away from him. But as you watched your mate tear Sandor to pieces, you only felt relief at his presence.

The male wasn’t done screaming for his life when he fell dead to the side. His mangled body was blocked from your view by training leathers and tearful hazel eyes. Everything he had felt during the last hours, that he had denied himself from so he would find you, crashed hard.

His scarred hands held your face while he scanned your body, stopping on your untouched belly and bleeding wound. He didn’t even flinch when he touched your soaked pants to pull it out.

The pain you were in in that moment prevented you from feeling anything more than a discomfort at the pull.

“You’re alive” Azriel cried out, not holding his tears back. “I thought – for a moment, I thought… I couldn’t feel you. And then I did, but you were gone. I didn’t know what had happened. I almost died, Y/N. You’re alive. You’re okay”

“Az” you whined, one of your hands gripping his shoulder harder than it was necessary.

“The baby’s bond… I followed it to the mountains. I know I shouldn’t, but I pulled it” he placed one hand on your belly, laughing tearfully when he felt a kick back. “I love you. I love you both so much”

There weren’t words to explain what Azriel had felt in the last few hours. How he had stumbled down into the snow when he had felt your end of the bond alive, how desperate he had been to follow it. Then, it had gone dark and if it wasn’t for Rhysand following him, he would have crashed right there.

He was glad his brother had been there, that he had taken a male away for questioning. Once you were safe and with Madja, he would make sure to take his time.

Azriel pressed a shaky, wet kiss to your forehead, then another one to your nose. He kissed each and every tear that had stained your cheeks in the past hour, finally pressing his lips against yours.

When he moved back, ready to winnow you both back to Velaris and hold you close for a week, he was surprised to see new tears running down your cheeks. What he thought was terror for the kidnapping, the anguish of your captors, hadn’t left your face.

“What’s wrong?” he frowned, leaving his own despair for later and looking back at your body.

“Az” you repeated.

You had realized what was happening before him, had known just before Sandor. His shadows couldn’t possibly understand what was happening, and so, Azriel didn’t. Any pain you had felt during that night paled away from the complete, absolute fear the crippled you as you stared at your mate in that dark tavern, where your worst memories had taken place.

“I’m here” he reminded you, his hand caressing the belly. “Where does it –“

“It’s coming” you finally admitted, watching the realization hitting him. “The baby’s coming”

It had felt like peeing yourself, like normal kicks, you guessed. What had given it away was crippling, motherly realization that your baby wanted out. That bond that had connected you to it was more present than ever, and somehow, you knew.

Azriel paled even more if that was possible. Right there, sitting in the dirty, bloodied and now empty tavern, your water had broken. You wanted to break down crying, because of course, given your history your baby would choose that moment.

When Azriel didn’t say anything, you lip wobbled again. Because, if he didn’t have the answers, who would?

“It’s coming” you said again, feeling like a broken record. “What do we do? What -?”

“I’ll winnow us to Velaris” Azriel interrupted you, knowing the answer before saying it.

“Madja said we can’t” you reminded him, although he already knew. “Oh God. Az, it’s coming. What do we do? I’m having a baby. I’m having a baby!”

Indeed, one of the first things Madja had advised you against was winnowing while pregnant. So close to the date, it would only trigger an early labor – and on the date, it would be dangerous to the baby and you. Rhysand would be back in Velaris by then, probably thinking you two were just fine and happy together once more.

And winnowing away to warn him and bring someone was out of the equation, since he wouldn’t be leaving you for a while now.

So Azriel gathered himself together and gave you a hesitant smile.

“We can do it” Azriel whispered, not sure of the truth behind his words.

“What?”

“I’m not leaving you. We’re here together, and we can do it. Madja told us what it’s like” Azriel tried to sound confident for you, for the both of you, but it came out as a question.

“We’re having a baby”

“We’re having a baby”

The first rays of sun entered through the empty space where the door was as you stared into his eyes. You could risk winnowing back and losing the baby and your life, or you could send away Azriel and hope he made it in time back with Madja or any other healer. Neither of those options felt like surviving to you, so you nodded at him and willed that tear to be the last one.

Azriel leaned in and kissed you softly. His lips were salty, from his tears or your own, and kind. While his shadows brushed every available part of your body, you let yourself forget about the closing wound, about the trembling of your knees and the pain in your belly.

Kissing him would always feel like the first time, like fireworks and Starfall. His nosed brushed your own and his tongue deepened the kiss. One of his hands cupped the back of your head, the hair there already covered in sweat. Even it was cold with the morning breeze, you were ready to get out of your body.

The kiss ended way too soon, just as another kick, or contraction, hit you harder than before. You sucked a breath and almost stumbled to the ground.

Azriel was quick to roll his sleeves up, lowering you until you were laying on the ground. Looking up at him, he gave you reassuring smile and hesitant nod.

“We’re having a baby” he squeezed your shoulder.

You tried to smile as another contraction hit and the first scream broke the silent morning.

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[maeby-cursed]

➴ OH, STUPID CUPID ! ♡

✧ a/n: happy valentine's, dear angels ! ♡

Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day.

Why would he, after all? It’s merely a capitalist ploy to keep the consumerism engines turning. You can disguise greed in glittery pink polish and white chocolate bonbons but at its core, it won't change its nature.

And so, he spends St. Valentine’s like he would any other day; gets up at dawn, works until his hands are peeled and his back aches and gets home to eat whatever he has left over. 

It’s a good routine, the most stable one he’s found for himself in years. 

He can't recall a time where the fourteenth of February meant anything at all. 

(Except for that one year that it had.)

But he won't think of withered flowers or laughing kisses or other sweets that have since rotten in his memory. A woman, a child, an apartment downtown.

That is all long gone now. The apartment downtown had gotten expensive, and the child had grown older. The woman had gone long ago and there were no more flowers or kisses or laughter.

It’s all capitalism, it’s all vapid and stupid and childish.

So, Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. That is until you come along, knocking on his workshop’s door.

You’re obviously lost, mumbling an inquiry about how much you could get for selling a motorbike you keep referring to as "an old piece of garbage".

He can't help but snicker at your wording, a little chuckle that grows into a full chest laugh when he sees what you’ve dragged to his shop. It’s painfully obvious that this thing isn’t yours.

You keep holding the handlebars with careful hands, sparing few disgusted glances to the vehicle, as if its mere existence wounded you.

He asks how long you’ve had it, and where you got it, and how much you’d like to get. 

You answer back curtly: two years, your ex, nothing as long as you get rid of it.

You seem annoyed just by having to be there and for some unexplainable reason this amuses him to no end. Maybe being surrounded by car engines in a small workshop with no windows is starting to affect him.

“I’ll take it.”

You raise your gaze from the dusty headlight, shocked by his offer.

“You will?”

“Sure thing. You don’t want it, I could use some new parts, I’ll just scrap it.”

You let out a sigh, relieved, and all the tension dissipates from your shoulders.

“Oh, that… well, that would be great! Thank you.”

Your smile makes him stop in his tracks. Pretty and warm and familiar – something dangerous. His head travels back.

After a second that lasts forever, he acknowledges what you've said, grunting as his only response and getting back to the store with you in tow.

“Could I leave it with you now or…?"

“Bring it back next week, I don’t really have a place to put it right now, y’know?”

You look around the place. It’s full of buckets of paint and car parts, no decor but stacks upon stacks of metallic shelves full of objects you can’t recognize. You chuckle awkwardly, seemingly in a better mood after the compromise you've arranged.

“Right, uhm… Actually, I'm not here next week, could I come back tomorrow?”

Toji turns back to stare at you, and for the first time, really sees you. You look young, probably in your mid-twenties, of bright eyes and shiny hair, and that pretty smile that keeps fluttering over your lips. 

He hasn’t done this in a long time… But maybe…

“I close at 10pm today, why don’t you come back then?” he says, closing his fists to stop them from sweating.

Your wondering eyes freeze on him then, and your lips part slightly. He just can't stop staring.  

“But it’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you have any plans?” you ask, shyly.

“I don’t believe in that crap.”

Shit. That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

“Oh,” you whisper. You're still grinning up at him, but your expression has lost its warmth, instead replaced by a polite awkwardness and doubtful gaze, and now he's kicking himself in his head.

“Sorry, did that bother you?” he asks, hiding his guilt with a smirk.

“No, not at all!" You laugh, playing with your hands. "I… just, I don’t mind it, I guess.

"I know it's not even a real holiday and that it's merely a product of capitalism, and that it’s all about sales and consumerism and all of that, but… I find it nice, you know? Having a day to be with the people you love…" You look around his shop once, before giving him a shy stare. "It’s sappy, I know.” You end with a shrug, your ears flushed.

Toji doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just breathes and takes it in. 

Oh, he’s grown bitter, hasn’t he? Old and sour. 

His son is out there right now buying flowers with his friends, his coworker is on a date at a fancy place, his one and only friend is buying chocolates for his wife… And he’s here at 5pm, with his hands dirty and his neck sweaty and the prettiest woman he’s seen in a long time in front of him, with no plans for tonight and a lovely smile hidden by a familiar sort of nervousness.

What is wrong with him? Is he truly that fucking stubborn? Can't he deal with a bit of pink?

He’ll admit that he's never minded the chocolates and the roses – even if they aren’t his favorite – and that he always laughs at the cherubs and the cheesy postcards. Of course, he won't talk about how he still hums old 50s songs while he works or how he indulges in a bit of dessert when February rolls around, though.

But he knows. He's always known.

So, maybe it’s not all about the money. Maybe it’s more about being accompanied for once since he was twenty three and alone. Maybe it’s more about taking a shot at getting something good back.

Maybe it's not all capitalism, not all vapid and stupid and childish.

“Yeah… I guess it’s not all that bad.”

“I do like it… sometimes,” you finish, as if completing his train of thought. This hasn't happened to him in a long time. "I’ll be back tonight then…?”

He recovers quickly, smirking briefly before turning to clean his hands with a rag.

“Sure, at 10pm," he says, over his shoulder.

You laugh, cheerful once more, and begin walking to the door.

“It’s a date!”

And, God, he really hopes it can be, if only because it’s Valentine’s Day.

© 2024, MAEBY-CURSED — do not copy/repost/edit.