#nothing like those rumbles to just *chefs kiss* put you in the right frame of mind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sukirichi · 4 years ago

Text

earned it [02]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. mentions of murder, suggestive content, unedited fic

notes. err, i’m only doing this on impulse. i would like to continue it, but i think part one stands enough for itself :> i might delete this if i don’t like it a few days later lollll

series masterlist

Your infamous customer hadn’t arrived even as the restaurant closed. You watched close enough, fidgety in your movements and often bumping into other servers, all because your gaze kept darting back to the front door, awaiting his presence.

There’s no actual reason why you want to see him. Maybe it’s because he left an impression? The guy didn’t even budge after finding out someone had snuck into the kitchen to poison him, leaving you to wonder why anyone wanted to kill him. Not that it was any of your business, but you figured it was only common between powerful people who are equally greedy. Still, you’re unfocussed in your work, apologizing every now and then when your boss shook their head at you.

Thankfully, you managed to get back to your old pace. Thoughts of the white-haired tall man left the room at the same time everyone did, leaving only you and your boss in the locker room. You ended up working two shifts again on this weekend, your co-worker asking you to cover for them due to sudden family issues.

It’s tiring, that much is for sure, but you won’t complain when it’s more money down in your pocket. You’re dazzled, however, as you leave the locker room and see that your main chefs are still there.

Upon seeing you, they immediately usher you into a lone table, table 98 that remained untouched the whole night, a two lit candles illuminating the otherwise darkness of the isolated restaurant. Only this time, it’s occupied by him no less, his azure eyes flittering up to yours at the sound of your hesitant footsteps.

You’ve been looking for him the whole night, yet now that he’s in front of you, you don’t have any words to say. Instead, you bow down deep, the hands clasped in your lap shaking.

“S-Sir.”

“No need to be so nervous. I only wish to discuss something with you,” his laugh is so carefree, lighthearted as he gestures to the empty spot across him. “Take a seat,” Wordlessly, you foolow his orders and dash down to the seat, spine straight and head held high. There’s a hint of amusement in his small smile, but he doesn’t tease you, save for the lilting tone he held. “So you’re in sophomore year of university?”

“Yes, Sir. How’d you know?” You furrowed your brows, unsure of whether you’re supposed to expensive meal served in two.

Gosh, and this was on page three too, a single meal cost at least six months’ worth of rent.

“I pulled a string or two,” he lifts one shoulder lazily, waving his knife in the air. “And please, call me Satoru. Assuming we come to an understanding, things will go well for the both of us. You are in need of financial aid, yes?” You nod, utterly clueless in where this is leading, but Satoru’s already made up his mind long before he came here that he found no need in beating around the bush.

“Good. Then what do you say about being my sugar baby?”

“S-sugar baby?” you repeat the word first in confusion, then with distaste. He simply hums around the meat he’s eating, as if it’s a normal occurrence for him to inquire such things, and you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

You don’t care that this guy is your precious customer – he was just the same as everyone else.

“Is that the reason why you asked me to stay behind? Do you think you can just pay people to sleep with you? It may have worked on others, but not to me. I would rather keep my dignity than be with you,” you breathe hard after your rant, slapping your palms down on the table. The impact of it makes the table shake, his hand reflexively reaching to steady his wine glass. “As for what happened yesterday, you don’t have to thank me about it. I did what any right-minded person would.”

“And if I said I never wanted to be saved?” he asks, his tone still so calm that it further infuriates you. You stare at him, stunned and mouth gaping. “Sit down. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Thank you for graciousness, Sir, but I really don’t—”

“Angel,” You freeze at the nickname. He chuckles with his forehead pressed to his clasped hands, “Do you really think I need to pay people to sleep with me? I could have anyone I want,” his voice falls an octave or two, the sonorous warning rumbling something…alien inside your body. You stand there, unable to move, and he easily sees through this as he hides a smirk behind his drink. “Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.”

You don’t know what snapped in you to actually follow, but his words weren’t just that. They were always laced with eased dominance, the words leaving his lips coming out as a command. No, it was more like a hypnotizing order, and you’re nothing but a puppet enslaved by it.

His smile only grows bigger, and you hate that he looks ridiculously handsome under the dim lights of the room. Life would’ve been much easier if this man had been ugly.

“As I was saying, this relationship should be casual, no strings attached. I’d prefer if you’re exclusive to me, and in return, I’ll cover all your school fees and everything else. As for the sex,” he cuts his eyes straight to yours, an intense burning heat in them. You squirm in your seat, a little intimidated, albeit excited, by this proposition too, though you’d rather die than let him know that, “I don’t need that from you. I just want someone to talk to.”

“You’re paying me to talk to you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “I’m saying you form a relationship with me in exchange of financial aid. You’d be similar to a lover, nothing less of a friend,” he stares at his drink so hard like he was having a debate with it. A few seconds later, he found his answer, the gleam in his eyes surreptitious as he says, “Someone I can trust.”

You huff. Surely it wasn’t easy as that. “Why me?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just find you endearing, that is all,” You lean back on your seat, trying to process all this. The hesitance must be written all over your face because he adjusts his tie, sliding a white business card your way before sliding his chair back in. At least he’s well-mannered enough to do that. “You can take your time to think about it. There’s no need to rush.”

Somehow, seeing his figure retreat triggers something within you. You watch as silhouettes emerge from the darkness trail after him; must be his security team, serving as an additional note that what you so struggled to achieve was likely nothing for him.

Was it fear? Desperation? Shame?

You don’t know, you won’t ever really know, but you run up to him anyway, brave enough to tug at his sleeve. The guards surrounding him tense up at the contact, stepping away only when he raises a finger that spoke a thousand words.

“You-you’ll pay for everything?”

With his back turned to you, you failed to see that victorious grin he wore. “And everything more,” he reassured. He turns around to confirm your submission, but you’re quivering under his towering frame, poor hands clutched around the card so tightly he won’t be surprised if you break it. He chuckles, coaxing the worries out of you as he caresses your cheek, his breath evident of expensive liquor hitting your cheeks. “Relax, angel. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to the devil.”

Your pupils blow wide at the close proximity. If he was attractive before, it’s nothing compared to the clarity of his sharp, angular features that are softened by his playful smile. Oddly enough, his thumb caressing your cheeks is tender yet calloused.

There’s no telling when who put who under a spell, because you’re clutching helplessly at his suit jacket, whispering, “Am I not?”

You are, he wants to say, but you’re so innocent, so vulnerable – such an angel, he can’t help but hum in his head – that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know. He already knew things were bound to fall out of place one another, but until that hasn’t happened yet, he’ll have to keep you close. He’ll make you his.

“I’ll take good care of you,” he declares so confidently that you couldn’t even question his capability to do so you, and for a moment, just a moment, your knees weaken under his stare. “Now that, I can promise.”

Should you have pulled away then? When he leaned down to seal the contract with a kiss, should you have pulled away then? Or better yet, could you even pull away then?

You’ve been so alone your whole life that each moment with him is awakening, soul-crushing, mind-shattering and so damn weakening that you should’ve pulled away then. If anyone were to tell you you’d share your first kiss after work hours with a man whose name you don’t even know of, you’d tell them they were crazy, crazier if they claimed you would enjoy it.

But you did. Oh, you did, you were addicted to him – his taste, his scent, his touch, everything about him – that when he pulled away, taking away every last breath in your lung that formerly remained taint-free by him, you’re left wanting. Craving.

And he knows this. How could he not? Your eyes are hazy with lust, chest pressed against his firm ones that would soon be the same body you found home over and over again. You’re not the only left intoxicated from this sudden agreement. Whatever you feel, he feels it twice as much after years of watching you from the sidelines, asking himself a million times over what it is about you that pulled him in so much in the first place.

The innocence? The dedication? The youthful naivety?

Gojo wants to laugh at himself. It was never any of those – he simply wanted to fool himself that maybe he’s worthy of this, of your love, of your purity. He’s selfish, manipulative, heartless, and he wants nothing more than someone like you to make him feel like he’s everything he’s not.

He steps forward to brush his nose against yours; breathing in the tiny gasps you reward him with. And he’s barely even touched you.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he rasps, butterfly touches all the way down your back to hold you flush against him, letting you feel that he’s all muscle and hardness, while you’re the complete opposite, composed of softness and little ghosting kisses. Perhaps when he gives you by a name, he was right to call you – “My Angel.”

The loud blaring of your alarm cuts through the silence of the room, its shrill sound piercing your ears. You groan, blindly patting the bedside table to swipe snooze. The spot next to you has been cold for a while now, but it’s normal for Satoru to leave early for work that you burrow yourself deeper in the covers. Five more minutes of sleep shouldn’t be so bad; it’s the weekend, anyway. You’ve got nothing else to do.

Waking up after that, on the other hand, now that is an impending task on itself.

You’re beyond sore, your inner thighs littered with handprints and your shoulder covered in love bites. “Jeez,” you mutter to yourself, stepping out of the bathroom. Tying your robe around you, you go out your shared bedroom, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep out.

It’s past noon already – Satoru really wore you out. And fuck, you could barely walk. You had to grip the counters just to sit on the stools, and even then, you’re wincing from the pain.

He should be doing paperwork in his office right now or something; he never really told you what to do. You don’t feel like asking either since he’s made it clear he prefers to keep his personal life, well…personal. But nevertheless, you swing your legs back and forth on the stool, texting him a quick I love you baby :)

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Usually, he’d respond in a few minutes, always supplied with a wink and an eggplant emoji. It was so him to act this way, that when those few minutes turned into a few hours and you’re met with radio silence, you can’t help but worry.

You try to brush it off, ignoring the deafening silence that rings all over his penthouse. He’s busy, he’s working, he’s got things to do – that’s all it is.

You convince yourself hard enough that you’ve cleaned the place until it’s sparkling, your reflection bouncing off the black marble floors. Every minute, though, your mind would race back to him. Not thinking about him proved to be a really daunting task because you think of him when you’re eating, reminiscing the way he’d always surprise you with a back hug, muttering morning angel all over your skin just to distract you from your meal. You think of him as you’re killing time with boring dramas; if he was here, he’d nudge your leg with his foot, pushing your shorts until it exposes your panties. He’d make sure you don’t get to focus at all, riling you up and kissing you hard that the show playing becomes nothing but background noise. You think of him, you dream of him, you remember him – and yet, you can’t feel him.

Nails bitten down to the skin, you scramble for your phone, swiping call over his contact. It doesn’t go through. Now that’s another odd thing; Satoru never fails to pick up your calls.

“He’s just busy,” you lie to yourself, telling the same thing over and over again even as night falls and you’re staring at the empty left side of the bed, hands smoothing over where the curve of his body would’ve been. “He’s just busy,” you say once more, giving into the exhaustion brought on by your worries. “He’ll come home soon. He always will.”

Except he didn’t.

And that was two weeks ago.

“Angel, I got you—” Satoru immediately clamps his shut, his footsteps muted as he walks closer to you. You’ve been dating for a few months now, and you’re still very wary of the nature of your relationship so you refuse to move in with him. He doesn’t mind, he respects your space and decisions, but now he’s starting to regret letting you have your way. You’re hunched over your swiveling chair, cheek pressed against the opened textbook and glasses perched on your hair. The lamp desk illuminates the dark circles lining your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight.

Thanks to his help, you’ve been able to spend more time focusing on your studies. It should be comforting, but Satoru’s heart aches as he thinks of what you’ve been like prior to meeting him.

How long have you stayed up all night just to pass your exams? How long have you cried yourself to sleep, unable to handle the burden placed by the world on your shoulders at such a young age? How long have you had to turn down friends’ invites to parties with a forced smile because you had to go to work? How many times have you stared at a failing mark, teeth clenched because you studied well for it; your exhaustion just got the best of you and muddled your brain?

Satoru places the beer and dinner he’s got you on his way back home on top of your one-man dining table, pressing a kiss at the top of your head. You look so beautiful this way – unaware, unknowing, and focused in nothing but the future ahead of you that you don’t bother yourself with his past.

Perhaps…it was comforting, after all.

He’d rather have you worry over your own studies than worry about him. Satoru can’t stomach the idea of you – his precious angel – being involved in his own shit, possibly get caught between the crossfire. It pains him to say it, but he doesn’t want you getting too close for comfort.

So he stays there by your side, simply because it would expel all ideas of you wanting to be beside him. He’ll be right where you’re safe, and the sigh that leaves your lips when he moves you to your bed, fitting in his long, lanky bed on your cramped mattress an immense struggle. As if feeling that you’re finally home, you snuggle closer to his chest, murmuring sweet nothings that tug at his heartstrings.

Satoru rubs circles at your back, staring so hard at the chipped paint on your wall that he’s sure he’s got it burned in his memory.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve been satisfied with that. He should’ve held back in his desire to have more of you. He should’ve just tucked you in and left, but he was never really in control of himself. Before he knew it, he’s pulled in by you too much, encouraging him to move in with you under the lie it’s easier to keep an eye on you.

Had he just left you earlier…would things have been different then?

He’s asked himself this question too many times. Satoru always came to one conclusion. He loved you way too much that it consumed him, and soon the love he held for you slowly burned you inch by inch. The only way to save you was to pull away – but he wasn’t ready for that yet, not now – but he’s too scared, too deep in love that he ignores the warning signals and holds you close instead, finding comfort in the warmth of your arms.

Fuck. Satoru downs his second drink, glaring at everyone beneath his shades. Geto snickers beside him, sending side eyes to his boss every now and then just to check. Of course, Satoru’s not actually going to pass out, he was no lightweight, but he’d been uneasy every since that pretentious gold envelope landed on his desk.

One of the downsides of being a mafia leader meant you had to mingle with other clan shit, including him of all people. There were always new leaders popping out of nowhere, Satoru quote unquoting, criminals be spawning like maniacs.

For fourteen years – fourteen fucking years – his clan had been in bad blood with the Zen’ins. They were pretty new in the illegal side of business, starting off as a powerful name in the trade industry before they got interested in oil. One thing led to another, the family began to realize they could have so much more if they turned a blind eye to a law or to, soon shifting into illegal weaponry trade, human trafficking, then drug manufacturing.

These bastards had the audacity to insult the Gojo Clan when Satoru’s family dropped by to strike a contract out of curiosity to their goods, only to be turned down because they’re ‘barbaric’ and ‘informal.’

Satoru still remembers that humiliating moment of being escorted out by bodyguards, but he held his head high, vowing to show that bastard Zen’in guy that the Gojo’s were one of the powerhouses for a reason. He doesn’t even know where the elderly guy got his confidence from. Mafia business was not the same as their former expertise, yet they acted all high and mighty with their rules and standard of being sophisticated even in a life or death situation.

Gojo doesn’t know whether he should be happy or sad that the old man died, his son taking over just as soon as his father perished. He would’ve celebrated with a whiskey or two, except the new clan leader was quite adamant in cleaning up their name to prove he would not create the same mistake his father did.

The new leader threw a large cruise party, inviting pretty much everyone they were chummy with, and Satoru has never felt more out of place. He recognized a face or two, but he couldn’t really give a fuck. He hated events like this – it was all about establishing power and face.

Satoru groaned under his breath, swiping at another flute as a waiter passed by. He felt the bubbles fizzle down his throat, the slight burning sensation somewhat easing his nerves.

He leans back at the wall and checks his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It’s been two fucking hours since they arrived, and the host still hadn’t arrived. If they planned on being ‘fashionably late’ Satoru won’t hesitate to slice someone’s neck tonight. He hates his time being wasted the most, and his eyes slid over to his friend’s still posture, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“Suguru,” he sighs through his mouth, “Don’t be so tense. This is a formal event – no blood will be shed tonight.” Suguru had a weird skill of being able to read Satoru’s thoughts that he raised his hands in surrender, silently promising that he’s not going to kill anyone.

“You’re not sure of that.”

“I won’t lose my composure, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he rolls his eyes, not looking back as he effortlessly places the empty glass back to another waiter. Satoru stands next to his friend, sucking his teeth out of boredom. Suguru, on the other hand, is tenser than ever, his eyes locked onto something in the middle of the crowd that began to cheer.

Faintly, somewhere at the back of his mind, Satoru hears someone whistle in signal. A few seconds later, the fireworks are lit and decorate the night sky, bursts of gold and beauty accompanying the entrance of the woman who’s so effortlessly caught everyone’s eye tonight.

Satoru is rooted to his spot, taking off his glasses the same time the crowd parts. Then, his breath is knocked away from his body, his heart pumping so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

Because you’re there, smiling and waving at the crowd as if it’s second nature to you. Seven years of being apart from one another and Satoru is still bewitched each time he lays his eyes on you. You’re the same…from your face down to the angelic feeling you always carried, but at the same time, you’re different. Gone was his precious angel who shied away from too much attention, his precious angel who would’ve never worn such a bodacious ring embedded on her left ring finger. Your smile is more charismatic, confident, and even fierce compared to the small, private ones you always shared with him – he almost couldn’t recognize you.

As if feeling someone’s eyes on you, you spot him leaning languidly against the walls, those lips you used to kiss turned downwards.

Seven years ago, you would’ve kissed him until he smiles again, singing to your pouty and clingy boyfriend who never voiced out the reason of his troubles. Seven years ago, he would’ve carried you and swung you around, showering you with affection as he reminds you how lucky he is to have you.

But this was no longer the past – that much is clear from when he left you without another word.

Still, you smile at him, an empty one that showed nothing but concealed anger. He was sure though, so fucking sure, that for a split second, he saw you light up. That may have been seven years ago, but you loved each other to the point of insanity – surely you still held some sort of fondness of him.

Satoru takes long, self-assured stride towards you, his gaze never leaving yours with his hands tucked into his pockets. There’s no telling what he’ll do, but in his mind, it’s clear.

You still love him, he still loves you. He’ll do something about it. It doesn’t matter what, he just will. That was until a young man closer to your age with blond hair and pierced earrings, narrow feline eyes lined with eyeliner hobbles beside you, his weight supported by a cane that Satoru stops in his movements.

He’d recognize that face anywhere.

The youngest and perhaps most mischievous leader of them all, Naoya Zen’in. Albeit not as hard-headed as his father in comparison with his rather laid-back and welcoming nature, Satoru knows a monster when he sees it. It takes one to know one, after all, and despite the heir being crippled from a former accident, his intelligence and power was not to be overlooked through his appearance and coy smiles.

In fact, he might even be more dangerous than his old man, this theory only proven when his arms snake around your waist. The matching rings gleam from under the light, and you press yourself closer to him to whisper in his ear, your attention very much still on Satoru.

Satoru’s entire body burns.

“Still there, Sir?” Suguru asks, gripping his boss’ bicep to hold him back. Smart of him, Satoru exhales through his nose, unable to stop his glare from darting to your husband’s.

He’s heard of you, of him, of how his most annoying rival had a phenomenal trophy wife who looked harmless at first look, but was actually the brains of most of his operations. Satoru forgets how to breathe normally because he’s heard of you, and the rumors he’s gotten wind of about Naoya’s trophy wife are nothing less of how dedicated and perfect the two of you are.

Slapping Suguru’s arm away from him, Satoru grits his teeth. “Get me a drink.”

His precious angel was gone. No, this woman that stood before him…you were an entirely different entity, something darker, something along the lines that were more like him.

What exactly happened the day he left you?

taglist: @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head tagging the ones who asked for part 2, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

943 notes · View notes

sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader

81 notes · View notes

justcafewriter · 4 years ago

Text

Bittersweet

pairing : Oda Sakunosuke x Reader

genre : a mix of fluff and angst (only a little bit of angst i guess ^^;)

warning : contain death

prompt : roasting sweet potato

summary : a bittersweet memory always find its way to you whenever winter come

word count : 2.4K

a/n : another story from a different prompt for the 12 days of cheer collab. the general idea was to have Makoto as the main character and fluff as the genre but I recently have Oda brainrot thanks to my dear friend, Clio :') so here we go.

The sound of your kitchen timer ringed loudly, making you swiftly walk to the kitchen and stop where the oven is and turn it off before you put on your kitchen gloves and open the oven's lid. The smell of roasted sweet potato filled your nostrils, a satisfactory smile appeared on your face as you're checking if it's properly roasted and it did. You look at the clock, it's now 9am and you just need to change your clothes before you're finally ready to go. 15 minutes later, you're already in your bestest outfit, a necklace with a home-shaped pendant decorating your outfit nicely, you're wearing a bit of makeup and let your hair loose. You look at your reflection, smiling as you think that you look the way someone you'll meet like.

After you put on your shoes, you're ready to go with a box of roasted potato in one hand and a bouquet of flowers that you've already arranged yourself in another. A mix of Pink Camelia, Pink Carnation, Red Chrysanthemum and Forget-Me-Not. You look at the bouquet in your hand before your eyes drift to the frames that's standing on the table not too far from the entrance of your apartment.

One of the frames contained a photo of a young man with reddish-brown hair, his azure eyes seemed so gentle as he was smiling happily. Another frame contained a photo of you and that young man, there's a little scribble on that photo saying "first date with Oda ♡". You smile upon seeing those photos, a warm feeling crept inside your heart as you see the smiles both of you wore in that sacred moment.

With a heavy sigh you finally get out from your apartment. The weather is not that nice but you can say that it's not bad either, especially since it's December now. As you're walking, you see a lot of people around, some busying themselves buying gifts for Christmas and you're giving note to yourself to not forget searching for one.

It doesn't take long until you finally arrive at your destination. You're walking toward a big tree and lay a small blanket before you sit on it. You're smiling as you see the one who you want to see resting there.

"I'm here, Oda." You whispered as a gentle smile appeared on your beautiful face. "And I bring roasted potatoes too!"

Suddenly, your mind traced on the first day he finally has courage to talk to you.

-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-

7 years ago

You were eating your favorite curry at your favorite small shop like you usually do when suddenly a tall man with stubble came and asking for 'usual'. You look at his figure before you try to continue eating your food. Yes, try. Because the man who just came was also the reason why you keep coming back to the shop. He gave you this mysterious aura which told you to not get too close to him but also at the same time you drew to him and your eyes landed on nothing but him.

Silent filled the room, only the sound of the chef (also the owner) cooking could be heard when suddenly the man beside you asked, "How's the kids?" which was answered with, "Like usual." By the chef.

Again, silence filled the room. You try to continue to eat when suddenly the man beside you said, "Do you like sweet potatoes?" You paid him no mind since you thought that he was probably talking to the chef again but then you felt a pair of eyes looking at you, so you were looking at your right only to be watched by a pair of beautiful azure eyes. You tried your best to not spit on your food because you swear that the curry seems like entering the wrong hole.You tried to gulp down that damn curry before you sipped the cold water beside your plates.

"You're asking me?" You asked, looking at him with your doe eyes, you saw a tint of pink appear on his cheeks.

"Ah, sorry if I'm being rude and yes I was asking you." He said as he rubbed his hair.

"I.. I like sweet potatoes." You said again, you weren't lying, it's not like you love them by lots but you enjoy eating them.

"Good. So you wouldn't mind to join us later? If you have time of course." A sheepishly smile appeared on his face.

Your face brightened at the invitation, not gonna lie, you were so interested at this man so having him inviting you was something that you'd like to have.

"Well, what time is later?" You asked, no matter how happy you feel you need to play it cool.

"Uhm.. later as in after we finished our meal." He answered. "I heard a saying that said, 'women have another stomach for dessert'."

"Well it's very much true and I feel like I need to accept your invitation, especially if it's coming from a gentleman like you." You said and the moment you said it, that man knew that you were a very special person and he knew that you would change him in any way possible.

"My name is Oda Sakunosuke." That man said while stretching out his hand.

"My name is Y/N." You said, while gripping that man's hand. The moment his large hand wrapping yours, you knew that you couldn't escape to fall for him more deeply.

-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-

"Y/N-san! Odasaku! come here, come here. Sakura has practiced her singing skill and she will sing for us!" Kousuke, the oldest kid of orphaned children who Oda adopted said as he was welcoming you and Oda. It has been a year since you were dating Oda and you've met the kids countless times so they already welcomed you like you're always belonged there. Oda never knew why he introduced the kids to you and told you that he adopted them all. Well, he knew why. He wanted to know how your reaction would be. He was glad when he saw that you were very much okay with him having kids despite he was only 21 years old at that time.

"Oh, Y/N-san! You brought a lot of sweet potatoes!" Another child named Katsumi said after he appeared from nowhere.

"Yes, I'm gonna make roasted sweet potatoes because Odasaku said that you guys like them and we couldn't enjoy them that much last year."

"Your roasted potatoes taste so delicious." The youngest kid, Sakura, said as she approached you. The rest of two kids also joined you and Oda while they were agreeing to what Sakura said.

"Okay, okay. Odasaku and I will clean the sweet potatoes before we roast them so you all can prepare things in the living room and clean it up a bit. You say you will help uncle right?" You said and all the kids accepting your guidance before they stormed into the living room.

"How can they listen to you so well?" Oda said once the kids left the kitchen as he approached you. He wrapped his hands around your waist before he inhaled your scent and put his lip close to your jawline before he kissed it, that gesture made you turn around so you were facing him and process to kiss his lips before saying, "It's a secret."

A laugh erupted from both of you. Oda then pulled you closer to him before he planted a kiss on your lips, a passionate one if you could tell. The kiss made your feet feel like jelly and your lips burned in sensation of his sweet, honey taste lips. His stubble roughly rubbed the skin around your mouth but it didn't give you any effect to pull away.

"Uhm!!" You heard someone try to disturb the moment you have with Oda so you broke the kiss only to find the oldest kid, Kousuke gave you a 'what-the-hell-are-you-doing' look. "Sorry to interrupt but the potatoes won't roast themselves aren't they?" He snickered.

You and Oda were stuttering as you both tried to reasoning your action. Fast forward, all the seven of you were already in the living room with a warm roasted potato on the table and warm green tea accompanied it.

You were listening to Sakura singing a Christmas song then after that you were just listening to the kids rumbling about their days before finally the show that the kid wanted to watch has started. It was suddenly quiet, you were sitting in the back with Oda sitting beside you and his hand was around your waist. You put your head on his shoulder as you also lingered your hands around his torso. Both of you sit there in silence, watching the kids immersed in the movie that they watched.

After the movie finished, you saw the kids were all sleeping. Oda then moved them one by one to their bedroom with you helping him by preparing their bed and tucked them once Oda put them on their bed. After you tucked the last kid, both of you look at the sight of five angelic kids sleeping figures and you couldn't help but feel the warmness inside your heart and you knew Oda felt the same because you felt a pair of strong arms lingering around your waist as he hugged you from behind.

"One day… One day we will move from this town, we'll move to another place near the beach, where the kids can run as far as possible, where the kids can enjoy much sunshine while they're playing outside, where they will have baby siblings and play with them and teach them one thing or two. I, I'm sorry for being so selfish but please bear with me a little more. I promise you everything will be better." You heard Oda say those words before he kissed your crown. You, on the other side felt your tears run down to your cheeks.You knew about his occupation yet you still accept him and love him with all your might. Mafia who doesn't kill. That was what his colleagues called him. And you knew the reason why, he told you about it, about his dream, about how he wanted to be a writer, how he wanted to have a house with a window facing the ocean as he wrote the continuation of his favorite book. He shared his dream with you, shared his obsession and you were very much so supporting to his idea.

"I will wait as much as possible if it's come to you. To the kids that I thought of my own. That's how much I love you, Oda." You whispered but it was loud enough for Oda to hear.

You felt Oda broke the hug before he asked you to close your eyes and you did. Suddenly you felt a cold metal at the crook of your neck, then he told you to open your eyes. The first thing you did was to look down and there you saw a necklace with a house-shaped pendant. You ask him what it was about and he told you that it was a token, a token to what he promised to you; the next stage of relationship.

You couldn't help but crying at his explanation, he was so shocked because that wasn't the reaction that he expected.

-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-

It was less than a year when you heard news from Oda's friend, Dazai, that Oda was seriously injured. Your head was spinning like crazy and your heart was beating so fast it felt like it'd burst out from your body anytime. The time when you come to where Dazai told you, Oda was long gone, his body already cold and lifeless. That was when your world sinked into hell, when your heart broke into pieces it couldn't be repaired, when you couldn't even scream in pain as you saw a lifeless body that belonged to a man who you loved dearly.

-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-✿-

A single tear escapes from your eyes as you reminisce the memory of your now deceased fiance. You saw his name engraved on the tombstone in front of you before you put the bouquet that you bring on top of his grave. It has been 4 years since Oda left you, and you also learnt about the kids he adopted, that they were also already dead because they caught up in Oda's last mission. Another tears escapes and run down to your cheeks, you try to hold it because you already swore to only show Oda your happy side, to not make him worry when he's watching you from heaven above.

"It's okay to cry." You hear a familiar voice of Oda's friend, Dazai. "I bet that's what Oda would say to you." He says again as he's walking towards your direction.

You saw him holding a small bouquet of flowers.

"Zinnia. Thoughts of absent friends." You say as you look at the flower.

"Longing for you, I'll never forget you, I love you and True love memories." Dazai says after he placed his bouquet next to yours. "Odasaku was so lucky to meet you." He says again.

"Both of us are lucky to meet each other, but not lucky enough to be together in this life." You smile bitterly as you spit on your last words. The words are surely hurt and the reality you're facing now is surely cruel and Dazai knew what kind of hell you've been through after you learnt a sadistic truth 4 years ago, after you learnt the fact that you lost the most important person in your life.

"I still feel thankful that you live your life to your best, that you carry out Oda's dream and even you're doing more than he can do. You build an orphanage, you're taking care of unfortunate children and I'm sure Oda is gonna be proud of you." Dazai says as he pat your head, like a big bro he is.

"That's the only thing I can do." You say.

"It's getting cold now, let me take you home." Dazai offers and you decide that it's the time you need to go.

"Till then, Oda." You says before you rub his tombstone and accepting Dazai's offer to take your hand and walk with him, leaving a bittersweet memory behind you as you leave the cemeteries.

collab taglist: @animatedarchives @azxmii @yamaguchi-stan

#oda sakunosuke #odasaku #oda x reader #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader

42 notes · View notes

spohkh · 4 years ago

Text

miracle on cornelia street [dean/castiel]

so BASICALLY sarah @adanceinasnowglobe and i were talking about what everyone would be up to post-series -- yknow, like, now that theyre all safe and healthy n everythings cool and destiel is officially together. yknow. as happened in canon -- and we were like so obviously destiel get a house, and thats kind of the basis of this verse so !! this is the foundational fic for what i HOPE will be a series of fun lil day-in-the-life drabbles, from both me and sarah!!

ehehehe :-) enjoy!

read on AO3

The house is a quaint thing, sitting low and snug under a pair of shady oak trees in a quiet suburb just outside of downtown Lawrence. Its brickwork face is weathered—definitely in need of a good power wash—and the roof is just as worn. The bottom step to the porch slants unevenly, and the porch itself has cracks in the concrete. There are chips in the paint on the window frames, the iron porch railing is rusting, and who knows when the gutters were last given a proper cleaning.

There’s a lot of work to be done, but standing there in the small front lawn, Dean Winchester can’t say if he’s ever seen anyplace else so perfect as the house at 3767 Cornelia Street. Dean’s house—his home. His home with Cas.

“Can you believe it?” he quietly says to Miracle, who has been sitting patiently by Dean’s leg. Miracle tilts her head and wags her tail. Dean looks back up at the house. “Yeah, me neither.”

The sound of a familiar car rumbling up the road snaps Dean out of his reverie. He rubs a knuckle at his eye and clears his throat and tries to look like he hadn’t been standing in his front yard about to cry while talking to his dog, christ.

The car rolls to a stop on the curb just in front of the house. The driver’s side door opens, and Sam slowly unfolds his ridiculous limbs as he gets out. It’s always a wonder how he can fit himself into a car at all. Sam gives a dorky little wave as he ambles over to where Dean is standing.

Dean peers behind Sam, trying to see into the car. “What, no Eileen?”

“Hello to you, too. Dick,” he replies snarkily. “She’s wrapping up a work thing. She’ll come over when she’s done.”

Dean sucks his teeth in disappointment. “Ah, well. Guess you can go home then.” Sam shoves at his shoulder. Dean just laughs and pulls Sam in for a proper hello hug.

“Why are you standing out here, anyway?” Sam asks when they part.

“Can’t a man just hang out in his own front yard? Accompanied by a dashing canine companion?” He leans down to pat Miracle on the head.

“I guess…” Sam looks down at Miracle. When she tips her head up and gazes back at him, Sam snorts.

“What?”

“Miracle on Cornelia Street,” Sam says with mirth.

Dean squints at him. “What?” he repeats, now more incredulous.

“You know—like Miracle on 34th Street. But we’re on Cornelia, so.” He nods down at the dog. “Miracle on Cornelia Street.”

“Dude.” Dean rolls his eyes at Sam’s goofy grin and starts walking up the path to the house, Miracle trotting behind him. “Shut up and come inside already.”

Sam follows after him, pausing just inside the threshold as he spots something on the doorframe. “Oh, classy,” he says, throwing a sardonic look to where D.W. and C.W. are scratched into the wood.

“Just wait,” Dean jokes with a toothy smile, “when I got the time I’m gonna draw a little heart around it.” He was joking, but now that he said it, he kind of wanted to.

Cas looks up from the stove when they walk into the dining room. He’s wearing one of Dean’s old AC/DC tees, the logo all but worn away from being washed so many times. He’s usually in some ratty tee or other when lounging around these days. But in honor of Sam’s visit today (Cas’ words) and to seem a little more dressy short of donning his usual button-downs (Dean’s private opinion), he’s also wearing the cable-knit cardigan Sam got him as a gift last Christmas. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam leans against the counter that separates the dining and kitchen areas, craning his giraffe neck to catch a glimpse at the stove. “Hey, Cas! What’cha cooking?”

“Nothing. Dean made it. I was just watching the pot so it didn’t boil over.” He locks eyes with Dean, his intent stare very clearly communicating I did not touch the chili I added nothing I did not touch the dial I was just watching it like you asked so don’t even start.

Dean just smiles as he walks past the counter and steps into Cas’ space. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, and busses Cas on the cheek.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies warmly. He’s gazing up at Dean with those summer afternoon blue eyes, standing in one of Dean’s shirts and that dorky cardigan, and Dean starts to get full of that feeling from out in the front yard again. If they were alone, Dean would probably say something recklessly sappy like I am so stupid in love with you.

As it is, Dean clears his throat and turns back to Sam, slinging an arm around Cas’ shoulders, and says, “He did the salad.”

Cas sneaks him a knowing look before, thankfully, putting his attention on Sam without commenting on Dean’s hasty redirection. “I did the salad,” Cas agrees blithely, and places the salad bowl on the counter for Sam to see, seeming pleased with himself.

Sam looks between the two of them, an amused tilt to his eyebrow that Dean implicitly distrusts. He’s definitely thinking mocking thoughts about the two of them. But he just quirks a smile and says, “It looks great.” Shrewd little diplomat.

Cas shifts to the side to see past Sam’s shoulder. Sam glances behind himself before shooting Cas a confused look.

“She’s still at work,” Dean tells Cas, guessing who he’s looking for. “Sadly.”

“What, am I not good enough?”

“Of course you are,” Cas promises earnestly, just as Dean says, “Well…”

Sam’s opening his mouth to retort, probably something absolutely scathing, when his phone chimes. He pulls it out of his pocket, a smile spreading over his face. “Speak of the devil,” he says, then tips his head with a grimace, “as it were. That was Eileen. She’ll be here soon, so I’m gonna go wash up.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall—“

“Dude, I know where it is. I did help you guys move in.”

Dean spreads his hands in assent. “Fine, christ, I swear never to be a good host to you in my home ever again. Go ahead and go take your dump now.”

“I’m not gonna—ohmygodnevermind.” He turns on his heel and huffs down the hall, Miracle trotting after him, the tags on her collar clinking together jauntily.

Dean reaches past Cas to turn the burner off, then lands his hand on Cas’ hip. “Have I told you today how cute you are in that sweater?”

“Yes.” Cas brings his hands up to cradle Dean’s face. “Four times.”

“Make it five.” Dean kisses him. He pulls Cas into a hug, pressing his face against Castiel’s shoulder. They sway into each other. After a warm moment, Dean says in a low voice, “The first family dinner in our house.”

Cas hums a soft, contented sound in agreement. “The first of many,” he responds, just as quiet. Dean squeezes him tighter. He knows they’re both thinking about Jack and Claire, their bedrooms sitting empty and waiting for whenever they can find the time to visit—and Kaia and Alex and Jody with Claire, if they can, and Charlie and her girlfriend, and Bobby, and all the other wayward extensions of their sprawling family caught out in the wind. Their house isn’t big enough to host everyone, but with Sam and Eileen up the block and the bunker just a few miles out, there’s plenty of room to put up people who come out their way. Dean has the hope that 3767 Cornelia Street becomes a common pitstop for folks—a suburban Roadhouse, a tidier (much tidier) Singer Salvage.

Dean presses a kiss against Cas’ neck, and Cas breathes a sweet little sigh that pushes all thoughts about future dinners right out the window. Fuck, this dinner could go out the window, for all he cares. He kisses a little higher up, right under Cas’ jawline, before pulling back to catch Castiel’s darkened gaze. “How ‘bout we ditch the nag and go have a private party of our own?”

“Dean, no. I worked really hard on that salad.” He sounds perfectly serious, but the playful glint in his eye gives him away. Dean snorts, mumbling oh, forgive me, Chef Cas as he leans in again.

Just as they kiss, Sam walks back in. “Hey, I think something’s wrong with your sink–- oh, sorry.”

“Huh?” Dean reluctantly pulls away as Sam clears his throat, looking sheepish. “What’s wrong with what, Sammy?”

“Uh, with your bathroom.”

“The bathroom? Oh, what, you clogged the toilet?”

“Wha— N— I DID NOT SHIT IN YOUR BATHROOM.”

“Then how did the toilet get messed up?”

“It’s the SINK, the SINK—”

“You took a shit in the sink?”

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dean…”

“What? He started it.”

“Started WHAT?”

Dean snaps his fingers. “The end of the world.”

“Oh! My god!”

“I guess technically, yeah, since god is our kid...” He turns to Cas. “Weird, weird lives we lead.”

Cas just shakes his head, clearly exasperated. Sam has given up on speaking completely and has fallen back on making a gesture like he’s one second away from grabbing Dean by the throat.

“I was there for all twelve years of it,” Sam says to Cas, “and I still can’t believe you stayed with this guy.”

“Well,” Cas muses serenely, “you’ve been here a lot longer than me.”

Sam grimaces when Dean throws him his best shit-eating grin. Nothing like his two favorite people bonding over how much of a pain he is.

The sound of the front door opening distracts them, and then a voice calls, “Knock knock! The life of the party has arrived!”

“Eileen!” Sam exclaims happily. Miracle takes off down the hall, Sam hot on her heels.

Dean chuckles at Sam’s unabashed excitement, then gives Castiel another peck on the cheek before moving away from him. “Can you put everything out on the table? I’ll go check out the bathroom sitch real quick.”

Cas catches his hand as he starts to leave, softly saying his name. When Dean looks back at him, Cas smiles and says, “I love you.”

Dean wonders if maybe three time’s the charm and he should just give in to what his body wants him to do. If a man has a right to stand around and cry messily anywhere in his own home, surely the kitchen would be the place to do it. The kitchen, after all, is the heart of any house.

But Dean doesn’t. He indulges in a little sniffle, Cas’ eyes glimmering with knowing in the soft light. Dean brings Cas’ hand to his mouth and kisses the neat gold band around his finger, and he kisses each peaked knuckle, and he turns Cas’ hand over and kisses his palm and his wrist. Then he lets go and puts his own hand against Cas’ cheek, and says his recklessly sappy thing: “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

And the glowing feeling inside him doesn’t settle, only grows brighter.

Whatever’s wrong with the sink will be just one more thing to a long list of shit to deal with. Their house needs work, no denying. But Dean knows they’ve got plenty of time.

#destiel #deancastiel #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #my writing

21 notes · View notes

malecsecretsanta · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, myulalie!

For @myulalie <3

Read On AO3

*****

The one that he always (dreamt of)

It was his first day in college and Alec was glad that he had also found himself a job so he could pay for the courses he was taking.

His job was making deliveries for the flower shop his brother Jace and Jace’s boyfriend owned.

Alec never showed anyone his soulmate marks. It was rare to have them and the last thing he needed was a lot of attention and his siblings remarking on it.

After his morning classes he walked to work to collect the deliveries and earn his salary, plus maybe tips that clients would give him.

His last delivery took him to a tattoo shop, to bring flowers to a tattoo artist, Magnus Bane.

Alec had known since he was a little boy that he wanted to have a set of tattoos, but his parents wouldn’t let him. The matter was never mentioned again, but now he was standing outside the shop, looking at images that were amazing and beautiful. Alec knew what he would do next, once he earned more money.

Alec entered the shop and let the receptionist know he had a delivery for Magnus Bane.

The red-haired girl nodded and made a phone call.

A few minutes later a man showed up. Alec could see that almost all his body was tattooed and he had piercings in his lips and ears. Alec found himself staring with awe at the man and his beauty. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice his mouth was still open.

The gorgeous man came toward him as he asked, “Are those for me?”

“Uh… Yes, sorry, didn’t mean to stare,” Alec nervously moved his hand over his hair and gave the other man the flowers. “These are for you.”

Magnus put the flowers on the reception desk as he focused his attention on the delivery man.

“No… no, it’s quite alright. I’m always amazed by the reaction I get from my appearance,” Magnus told him with a smile.

“Is that a tattoo on your hand?” Magnus asked as he thought that he saw a glimpse of something.

“No… sorry, it’s not a tattoo,” Alec replied and hid his hand away.

“Is that a soulmate mark?” Magnus asked with a fascinated look.

“Could be. Why?” Alec asked, not giving anything away.

“I have one too,” Magnus replied to him as he rolled up his sleeve and Alec could see a name mixed with his rune tattoo of love. He created it once, the one that he always dreamt of. “What’s yours? Tattoo or soulmate mark, man?”

“Uh… I never show it to anyone,” Alec told him, still feeling nervous about the whole thing, as he rolled his sleeve up to reveal he had a rune tattoo with Magnus Bane on it, and a binding tattoo, like a wedding tattoo. “This is what I have.”

Magnus smiled at him, a very big smile, before he turned around to face the receptionist. “Call Izzy and tell her she needs to replace me tomorrow. I have a date that I need to make with my soulmate here.”

“With me?” Alec asked, still not knowing what was going on around him. He knew he should get back to the store, but he couldn’t walk away from the tattoo, from the man who appeared to be his soulmate.

“Yes, with you,” Magnus confirmed to him, as the red-haired girl only smiled in the background. “Do you want a coffee or something stronger?”

“Once I finish my work I can come back and have something then, if the offer still stands…” Alec replied.

“Of course, my soulmate is always welcome here,” Magnus told him.

“My name is Alec,” Alec introduced himself to him.

Alec walked away from the store, turning around one last time to look at the man, his soulmate, before heading over to his car and driving away.

As he came to the flower shop he noticed that Jace and Simon looked at him in a funny way.

“What? Is there something on my face, clothes? What is it?” Alec asked.

“Jace, is he smiling? I’m not dreaming, am I?” Simon asked his boyfriend.

Jace kissed him as he replied, “No, you are not dreaming, love, he is smiling,” Jace looked at his brother, “So, what’s with the smile?”

“Nothing. Is there anything I should do or are there more deliveries?” Alec asked, trying to change the subject.

“That was the last one, and you know that. Now, tell me, what is it?” Jace asked his brother.

“The last delivery, I think that I just met my soulmate…” Alec replied and lowered his head.

“Wait, you have a soulmate? Are you making plans for the future?” Simon asked with excitement.

“Yes, I have. I found him on the last delivery and he already wants to know more about me and wants a date for tomorrow. He arranged for a replacement to cover for him at work tomorrow,” Alec rumbled with excitement and nervousness.

“Is he your first, brother?” Jace asked him.

Alec nodded. He could feel the blush, his cheeks were on fire.

“Look, you brother is blushing,” Simon teased Alec.

“Go to him, brother. We can deal with any more deliveries that come in on our own. You deserve to find love, just like you always dreamt of,” Jace said, as he urged him out of the flower shop.

“Are you sure?” Alec asked him from the door frame.

“I’m sure, but I want all the details,” Jace grinned at him.

“Give us all the sexy details,” Simon added and smiled at the blushing Alec as he hurried out of the shop.

“You know,” Simon told him as he felt Jace’s hand move closer to his heart, “I thought that I would never see your brother blushing so much but happy at the same time.”

“I know what you mean. It was rare to see him even smiling at home,” Jace said as he kissed him on the cheek.

Alec drove to the tattoo shop; he could hear his heart hammering like crazy as he parked the car and headed over to the shop.

He knew that he needed to calm himself. There was no need to get out of control, even if he didn’t have any experience in love. It was just that he had never felt so connected to anyone before and he didn’t want to mess it up.

He thought that he could see Magnus Bane coming out of the shop toward him as he tried to move from his car to get to him, but he couldn’t find the power in him to move his legs.

“Are you alright, Alexander?” Magnus asked him, using his full name.

“Is it okay if I call you Alexander?” Magnus continued, as he noticed the look his soulmate gave him.

Alec just nodded.

“Did you eat anything today?” Magnus asked, taking in how pale the other man was.

“I think I ate after classes and between deliveries,” Alec found his voice again as he replied to him.

“You need more food, darling,” Magnus told him as he held his hand out to him.

Alec looked at the hand as he moved his own to entwine with it, like he saw Jace and Simon doing it.

“Come with me to dinner, we both need it,” Magnus told him.

“Can I drive over there?” Alec asked.

“No need, it’s merely a short walk. I know the right place for us. It’s quiet and we can talk as we eat,” Magnus replied.

“Okay, lead the way,” Alec told him with a smile.

While they walked Alec could feel his soulmate’s eyes on him. He could feel the soft touch of his hand as the air around them began to get colder as the night set in, the warm touch of his soulmate, warming his heart.

As they reached their destination Alec took in its name, Taki’s restaurant.

“I have never been here,” Alec said, sounding nervous.

“It’s alright, darling, you’ll get to know the place very well. Taki’s has the greatest food,” Magnus told him as he led him over to the door.

Alec could see the place was full, crowded with people who were enjoying the food. He was sure that there was no room for them, he could see people waiting inside to get to eat.

Magnus smiled deviously as he told the hostess that he already reserved a table for two and that the chef knew.

“Oh, right, you are the Magnus Bane that the chef told us about. She said that you might come with the right date,” the hostess told him with a smile.

“Y… yes, I guess,” Magnus told her.

“Follow me,” the hostess said as she took some menus and led them over to the darkest and quietest spot that was marked as reserved. “This is your table. A waiter will take your order soon. I better let the chef know you’re here.”

The hostess left.

“You know the chef?” Alec asked as he sat next to him.

“Yeah, I do,” Magnus replied, adding, “We grew up in an orphanage together and were the best of friends. We still are.”

“Oh, that’s nice to hear,” Alec told him, feeling more nervous than before.

“I know this probably isn’t the right time to ask, but have you been with anyone before you met me?” Magnus asked, seeing how nervous and blushing Alec was.

“No… I always wanted to meet my soulmate and to keep my purity for him or her. A soulmate is meant to be special, at least for me,” Alec replied.

“That explains your blushing and nervousness. Don’t worry, darling, you are cute when you do so,” Magnus told him with a smile, wanting to kiss him on the cheek, but was interrupted when the waiter appeared with the chef walking after him.

Magnus stood up from the table to greet the chef with a hug. “Maia!”

Maia smiled and looked at his date who was looking at them with awe or understanding on his face. “Is this your date?”

“Yes, he is my soulmate. Isn’t he cute?”

“He is cute! Does he have a name, Magnus?” Maia asked with a smile.

“Yes, his name is Alec, but I can call him Alexander,” Magnus grinned at her.

“Do you have a last name, Alec? So I’ll know it’s you and not some other Alec,” Maia asked.

“Y… Yes, sorry, my name is Alec Lightwood,” Alec replied and noticed the exchange of glances between Maia and Magnus.

“What is it?” Alec asked.

“Do you have a sister by the name of Izzy by any chance?” Magnus asked him.

“You know Izzy?” Alec asked, his eyes shining.

“Of course! She works at my shop. She has great eyes and she’s like my second in command,” Magnus told him with a proud look.

“I’m happy for her. Happy that she found a job that she always wanted, just like my brother found something that he always wanted,” Alec told him, his eyes sparkling with pride.

The chef talked with the waiter before she left.

“The dessert is on the house. Now what would you like to order? Or do you need a few more minutes?” the waiter asked them.

“We need a few more minutes,” Magnus replied as he focused on his soulmate, not minding the waiter at all.

“What about you? What you always wanted?” Magnus asked as he sat next to him again.

“I always wanted to meet someone like you,” Alec replied, his lips parted as he looked at Magnus.

Magnus looked at him before he licked his lips and not letting the table stop him as he leant over to kiss him on the lips.

The marks on their hands seemed to glow and bind together, the mark on each hand seemed to get another mark next to it.

Alec got the love rune and bind with Magnus Bane's name marked with gold and blue with it, as Magnus got his bind and love rune with the name of Alec Lightwood marked with gold coloring.

“Does it meet your expectations?” Magnus asked him with a smile.

“Better! Now I have you forever,” Alec replied, unable to look away from him.

“Would you like to order?” the waiter asked.

The End!

#myulalie #malecsanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

4 notes · View notes

fabrayonthetrax · 7 years ago

Text

What’s In a Name?

Tagging → Quinn Fabray [with Kiran Basanti] Time Frame → Late Friday Evening | 06.09.17 Location → Quinn’s Apartment | SoHo General Notes → When it’s too late to do The Most™

“How did I know I’d find you here?”

Quinn started a bit at the voice, deep from sleep with just a hint of amusement. Her attention shifted from the tablet in her lap and she dropped her legs from their resting place atop her coffee table when Kiran entered, settling on the couch beside her with a resounding ‘plop’.

“I could have sworn I left you sleeping,” she replied in lieu of a greeting, eyes narrowing when quick fingers swiped at the tablet, putting it out of her reach on the other side of the couch. “What are you doing?”

“Saving you from another three hours of staying up for absolutely no reason,” Kiran shot back, all charm with a big grin that had Quinn’s eyes rolling. “Come on, it’s late. And not even the good late you like when you’re actually working on something. But the other kind, where you get all zoned out and stressed. That’s normally when I find cookie crumbs between the sheets.”

Quinn couldn’t disagree with the assessment, irritating as it was. Her to-do list was as complete as it was going to get for the night. With construction on her new studio finally finished, the rest of the pieces were ripe for falling into place…as soon as she could settle on a name. Her thoughts were halted by the feel of Kiran’s hand, warm against her bare thigh as he gripped her leg in a gentle squeeze.

“Stop overthinking.”

She shot him a look. “I was thinking the right amount.”

He chuckled at that, small smirk and tufts of dark hair sticking up giving him a youthful appearance that was offset by his well-trimmed beard. “Is this still about the name? It can’t be that hard to come up with something.”

“It can’t just be ‘something’. It needs to be…perfect.” Perfection seemed to be taking its sweet time. Perhaps it was the stress or just sheer lack of creativity but Quinn was coming up short and feeling incredibly anxious about it. Not to mention insecure. It wasn’t like her to fret so much, and the newness of that emotion sparked a whole different layer of irritation.

Despite his teasing, Kiran was blessedly sympathetic to the situation and even with the eye-rolling, Quinn appreciated his company. Though, that was nothing new. Sometimes she wondered of the balance in their situation and where his benefit lay in all of this; they weren’t in a relationship. Even after a year, that much was clear.

At first she wondered if he was just following her lead, which seem to be the norm in these situations she found herself in—not dating, but selfish coupling—and Quinn wanted no part in that kind of setup again. Greediness at the expense of another, eventually it got old and the end was always the same. Left alone and full of an emptiness she attempted to fill with work and other nonsense until someone else came along, ripe and unsuspecting.

Eventually she realized it was something else, something genuinely lowkey, and the easiness of it all relaxed her. There was a difference between casual and careless, and Quinn was determined not to make that mistake again. She didn’t think ‘more’ was possible, not with anyone.

Not anymore.

And thankfully, expanding further on those thoughts weren’t necessary with Kiran, who was perfectly content with their arrangement. Dates here and there, with late night sleepovers sprinkled in between. In her world, where complicated and chaos reigned supreme, it was refreshing to have that still point, a space which required no dissection or overthinking.

Except tonight, apparently. The frustration of her work seeping into other facets of her life. The anxiety was beginning to be unsettling, and Quinn knew she was overdoing it, but supposed it was just a natural consequence of the project she was undertaking. More and more, the decision to venture out on her own, with her own company filled her with a nervous kind of tension she found unable to shake off, especially with this name business—

“You’re doing it again.” Kiran’s observation sliced through her jumbled thoughts and instead of casting him a glare, Quinn simply sighed. She tugged her glasses from her face and tossed them gently atop the coffee table.

“I know I’m making it harder than it should be, but I feel…stuck. My creativity is practically a desert right now, and I’m not sure why.”

“Maybe because you need it more than ever,” he offered with a shrug. “I think the more you want something, and try to force it, the harder it gets to you know, get it. But I know you’re brilliant, and you’ll think of something. You know how it is with inspiration, it comes from the strangest places.”

Rationally, she knew he was right, and though she wasn’t one hundred percent confident it was that easy, Quinn could always appreciate a good motivational speech. Plus, she couldn’t exactly afford to be picky, desperate for reassurance as she was. Still, she found her smile was easy and she shifted closer to his side, arm curling around his middle as his settled on her shoulders. “Why are you always so unshakably positive, you damn weirdo?”

Kiran laughed at that, a deep, rumbling sound that she cuddled closer to. “We can’t all be neurotic worriers, I guess. I don’t know, I feel like anything that means something to you, it’ll grab you eventually. Or you can just do what I did, and use a last name. Doesn’t even have to be yours. But ‘Basanti’s’ is already taken by a fabulous award-winning restaurant and chef, and I don’t wanna fight you for it.”

A raspy chuckle slipped from her lips, even as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah don’t worry about that, there’s no way I’m using ‘Basanti’. Or any last name. Including mine. I want it to be something separate. Something just for Quinn.”

“That’s fair,” he reasoned. “What’s important to Quinn? What’s your ‘aesthetic’?” He affected a posh British accent for the last word, the goofiness of it all making her laugh, despite the cheesiness.

“I know what concept I’m going for, but crafting something catchy from that is the problem. Maybe I just have to sleep on it.”

“Oh, so you were listening.”

Quinn shrugged. “It’s difficult to get work done when someone commandeers my damn tablet, so yes. Listening.” The tiredness of the day’s activities was finally catching up with her. But despite the exhaustion, she realized the good that came from sharing her thoughts with someone else other than the worrying in her head. The business of her business and its name had yet to be solved, but at least she wasn’t pressuring herself into an all-nighter because of it. Deep down, she knew Kiran was right. The creativity would come to her. More than likely when she wasn’t stretched to the limit of her abilities.

Feeling grateful for his calm words, Quinn tilted her face towards his, full lips slanting over his own plump pair in a chaste kiss, humming briefly when she felt his smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, following it up with another kiss.

Quinn slipped from his hold then, scrambling off the couch and to her feet. “Just so you know, you owe me breakfast and you won’t use my late-night anxiety session as an excuse to sleep in.”

She held out a hand to a laughing Kiran, slender fingers slipping through larger, darker ones as she tugged his feet, their hands still joined as they headed towards her bedroom. “Yeah well, I guess I can be nice to you. Even if you did wake me up.”

#intotheworld rp #quinn fabray rp #fabrayonthetrax #para: what's in a name #ch: kiran #p #p: solo

4 notes · View notes

overdrivels · 8 years ago

Text

Down with the Sickness (Drabble)

Hanzo x Reader

Hanzo’s caught a cold.

Hanzo’s mouth is full of curses in his mother tongue as he ambles down the halls at a quarter to five in the morning. Apparently his alarm had gone off twice without his notice, and it took him much longer to get out of bed than usual no thanks to a fierce ache in his entire body that tried to force him back into the comfort of his sheets. The training session from yesterday must have worn him out more than he remembered. He wears his clothes on both shoulders today, the halls and his room much more frigid than usual–the thermostat in his room before he left said otherwise, however.

He nearly crashes into a red-eyed Hana, who immediately takes notice of his state with more concern in her voice than exhaustion. He had assumed she was referring to his clothes, but he was far too focused on getting to the training range for his morning rep to heed her advice to return to his chambers and forgo his training for the day. In hindsight, he supposed he should have listened before Hana and Soldier: 76 found him nearly half an hour later slumped against a wall with only two arrows missing from his quiver, and more than a dozen superficial injuries from the training bots that continued to barrage him as they followed their pre-programmed paths.

It isn’t until he wakes up a second time with a stuffed nose and headache that he vaguely admits to himself that he might not be in the best condition after all. Newfound nausea that has him scrambling to the bathroom drives that fact home. It’s as though the mere act of admitting that he may be ill invites the cold to hit him full force.

He is going to put an arrow through the person who got him sick he thinks as he dry heaves over the toilet. Hours seem to pass by, but in reality, it’s only been twenty minutes, until Hanzo is ready to tear himself away from the porcelain bowl. The walk between the bathroom and his bed eats up more energy than he’s ever remember it requiring. The exertion has him heaving all over again and colorful spots floating in his vision. Hanzo lets himself down shakily on the mattress, legs and brain feeling like fuzz, and sweat pouring out of him like it was being rung out of him.

This is the worst.

Mankind is able to create new limbs and new organs out of nothing but a few measly cells, and artificial intelligence is a reality that nearly wiped out humanity, but the common cold still remains an incurable mystery?

Bullshit.

In the back of his mind, he could hear his brother’s voice from when they were children, when Genji would seem to never be sick while he would be saddled with the occasional flu that would leave him bedridden for days.

“Quit being dramatic, brother, it’s just a cold.”

Of course Genji could say such a thing–idiots don’t catch colds, after all–or rather, now that he’s a cyborg, the chances of him catching a cold is even less. Was there enough man in the machine to be affected?

Hanzo squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head of the thought–a bad move, it just makes him dizzier–he didn’t want to think about the specifics of his altered blood relative. But how much blood could he have? He is sure that when he unleashed his dragons upon Genji, the smears on the floor and walls were not inconsequential (the cleaners sent a hefty bill to remind them of such, not to mention the dreams–maybe his memory is exaggerating, he is quite unwell after all).

With a groan, he lies back down on the bed, and changes his mind immediately when he finds that he cannot breathe. It only adds to his irritation when he sits up against the headboard and his body thinks it is at sea. He swings his legs over and gets up because this situation is ridiculous. His body is being ridiculous. The cold is ridiculous.

With his mind being addled by sickness and thoughts of how unfair modern science was to him, he nearly yelps and instinctively begins to clamor up the wall when his door slides open with a telling ‘beep–woosh’. He is halfway between climbing and slipping before he spies your silhouette–he’d recognize it anywhere, even with his facilities impaired. He doesn’t try to give up his poor ascent; he’s sick, and the last thing he wants is to inconvenience him by passing it onto you.

“Hanzo, get down from there.”

He can hear the exasperation in your voice. Part of him wants to keep climbing just to escape your undoubted disappointment at his unruly state and another part wants to assuage you and pretend that he is in perfect health.

His body makes his decision for him when he finds that he can’t take another step up the wall and gravity forces his exhausted body back to the earth. His feet touch the ground with much more force than he’s used to and he presses his forehead into the wall in defeat, willing himself to discover the secrets of quantum physics and be swallowed into the wall. He can only hope that you never bring this up ever again, he sure as hell won’t even though it’ll haunt him several years down the line when he least expects it.

A quick peek from his peripheral tells him you had brought many gifts with you—several blankets, a tiny basin of water, and a small pot of food. It’s too bad he can’t smell anything nor does he have any appetite, he’s sure whatever the chef has cooked up is filling and delicious. Though, the thought of food nearly has him running to the bathroom again, and he sinks on the furthest corner of his bed from you.

You weren’t having any of that, however, and you scoot up beside him. In your hand are some pills that he wrinkles his nose at. At your insistence though, he takes it with the water you bring, swatting your hand away when you try to help him drink. He’s not a child, he doesn’t need to be babied. The pain in his throat almost makes him reconsider that notion.

“Why are you here?” He winces at the sound of his own voice and at the pain it brings.

“You don’t remember?”

He makes a noncommittal noise, unwilling to admit that he’s not quite sure how he ended up back here. He could have sworn he was training, come to think of it. It doesn't even cross his mind how you even know of his condition.

“Hana found you this morning and called Soldier--you were a little too heavy for her. They brought you to the med ward, and Mercy gave you some anti-biotics before Soldier carried you back here. You scared the crap out of everyone, you know.”

The story doesn’t sound the least bit familiar to him. “But why are you here?” Confusion and frustration wears on him, and any further thinking just makes his head spin.

You say nothing, instead taking the finished glass from him to set aside on the table.

“Hanzo—?”

He doesn’t notice himself slowly sliding toward you, nor does he notice that the room is growing dimmer.

“Hanzo?!”

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep again until he wakes up for the third time, feeling both entirely too cold and too warm at the same time. A shiver runs through his body when a wet towel dabbles his face. The edge of the mattress is dipped and through his blurred vision, he sees that it’s you. A cool hand runs through his damp hair, and he leans into the touch, chases after it, and whines when it goes. That is quickly rectified when you drop a kiss to his forehead followed by a gentle hand that cards through his loose hair. Under normal circumstances, he would shy away from the intimacy of your touch with a flush and a handful of complaints, but as it were, he craves it. He must look pitiful, but he's just a bit too far gone to care.

“Hey, you hungry?”

He blinks sleepily at your wavering face above him, and shakes his head after several seconds. Food is the very last thing on his mind. He buries his chin back into his blankets, which he realizes now have multiplied to become three.

“Do you need anything?”

Again, he shakes his head.

You wipe at his face, slowly making your way down his neck and whatever you could reach without disturbing him. He’s not sure if he likes or hates it, but decides it’s infinitely better than being sticky, and that it’s too much trouble to protest. However, when he feels the bed shift and you get up, he finds himself moving, much to his body’s protest.

Hanzo’s hand shoots out into the treacherous cold and wraps around your shirt in a silent bid for you to stay. He swears he hears you sigh fondly, but he thinks he can ignore that if it’ll keep you from leaving. You slip into the blankets next to him, and he shakes from the chill that you momentarily usher into his cocoon. As much as he feared you getting sick, the comfort of having you next to him at this moment easily trumps those thoughts. He belatedly swears to himself that he’ll take responsibility if the time comes.

The warmth you emit is dry and pleasant, a welcome contrast to the sweaty chill that his body seems to be perpetually cast in, and he curls his hands into the front of your shirt, pulling you that much closer and buries his face into your chest, an action that in his right frame of mind, he would not even dare attempt. If anything it’ll be a constant source of embarrassment come morning. Your legs tangle together, and he relishes any bit of warmth you can provide, sighing contently against you. He can almost ignore the pounding in his head and the ache of his throat and body.

Your chest rumbles with silent laughter, and you plant another kiss onto his forehead. It feels nice, and makes his chest squirm with something more than just a suppressed cough. You slip your arms around him, threading your fingers through his locks and lightly scratching his scalp. He can hear your heartbeat, steady and reassuring. It’s to this that he falls asleep again.

It isn’t until the next morning that he wakes up with a start in your arms, and with the same mortification and embarrassment a drunk would have the day after, that he remembers why you were here.

While being treated in the medbay, out of his mind with medication and sickness, he had called for you.

#hanzo x reader #HOW DID THIS GET SO LONG #everyone please remember to wear full shirts and hats and don't expose your tiddies to the cold #reader #Hanzo Shimada #Hanzo is probably the biggest baby when he's sick and craves affection without reserve #my writing

175 notes · View notes

shianhygge-imagines · 8 years ago

Text

REQUEST: Divine Intervention [Ravus/Reader] AU

Edit 1: Guys, I would appreciate it if you didn’t spam that person who sent me the request, okay? It was my mistake, I am sorry.

You all wanted Ravus... so here’s Ravus :3 If you were wondering why I wasn’t posting much... it was cause of this, lol (8 pages) The ideas put into this is a chain of events. The butterfly effect. How different Ravus’s story would be if something didn’t happen. The alternate universe of my Ravus Headcanon. And I shall graciously take those cookies, thank you! :3

|Masterlist Link|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had listened to the young Oracle, and you had carefully considered her words, yet you had only smiled and continued on your path away from gates of House Fleuret.

You loved Ravus, yes. But you refused to be a second priority to him. Your pride and your heart could not let you continue on this path. And a voice whispered in the back of your mind, soft, rumbling, yet irrevocably male, but it’s always been there. Ever since you were young.

The Fallen Prince, in his heart, seeks only a vengeance and to protect his sister. Should you turn back from your decision, you seal his fate. But should you stand firm, have comfort that the one you love may be saved.

So you kept walking, back straight and head held high despite the tears that gathered at the corners. You didn’t know if you could trust the words. Didn’t know if someone was trying to deceive you. All you knew, was that Ravus had to change his ways, and you couldn’t be there to help him.

You left. Not just the place you had called home for your whole life. Not just Tenebrae. You left to go to Lucis. Far away from the man you love.

~~~~~~

He was on his knees, kneeling with a pool of glass around his feet. Ravus had seen his sister speak with you, and saw you stand at the gates to his home before turning and walking away. Many have come to believe that Ravus was cold and unfeeling, a determined and no-nonsense commander, but it was only half true. Somewhere, buried, was that kind and compassionate boy from eleven long years ago, but only those near him could find that boy. You had been one of the only ones who could still see the best of Ravus, could still see the hurting boy crying out for those he’s lost. And Ravus had loved you for it. He’d loved you for the longest time. Fifteen years of love and he had still managed to push you away.

His hands were cut up from gripping the shattered glass frame of an old picture. It was a photograph that the two of you had taken long ago, there was a smile on your childish face as Ravus gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You had been 13 years old and he 14. It was a year before his mother was killed, and it was a happier time. And suddenly tears found their way down from his mismatched eyes, landing on the picture. He’d driven you out with his selfish ways, had taken his anger and frustration out on you. And now you were gone.

There was no one to blame but himself. He had been blind. Had assumed that you would be by his side forever. But what was his vengeance worth now? He’d known that his loved ones had disapproved of his blaming King Regis, that they believed that he should have directed his anger at the Empire instead. But he had been stubborn. But what good was his blaming King Regis now if it meant losing you. It was worth nothing.

So with a sob, Ravus stood and rethought about his goals, lamenting that he had to lose you before he could see how foolish he was.

Though he still cried because, “I never had the chance to tell them that I love them.”

~~~~~~~

It was challenging, moving to another nation and start anew, but the people were kind, and you found a new calling, not as a servant to a royal family, but as a Hunter.

Fighting had never been important in Tenebrae, and many in Lucis could probably get away with not fighting. But as the nights grew longer, and more daemons appeared, that voice urged you to learn. Take up the blade to protect the light. He had said solemnly, though you’d decided to refer to him as Sage, or Sagesse. Sage never spoke to you but to direct your actions, and you had come to learn that when the voice spoke to you, it was best to listen. Especially if you were traveling. You’d learned the hard way what happened if you didn’t heed Sagesse’s advice.

It was on your way to the Chocobo Farm that you found the ruins of Costlemark Tower, and you had wanted to explore the ruins, expecting it to be full of weak daemons given that the centipede-like creatures outside were easily killed. Sage had told you immediately to camp or continue to the Chocobo Farm and to forget about the Tower ruins.

Instead, you had ignored him and ventured forth, watching as the ruins opened to you once the sun set. You only needed to descend to the first room before you sprinted out of there, only to be met with a Red Giant at the entrance of the ruins. You would have perished from your stupidity if Sage wasn’t kind enough to guide you to the campsite, where the glowing blue runes protected you from the Red Giant and a few Mindflayers staring you down.

So, lesson learned. You always listened to Sagesse from then on.

You’ve tried to hold a conversation with Sagesse a few times, but it didn’t seem that he wasn’t all that interested in what you had to say, often keeping silent no matter how much you thought or spoke aloud. But he kept you safe, so you suppose you shouldn’t bother him too much.

But his guidance led you back to your beloved.

~~~~~~

In leaving Tenebrae, you had diverted Ravus’s path away from his and your original fates. An early death, turned into a daemon and forced to obey. And you, left a widow in a world of darkness, forced to watch the people around you succumb to the darkness before perishing yourself. Your decision to leave had left scars on both yours and Ravus’s heart, but it had been for the best.

Reconsidering his actions and feelings, Ravus no longer sought after the Ring of Lucii. Instead, he placed his efforts in assisting his little sister with fulfilling her duty as the Oracle. Yes, perhaps it was inevitable that King Regis would perish by Glauca’s sword, and Insomnia reduced to ruin, but Ravus had not lost his arm that day, and would, therefore, not need a magitek prosthetic. And when Lunafreya was killed by Ardyn, Ravus would immediately defect from the Empire in order to assist Noctis traveling with the young Prince and his friends to Gralea to retrieve the Crystal. But most importantly, Ardyn would no longer be able to turn Ravus into a daemon.

Your love for Ravus would have killed him, but in walking away, you had saved him.

You would not see Ravus again until after the world had been sent into permanent darkness.

~~~~

You had been with the Hunters for a whole year now, although Dave had reluctantly took you on as his apprentice. Sagesse had directed you to the Hunter’s Headquarters very thoroughly after you had agreed to help “defend the light,” and you found yourself asking for training before your knew it. In the beginning, Dave had you on for a trial period given that you’ve only ever use a chef’s knife before. He quickly found that he should never let you near a melee-type weapon unless he wanted someone who wasn’t the enemy killed.

In the end, you took up the crossbow because you were absolute shit at close range combat. And with that settled, Dave eventually started sending you out on small missions. Killing Abar eventually came to hunting minor daemons. And while you’d gone solo for the longest while, Dave eventually had enough faith in you to lead a team of hunters when the world was thrown into permanent darkness. It wasn’t a mistake to have you lead a group of hunters, but it was a mistake to send your group of young hunters to fight a group of Sir Tonberries.

You watched with abject terror when a Sir Tonberry cut through another of your six man group. You had been sent to retrieve a stranded group of civilians, but the intel had been wrong about the number of enemies involved. It was reported that there were only two Sir Tonberries, which could have been dealt with slight difficulty, but not four Sir Tonberries plus Hobgoblins and two Nagas.

Clicking your tongue in thought, you dove out of the way in order to cover your teammates, “Vergil, Seb, take Devon and run back to the truck. Isa, Kelsey, I need you two to escort the civilians to the truck. I’ll draw the daemon’s attention.” You shouted, dodging the strikes from a Sir Tonberry to flip and shoot at the Naga. Your teammates start to protest, “I don’t want to hear any complaints! It’s either most of us get out of here, or we all die.” That shut them up, you grimaced before taking off your dog tag and throwing it at Vergil, who caught the metal thing with a fearful look. “If you’re fast enough, you’ll get back to me on time with reinforcements. If not... “ You didn’t finish your sentence, instead opting to push your teammates away. “Go!”

“We’ll be back, Y/N!” You could hear Isa shout back at you, but you don’t respond, too busy trying to buy them time.

Always willing to sacrifice, Y/N. You could hear the taunt in Sagesse’s voice sometimes, as much as he would like to simply be an unfeeling spirit. There is not much to feel for, mortal. And then he goes and speaks like an all knowing being, and then you aren’t quite sure whether you heard the first part at all. Tail to your right. You roll to the left, dodging the Naga’s tail before moving away from the Tonberries and Hobgoblins closing in. Hopefully you could survive an hour.

~~~~~~~~

After assisting Noctis in infiltrating Gralea, Ravus had gone back to Tenebrae to assist with the evacuation of his people, using Aranea’s airships to fly the surviving citizens of Tenebrae to Lestallum, where he worked to secure a safe home for his people. But with the influx of refugees from Accordo, neighboring towns, and Insomnia as well, space became tight. What more, with the limited space, there were a limited amount of Hunters who could protect those unwilling to fight. So Ravus found himself traveling with Gladiolus, Prompto, Ignis, and Aranea to the Hunter’s Headquarters a few months after Noctis was pulled into the Crystal.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, a large and secure building perhaps, but it was not the open yet well-lit outdoor space that the Hunter Headquarters actually was. And least of all, Ravus didn’t expect the utter panic as various individuals hurried to and from, escorting civilians from a small truck. There was crying, but most of all, screaming. From what he could make out from the various voices speaking at once, a group of hunters had gone out to retrieve a stranded group of civilians at a nearby campsite. Their intel had been wrong about the types of daemons surfacing around the area, and were not prepared. And in order to get their job done, the group leader had sacrificed themselves as a decoy for their team to get out.

A noble act. Ravus thought, his heterochromatic eyes darted towards the dogtags that a young woman named Isa waved around.

“We have to go back and save them!” Isa demanded with a stomp of her feet.

The man she chased looked to be in his late thirties to early forties, hair closely shaved, and stern looking. But when Ravus took the time to look at the man more, there was an air of authority and subtle kindness. The man thought for a moment, eyes hard before shaking his head, “We can’t afford to send out more Hunters for your leader. I’m sorry, Isa.”

“But it’s Y/N!” the woman emphasised, drawing a surprised look from the leader, “Dave, Y/N was our leader during this mission.” When the older man didn’t move, Isa drew herself to her full height, a less than impressive 152cm, but she still went to sternly cup Dave’s face in her hands. “Y/N L/N,” Ravus’s eyes widened in shock at the leader’s full name. “Dave, you trained Y/N, and I know you have a soft spot for them. And if you have any love for me, or for Y/N, you’ll let me gather a team to go after them.”

The older man let out a long suffering sigh before relenting, “Fine.” though he quickly pulled Isa into a kiss. “Gather whoever is willing.” Dave’s eyes soften for a moment, “But come back to me, Isa.”

The younger woman smiled fondly, brown eyes twinkling with love, and nodded, “You know I would walk to the ends of Eos to get back to you.”

And it is at that point that Ravus turns away, feeling like he should not bear witness to the privacies of the couple. Instead, his mind is filled with thoughts of you. His beloved that he had pushed away two years ago. And now, he was so close to finding you again, only to be under threat to lose you again. No. The former Prince shook his head and stomped over to his new friends. He could not lose you. Not again.

Gladiolus noticed the stormy eyed man approaching their trio and directed a worried look at Ravus. “Is there a problem?” Ever since Lunafreya’s death, Ravus had joined them on their journey, and while it was strange to have a man who used to be the enemy on their team, they had all tried to be civil with one another. But as it turns out, Ravus was actually a man that Gladio could respect.

Ravus clenched and unclenched his right fist, his head bowed slightly, “There is to be a mission to retrieve the escort team’s fallen leader. And I have decided to join the effort.”

Ignis, though his world was still dark, could imagine the high commander’s posture given the tone of the man’s voice. It was dire, but not as subtle as when they first encountered one another at the Imperial base nearly a year prior. A life was in danger. “Do you require our assistance?”

“-Wait just a minute.” Gladiolus interjected, much to Ravus’s annoyance. He had wanted to keep details sparse so that they could leave immediately. “I want to know why you care about this mission.” When Ravus didn’t speak, Gladio could only go on, “You know the team leader, don’t you? What I don’t understand is how that person could be important to you. Don’t get me wrong, we will go with you, but I just want to know why.”

The former Prince let out a heavy sigh, his face still stern, but his eyes softened ever so slightly, “Y/N L/N.”

Prompto cocked his head to the side, blonde hair rustling with the motion. The gunman recognized the name, “Dave’s apprentice? That’s the leader’s name?”

“Yes. But I knew Y/N long before they came to live in Lucis.” Ravus’s eyes darted towards Isa as she left Dave, watching as the young woman asked around for volunteers to help retrieve you. “We were friends in our youth, and I lo-... I’ve come to hold them quite dear to me.” Ravus cursed himself for nearly saying his feelings.

Meanwhile, Gladio and Ignis were not fooled, having heard Ravus’s slip up. Though both hid their smirks well. Instead, Gladiolus strolled over to the older man and clapped his shoulder, shocking Ravus. “Well. We should go join the retrieval team, then.”

As the younger men left to go speak to Isa, Ravus stood in deep thought. He had thought that he lost everything. He had failed to protect his beloved sister, yet he had succeeded in bringing Noctis to Gralea as well as bestowing King Regis’s glaive to the now sleeping prince. And he had pushed you away two years ago when he should have kept you by his side. Now, he had a chance to find you again… Ravus brow set into a determined stare, and he marched with confidence towards the truck, which Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto had piled into. “Wait for me, Y/N.”

~~~~~~~~

There were various hisses and cries from below you, but you could only wince. Your wince was heard by your tiny companion, who only purred and cuddled into your side, careful to keep its weapon away from you. Seriously, it was the cutest, yet deadliest little thing, a product of a stupid decision you made earlier, but you didn’t regret it. Simply having a tiny Tonberry cuddling up to you was adorable.

The little thing had wandered into the battle and had tried to attack you along with its more powerful counterparts… and then the Hobgoblins, for whatever reason decided to gang up on the little one. And seeing how the Sir Tonberries and Nagas weren’t going to help the little daemon, you’d run over to rescue it, getting jabbed in the side by a Sir Tonberry before you sprinted to a cliff face and climbed, putting your new friend in the hood of your cloak as you climbed… and after a while, the Tonberry actually warmed up to you… but now you were stuck.

“Corvo, we’re in some deep shit.” You muttered, pulling the tiny green daemon into your arms. It only purred, nuzzling its snout under your chin. “And Sagesse hasn’t been speaking to me at all.” you pouted, wondering where the miracle voice in your head had gone.

“Keu?” The Tonberry tilted its head to the side in question.

You merely sighed and pat your little friend’s head gently, “Never you mind, Corvo. Let’s just concentrate on surviving, savvy?” But not only ten seconds after you spoke, you saw the unmistakable headlights of a hunter truck rolling down the road. “Well, damn. They actually came back for me, Corvo.” Your little friend cooed in worry. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you.” Corvo gave out a happy purr before hopping into your hood, holding out it’s lantern to light the area around you.

The daemons below had noticed the truck’s return and had left the area below you to surround the truck. You couldn’t make out the individuals that came to rescue you no matter how much you squinted, but you started climbing down regardless, wincing occasionally when you irritated the wound at your side.

Once you were down, you gently pulled Corvo into your arms and ran towards the truck. You had lost your crossbow earlier, but you were better off without it, running without any weight carrying you down. “We’re almost home free Corvo.”

You were nearly to the truck when you saw the group that had come to rescue you, and you nearly tripped when you saw the white haired man fighting alongside the Prince’s companions. Ravus. You screamed, a high pitched stressed sound akin to a mix of a behemoth and a daggerquil, and even Corvo looked up at you in alarm. Though you probably shouldn’t have screamed, because the next thing you knew, you felt a deep pain in your back before falling. From the floor, you glanced back to see a Sir Tonberry advancing towards you, and little Corvo trying to protect you. Suddenly, a bullet collided with the Sir Tonberry, and you were lifted by the arms, though in your daze, you managed to call out for Corvo, catching the little Tonberry in your arms as it jumped into you.

You blinked in and out of consciousness, the darkness creeping at the edges of your vision, but the last thing you saw were the worried and scared heterochromatic eyes of the man you love.

~~~~~~~

Ravus held your unconscious form to him tightly as he boarded the truck, the other hunters fending off the daemons behind him. His body trembled in fear when he examined the deep cut in your side and the burned slash on your back. He’d heard you scream at him. Saw your shocked face and the Sir Tonberry that crept up behind your back. But try as he might, had wasn’t fast enough to warn you, wasn’t fast enough to protect you. There was a small coo from the Tonberry latched onto your form, it’s tiny fish tail tucked between its legs as it showed its worry. It was a strange thing, having a tame Tonberry protect you, but Ravus was grateful for the little daemon’s help nonetheless.

“You succeeded where I nearly failed, little one.” Ravus cautiously pet the Tonberry, “My thanks.”

~~~~~~~~

You woke up to the soft beeps of a heart monitor and the soft coos from Corvo sleeping on your chest. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you moved to sit up from the medical bed, aware that various tubes were attached to your arms and that the room lights were dimmed slightly.

“Y/N.”

Your head snapped to the left and it took everything in you not to look away from the tall white haired man across the room. It had been two years since you’d seen Ravus. The last time had been… you averted your eyes… If you are unable to stand by my decisions, then I don’t need you by my side. Leave. The unforgettable cold stare of his blue and brown eyes was still ingrained in your mind. What were you to say to a man you loved, but didn’t want you by his side? You couldn’t come up with anything, so you settled with a, “Hi.”

Ravus furrowed his brow at your response. He didn’t know what he was expecting when you awoke, he had pushed you away and hurt you those years ago after all. But he didn’t expect you to be unable to meet his eyes. Unable to speak to him. Once upon a time the two of you were as thick as thieves, never withdrawing from the other’s company. And now, because of him, everything was so different. What does one say to one that they have wronged?

Remember what you told me, big brother? “Go to Noctis. Show him the truth of your heart.” Perhaps it is high time that you showed Y/N the truth of yours.

He could hear his sister’s voice as if she were still alive, still standing next to him, wise beyond her years and smiling encouragingly.

You heard his quick footsteps, and quickly turned to face him in alarm, but he had pulled you into an embrace, careful not to squish Corvo, who rested on your lap. His left arm wrapped around your shoulder, and his right came up to hold your cheek. And you’d only a few seconds to stare into his eyes before they closed and his lips were pressed against your own. You barely had enough time to kiss back before he withdrew, and you saw that he was shedding tears. “Why-?”

Ravus cut you off with another kiss, deep and pure, muttering against you, “Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Y/N. I’m a fool for pushing you away. Forgive me.” He gripped your shoulders tightly as the tears fell, his face losing its sternness as he confessed, “I love you, Y/N. Forgive me for not seeing it until I had pushed you away.”

And you kissed back. Because you had loved his man for so long, and to hear him tell you that he needed you by his side, that he loved you back… There were no proper words, only actions.

“I love you, Ravus. I won’t leave. Never again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is a rumor that the Astrals loved to play with the lives of mankind. That among their beloved playthings and pawns, they often chose favorites. Ramuh favored the Prince of Lucis. Titan and Shiva favored Lunafreya. And Ifrit favored Ardyn. But what of Leviathan and Bahamut? Leviathan held no love for man, and therefore held none in favor. But Bahamut... once in a millennia, Bahamut would come to favor a human, though only through proving their worth. But just this once... He had chosen two. One Ravus Nox Fleuret and one Y/N L/N.

~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

#ravus nox fleuret #ravus x reader #shian imagines #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv imagines #final fantasy xv au #lunafreya nox fleuret #bahamut #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scentia #ignis stupeo scientia #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum

261 notes · View notes