#sincerely a girl in the Caribbean

[awesomenikie]

Hadestown proshot. I just cheered so loud they did this for me.

[buildinggsr]

"I've had a good time," Grissom admitted without any pause. It was evident, by how he tightened his fingers around Sara's hands, that those words were just an opaque mirror of his thoughts about the afternoon they had shared.

Almost shaking with incredulity in front of his confession, Sara slowly raised her head and watched his eyes, analyzing the level of their honesty. She found them clearlike Caribbean waters. Her instinct pushed her to look for a cloud shrouding that blue sky, a splinter of insecurity disfiguring that perfection, but she only could find his shy soul as transparent and sincere as it had never been. At that sight, she could not suppress the blooming of a smile while realizing she didn't remember herself feeling such intense happiness. And, in that precise moment, she also realized that he, Grissom, was her real first love and that he willbe her only love for the rest of her life. Nothing was comparable – now or ever.

"May I kiss you?" she asked impulsively. Her eyes widened for the wonder of having said it aloud.

"Sure." He replied impulsively as well, but his voice was as quiet as the water of a lagoon. The surprise of receiving such a direct answer left Sara breathless. Not for long. “Can I do it first, though?" Grissom in fact said right after.

A sort of indecisiveness shone through Sara's face. "I'm under the impression that if I say yes, you won't do it now," she said.

"No, not now," he admitted.

"Oh my, three more years?"

"You know,” he good-naturedly threatened her, “if you keep reprimanding me after these damn three years, there's a well-founded possibility I won't ever do it."

Sara laughed. "I'm becoming a bit too annoying, am I?" she taunted herself without embarrassment.

Of that question, Grissom didn't hear a word, overwhelmed and flooded by her being as clear as Caribbean waters. By her being her, always and in any case. By her being the girl with the ponytail he couldn't even tell – at that moment – how many years before he had met. Maybe he had met her in another life, maybe he had known her forever. And he knew that yes, her being annoying was one of her best characteristics. Her smile seducedhim as it had always done, and he had to resist with all his energies the banality of kissing her now. He would do it as soon as possible, but he would do it surprising her, because when she was surprised she shone with the most beautiful light that a human being can emanate. To give her that brilliance was an intense pride he wanted to feel more and more often.

— "It's not really the season for barbecues", ch. 3

[0ystercatcher]

also sorry I'm in a hater mood today but sometimes I go out and yes I eavesdrop on people having lame little dates at Starbucks but sometimes the shit I hear from a very specific brand of. nerdy insecure (though not in a sincere way more in the, I've internalized these traits as if they were character traits because everyone around me has noticed them and they're so #me and so I perform them for the audience rather than simply behave in a normal not over thought way) girl/guy is so limpdicked and gay. and the uh. sorry to keep brining him up. but the Caribbean rhythms moment where he's bitching about i god knows who I don't even remember. where hes passionately screaming I fucking hate them. I hate these people. so much. that goes on in my head. sorry.

[justaboymadeofhoneyandglass]

OKAY SO A RANT FOR YOU

I'll do it on my hcs of the marauders ethnicities and nationalities hehehe since we were talking about it earlier

starting off with the girls because LADIES FIRST/lh

Marlene— I see her as German or Korean (maybe both for that matter) I saw her as German first originally, and like I love it

I also saw her recently being hc as Korean and I thought that was fitting as well

and I think she was born and raised in England, but her parents always took her on trips back to Germany or to Korea to learn about the cultures and see their extended family as well

she would definitely be bilingual, but no one would realize until one day she just whips it out, and everyone is stunned

Dorcas— Haitian/cuban, she is a Caribbean girlie all the way

Dorcas can fluently speak créole and Spanish, French as well

She was born in Haiti and her parents had her live there until she was like 5 and then brought her to live in England with them

Lily— English/Irish, born in england

but I like to think that her father was born and raised in Ireland and had the thickest accent and so because of her growing up with her mother's English accent and her father's Irish accent, she has this combined accent from the both of them

Mary— I think she could be Nigerian, though I haven't thought too much about Mary (Shame on me ikik 😔)

She was born in England but she lived with her grandmother for a while bc maybe her parents died(?) and then when she got older she moved back to England for school

Emmeline Vance— I actually know nothing about her so I'm open to whatever hcs ppl have for her

I usually see her fancasts being Asian but I'm not sure where in Asia I think she'd be from

Pandora— Mexican/French or Brazilian/French

u told me about Mexican rosier twins earlier and I can't not get that out my mind

I love it sm

they were born and raised in France though, moving to England when they were 12-13 maybe

Sybil— I got no clue here, I'm thinking maybe polish? I'm not sure

she was born as raised in England tho, that's for sure

Bellatrix— Haitian/French

I HAVE A WHOLE THING FOR THIS

Cygnus had an affair(a one night stand) and the woman got pregnant and then came bellatrix, and because she technically had Cygnus' blood, she was partially "pure" so he had to take her in

but the rest of that family is white(you can't convince me that the older generations of the Black Family weren't racist— ironic bc of the name but I digress) and therefore Bellatrix always stood out yk

but she could fluently speak French, her French is honestly better than her English (bc she wanted to be accepted so badly she leaned more into learning french bc it was what her family valued)

she was born and raised in England

Narcissa— French, born and raised in England

Druella was french, Cygnus was French and there you get Narcissa (this sounds so plain after every I wrote for Bella but 😭)

Fluent in French and English

Andromeda— French, born and raised in England

Can speak French, but not as well as her sisters, but knows more than enough to get by

Alice— Italian, born and raised in Italy but moved to England for Hogwarts

idk why but she just seems Italian to me

Rita— kill me but she's so american, in terms of nationality

I think she'd be Greek and dutch ethnically though, but can't speak either of those languages (she can read and write Greek tho, just can't speak it well)

BUT SHE'S SUCH AN AMERICAN 😭😭😭 IM TELLING I (sincerely, an American)

she moved to England though, cause 1. her parents are loaded and 2. she begged hard enough

okay I think that's all the girls (I will sob if I missed one—)

now for the dudes

Remus— Welsh/English, born and raised in Wales

Idk where I got this from it's just always been there

but if I may

can I propose German Remus? cause I can see it yk

Sirius— French/Italian, born in italy and lived there for a bit, then moved to England

Idk which parent would be which bc I honestly don't care enough about Orion or Wallburga, but I have converted to Italian Black brothers and I couldn't give it up Im telling you

it's just too perfect

Sirius would lean more into learning Italian than French but would be fluent in both, as well as English

his accent is strong but he's good at covering it

Regulus— same as Sirius, French/Italian, but born and raised in France

Id like to think Orion and wallburga were separated for a bit bc they couldn't tolerate each other's bullshit LMAO so they both separated(without anyone knowing ofc) and took the boys to France and Italy for a bit until they had to show their faces together a couple years later

So regulus is ofc fluent in French, as well as Italian, but he doesn't have as strong of an Italian accent, as well as English ofc

he also stopped using Italian a lot more after Sirius left

James— HE'S EITHER INDIAN/BENGALI OR CUBAN/PUERTO RICAN

there's no in between for me he's either Desi or Hispanic LOL (I mean he can be both ofc he can but I always see him as one or the other)

He's fluent in Spanish or Bengali and knows some hindu (but his parents were from West Bengal and Bangladesh so they mainly speak Bengali) and English

But sorry y'all, despite this, his spice tolerance is not great, sue me(/lh)

he still eats it all anyway bc all that food is DELICIOUS OMG(I love food, can you tell)

he was born and raised in England tho

Peter— I think he's Scottish for some reason, born and raised

and he has an accent too hehehe

sorry Peter, you're quite simple when it comes to this imo 😔🎀

Barty— we've all decided he was Italian haven't we

but but what if I hit you with Italian/German barty

I saw it in a post the other day and I loved it LMAO

he was born and raised in Italy but moved to England in his teens

can speak Italian, and German fluently, his English is good but his accents are all over the place at times

Evan— exactly the same as Pandora, Mexican/French or Brazilian/French

Frank— tell me why I see him as Asian (probably bc of Frank from Percy Jackson but that's not my fault—)

but he'd probably be half Chinese and half English

born and raised in England

Lucius— Russian or French, or half and half

it just seems right to me

he was born in raised in Russia until he was ten, then he moved to France, and then finally, they ended up in England for him to go to Hogwarts

fluent in Russian and French, and his English is good enough to get by, his accent is THICK though

Snape(I just realized.... we don't call him by his first name do we 💀)— but ummmm hm

Italian/English

born and raised in England and does not speak Italian

Xenophilius— french, born and raised

can speak French fluently as well as English

Rodolphus(Lestrange)— I can't remember what exactly me and my friend hc them as but ik he was half Romanian

(I think the other half was Russian)

Rabastan(Lestrange)— same as his brother

and... I think that's everyone

everyone that we rlly talk about anyways LMAO

this was a long one hehe

OMG SO SO SO COOL THNAK YOUU FOR TELLING MEEE

I agree with a lot of these hehe

I get where you're coming from with Bellatrix, I've somehow always seen her as part italian for some reason lol, cus of the whole affair thing that I completelyyyy agree withhh

And yeah rita is Definitely American, any idea what state she could be from? I feel like she could also be german/American just for fun

I think xenophilius would be French but I also think he'd maybe be some other European country, maybe like Belgium or maybe Greece? hehe

I LLOVEE THE IDEA OF SIRIUS AND REG BEING ITALIAN AND FRENCH OMG

but sadly I kinda don't think it fits a bit ? IDKK

but yes it absolutely works I'm just veryy used to French black brothers loll

hehe ^_^

[sins-of-the-sea]

The Sin Crew Watches "Pirate's Dinner Adventure" in Buena Park, California!

"Oh…."

"My Lord…"

"This show…."

"Is…..

"Adorable!! Look at the little children getting involved with the show directly! They got to be the heroes who helped save the Princess and stop the mutiny! As pirates and even Navy!"

"The jokes may be predictable, and we can spot all the licensed music from assorted pirate media like Hook, Pirates of the Caribbean, Assassin's Creed: Black Flag, and even Lazytown and Spongebob, but again--it's all done with sincerity. Most of the stunts, singing, and choreography may not be anymore than serviceable and competent, but at least Cirque du Soleil-type of stunts were nice."

"I love how the mermaid spent most of her time in the air than in the water, though. But her frequently trying to escape the pirate ship in the background--even going as far as doing Rock-Paper-Scissors to trick the pirates into letting her go--was genuinely a treat."

"Food was pretty good. Nothing too special, but the presentation was nice. Never thought of having horseradish with mashed potatoes, though."

"Quite honestly, the biggest highlight of the entire show was that entire line of high school girls cheering for our group pirate the whole show, and when he died in-story, the girls were mad. But hey, at least they all gathered to have photos and autographs with the performer at the end!"

"So all-in-all: Cute. Cheesy and silly at parts, but all done with sincerity for entertainment. If any friends we make, especially children, want to see the show, we can definitely say 'go ahead'."

"…Do we ever find out what happened to the Leviathan and the Serpent's Eye?"

"I don't know. Maybe the Master ate them."

[stingslikeabee]

"I wouldn't mind going back to Okinawa, Majima-san. I really enjoy the beaches, and they are really beautiful. Maybe the Caribbean one day, or even the French Polynesia. I keep hearing these are some of the most dazzling sea views to try," the woman added without difficulty - the hostess really liked to be close to the ocean and these had often popped up in conversations, even if Melissa hadn't had been fortunate to travel on her own for a while.

And unless she repaid Sagawa to the last cent... It wouldn't happen in the future, either.

But the next query in relation to her family had the brunette pondering on the available options - was it a genuine curiosity on the manager's part given her obvious western origins or something he was probing at under the yakuza's orders? It was difficult to tell which role Majima was playing as welcoming as he had been thus far, but the woman supposed there was no harm in telling bits of truth. After all... If one cared to dig enough back in Okinawa, they would probably get to the same information.

"My family is no longer in Japan - technically, this is the fourth country I've lived and I just decided to stay. Traveling all over the planet sounds nice, but I wished to stay and grow roots for once," Melissa nodded at the ending for emphasis, her words sincere. Nothing too obvious but with the right hooks for conversation and something that opened the door for her to return it with a question of her own, too.

"Majima-san, have you always lived here in Osaka yourself? Your accent is a bit different than the one I'm used to, but it's very nice," another smile followed - the perfect routine of a hostess flattering a client, but in a way that didn't sound too obvious. At any rate - she was not breaching any horrible personal topics particularly when she had been asked about the same. Although the hostess' Japanese was relatively fluent given the time she had in the country, it was only now that the girl was picking up on different accents... And Majima's Kansai-ben stood out from most; she couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not.

"That is actually something very unique to Japan... I did not think that the language would vary so much from one place to another, but most people from Kansai seem happy to help me with the occasional word I do not know. Osakans are really friendly and funny, as the legend goes."

lord of the night ... yes, he supposed he did go by that moniker these days, he had turned this place around, & he had done so quickly despite the countless health problems he had from his experience in the hole, he remembers how he walked around with a clearly obvious limp to his step at first, it was painful, but he managed to persevere ; he was almost back to full health now, everything but his left eye ... well, he wasn't sure if he could call it that anymore, there was no eye left.

his attention was caught by the woman asking him a question ... that was a very good question, majima didn't even have to pressure her into it or anything ! he remembers girls he got that he had to literally explain to them what kind of questions to ask, it was as if they were not even hostesses before ! well, some weren't, some were girls he managed to recruit that were simply interested in the business, but he actually found those girls to be the best in training sessions, & some of the most tolerable to be around ; they were new, they hadn't developed any poor habits or were stuck stubbornly in their ways, they absorbed all that majima taught them like a sponge.

as for her question, it was a good, but tough one, majima really had to think on it, he's never been to a beach ; madness, but it was just something he was never really interested in, he does think of it though, to be so close to the ocean, the smell of it in the air, from what he's heard, it's actually heaven for those who suffer from hayfever when it's pollen season ... he probably should see about visiting a beach by the time he's out of here, but he'll need plenty of sunblock, he wasn't about to let his ink get faded to all hell.

❝ i've never actually been to a beach, i've honestly never been much o' a traveller, i've visited okinawa on school trips when i was only a kid, but they never took us by the beach areas, are they nice ? i hear they're a great place if ya suffer from pollen season. ❞

never mind melissa convincing him, majima was convincing himself on the matter, he'll make sure of it that he makes a visit to okinawa for its beaches once this is all over. now what to ask melissa, she was doing great so far, especially with that kind of question, maybe he should relate his question to what she just asked ?

❝ what 'bout ya, melissa ? ❞

he wanted to catch her attention, to make her wonder what he'll say next, to see if she'll say anything, make any noises to show that she's interested in what he's about to say ; it was important for a hostess to be interested in what their clients wanted to say, there were men that came in, that were mainly lonely, no love life at home, they just wanted to come, & talk to a woman whilst enjoying some decent quality drink, & good food. there were others that were otherwise married, happy or not, just wanted a woman that wasn't their wife to talk to for a bit. majima didn't judge, he couldn't in this business, but the one thing he could judge ? that was how his girls performed, it was the girls that made this place what it is, so he had to judge how they performed, make sure that they kept up the good work, give them teaching sessions like he's doing now with melissa.

as much as majima was the manager of the grand, he was really not the main part of it, if the girls were bad at being hostesses, there would be no hope in this place, he contributed his success to the women he trusted to show clients a good time, & generally be welcoming to regulars & newcomers alike.

❝ what's yer dream vacation ? ya must have family somewhere other than japan, no ? ya ever want to visit 'em ? ❞

whilst majima didn't know for sure if the woman had any family outside of japan, but it would be interesting to hear what she had to say, majima was generally more interested in cultures outside of japan, places he's never been ... they were likely places he'll never pursue either, this being lord of the night, & then finally when he makes his way back into the tojo clan, he'll not have time for it sadly. climbing up that ladder would be too important to him in that moment, to get back to where he once was, & to be greater than what he once was.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 14. sucker for pain

chapter tags/warnings: misogynistic! naoya. pet names ("bimbo"). dirty talking. nonconsenual undertones. infidelity/adultery. strong language. humiliation. classism.

word count: 3.8k

notes: i published this story for the first time in october 2021 on wattpad, and i'm so thankful for and overwhelmed by the support and love that sex therapy has received over the past year. thank you for watching me and my story grow. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Eat. Sleep. Fuck. Repeat.

This would be the mantra Naoya would live by tonight.

The little date he was taking you on was merely a prequel to the chain of bedroom events he had schemed for the evening. Because warming up first was important, no?

As a wonderful husband, Naoya took his precious wife out to dinner at Shibuya’s Cé La Vi, a top-floor restaurant that may not be as vertigo-inducing as its famous Marina Bay Sands counterpart in Singapore, but offered a menu and skyline views second to none.

He had even requested an outdoor table under the fairy lights for the romantic atmosphere, where both the amber hues and soft jazz washed the vicinity with warmth and peace. Exactly what Naoya also needed after his last twenty hours filled with hurried negotiations with publishers, a long flight back to Tokyo, and many private lectures from his outraged father.

At least that was all done now.

Sighing, Naoya gestured at a nearby waiter, who disappeared and returned with a glass of expensive tequila several minutes later. Eight in the evening might be far too early for Naoya to down his third shot of Don Julio, but he needed to reward himself for completing a hectic itinerary without a wink of shuteye in between.

With the drink, he quietly soaked in the low hum of chatter that mingled with the gentle clinking of cutlery. The ambiance was so miraculous that Naoya didn’t know why he hadn’t taken you here earlier.

Now that he thought about it, when was the last time he had taken you out on a proper date anyway?

Oh, when he took you out two weeks ago to skydive in…

No, wait that was with Mari.

He was only two and a half glasses in, but the liquor was already messing with his memory.

So when…?

“We haven’t done anything like this in a long, long while,” you commented when you must have noted his extended silence at the dinner table, although Naoya found it quite funny that you seemingly read his thoughts instead.

He swirled the liquor in his glass but decided against another sip. “You think so?” he asked as harmlessly as possible. “When was the last time?”

Cutting into a scallop on your plate, you bit your inner cheek. “Our…honeymoon.”

Holy crap, that Caribbean trip was months ago. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” you deadpanned.

Oh.

Okay, he might have thought a lot more about spending time with his mistress, and he hadn’t exactly been keeping track of every single date he went on with you, but he certainly did not expect to have such an abysmal track record with his own wife.

Not that he felt guilty about his absence in your life.

Besides, you had the money to entertain yourself as you wished. Whether because you were blinded by sheer stupidity or his bank account, you thankfully didn’t complain much either. All Naoya had to do was to keep you happy and ignorant because—to paraphrase his father’s own words—if Naoya flopped this marriage with the COO's daughter, he would not be welcomed in the Zenin household again.

The difficult part, however, was that you were hard to please.

That was what happened to little girls who grew up spoiled by daddy’s money, Naoya supposed. Mari, on the other hand, would have absolutely been overjoyed in your position. Hell, even Naoya himself—who merely grew up as a spare heir—would have shown some gratitude.

“Sorry that I’ve been so occupied.” The Zenin CEO had to inject whatever sympathy and sincerity he had into his apology before sampling his risotto. “I’ve been buried in work ever since I joined the executive suite earlier this year. I’ve had a lot to catch up on.”

“I know,” you responded very matter-of-factly. “And I understand. You’ve been busy with meetings.”

Right. Meetings with his board in addition to his, well, other more discreet ‘meetings’ where he pounded his paramour into oblivion (but let’s not talk about that, shall we?).

As he pushed the thought away, he placed his fork down in exchange for his drink. “That’s why I invited you for dinner—to spend extra time with you. I’ll make things up to you even more later.”

You glanced up from your meal, blinking rapidly but the ambivalence apparent in your gaze. “Really? Like how?”

Sex, you motherfucking dimwit.

How much more obvious did he have to be?

Of course, he instead replied with, “You’ll see.”

He hadn’t told you his idea to rail your brains out because he didn’t feel obligated to, but if he wanted to a) get his father off his ass and b) be a baby daddy by morning, he had quite the mission to accomplish. Besides, if he calculated the numbers correctly in his head, today was still within your fertility window. A later day in the schedule, but still a fertile time for his wife, nonetheless. This was the perfect time to focus on you, particularly since he wouldn’t be distracted by Mari for some time. Perhaps arriving early from Mexico wasn’t too much of a bad thing.

Tonight, the deed didn’t seem too difficult to do either, thanks to how provocatively you dressed. Since when did you wear off-the-shoulder mini dresses? Was this from your New York fashion haul three months back?

“It’d be nice if you could apologize to me first.”

Naoya froze with his glass by his mouth at your unanticipated comment. What were you even going on about? “Didn’t I already say sorry for not spending time with you?” This was what he meant by how ungrateful you were.

Curling your lips inward, you inhaled sharply. “That wasn’t what I was—”

When the conversation was unexpectedly interrupted by a buzzing at the table, Naoya reached for his phone only to be greeted with a blank screen. Rather, he looked up to see you wiping your hands and staring at your device, mirroring Naoya’s own confusion as your brows creased at an unsaved number.

“Spam,” you concluded and pushed the device away once the caller eventually reached voicemail. “What I was saying,” you began even as your face contorted momentarily with reluctance, “was that you never told me you were away from Japan. I didn’t even know where you were or when you would be back had I not called your secretary.”

Wow, that was what you wanted an apology for?

What an entitled brat.

Admittedly, Naoya should have texted you before he vanished into thin air, but a homemaker like you certainly had no business in his personal schedule. Had he truly had an investor conference to attend, Naoya was certain you would have been just as meddlesome, which was why he found the situation even more sardonic when you confirmed his suspicions by adding, “Sending me a text isn’t too difficult, you know.”

Just who the hell did you think you were?

Don’t think he had not noticed how confrontational you had been as of late, criticizing his actions and then dishing out instructions as though you were anywhere near the place to do so. This change from your typically submissive nature was uninvited, to say the least. Like, at the bare minimum, you could look at your own husband as you spoke, and Naoya wondered if your actions were simply a phase in the relationship or a reveal of the real you. Whatever the reason, he wanted his good and obedient wife back.

“Well then, my apologies." His eye twitched as he spoke, and nothing now could hide the contempt rising in his tone. “Next time, I’ll make sure my assistants send you my entire itinerary from when I sleep to when I use the restroom to—"

Naoya couldn’t even think through his annoyance because, at this point, your phone was ringing for what must be the third time and that irked him even further.

“Please!” he scoffed, his vexation bursting through his voice. “Just excuse yourself and pick that shit up, good lord!”

At least that much you listened to. You pardoned yourself, stepping away just as Naoya pinched the bridge of his nose. On the one date he finally organized with his wife, you just had to ruin his mood with your shit attitude and table manners. Fantastic.

After one long huff, Naoya swung around in his seat and caught the attention of a nearby waiter.

The fuming executive then pointed at his glass.

“Another shot, ASAP."

As much as you were guilty of self-deprecation, you were not masochistic enough to simply swallow your husband’s insults over dinner.

‘Sex, you motherfucking dimwit.’

Simply thinking back to that line sent tiny pricks to your chest.

Did Naoya really think that, just because he mumbled that to himself under his breath, you wouldn’t hear him? What made you even more upset was that, when you asked for an apology, he could not even recognize his wrongs. There was more that you hoped to confront him about, too—particularly about the rumors of his extramarital affairs—but you had half the mind to shut up given his splenetic fury.

Whoever called you, however, thankfully provided you with a reason for reprieve.

You rushed out of the main restaurant venue as you curiously stared at your phone, noticing the missed calls from an unknown number. When the same contact information appeared on your screen in its fourth ring, you pressed the ‘Accept’ button only for the other line to greet you first.

“I still have your dress, kiddo.”

Kiddo.

Only one person called you that.

“Choso?” you nearly shouted in disbelief, unintentionally garnering the attention of some bystanders.

“That’s me alright,” the therapist answered, his reply cool and composed as though he never questioned the fact that his hands landed on your phone number. “I was just about to give up on reaching you.”

Overwhelmed, you sighed. “Sorry, I’m rather busy at the moment.”

“Right, right,” he mulled, a faint rumble sneaking in his tone. Choso then clicked his tongue against his teeth, and you could almost picture the blasé manner in which he would recline in a seat as some shuffling echoed over the line, which would have normally been irrelevant until he added, “Well, I’m downstairs.”

“What?!” was your first reaction. Now, you were certainly getting weird stares. Downstairs, as in, where? “Are you in—”

“Yes, Shibuya. You’re at Cé La Vi right now, aren’t you? Take the elevator down to the first floor. My car’s parked right outside the building’s main doors. That Dolce & Gabbana outfit I made you change out of before the club, I didn’t have a chance to return that since you stormed out of the meeting last night.”

You shut your dropped jaw. “The dress I remember but,” your gaze then narrowed, “how do you know where I am?”

The call suddenly grew quiet, the lull stretching for what must be an hour as Choso carefully contemplated his next words. “When you’re in the right business,” he hinted darkly, no doubt making a reference to his underbelly occupation, “information isn’t hard to come by once you know the right people.”

An assassin with eyes all over the city, huh?

Well, that explained how he got your number as well, albeit you would not be surprised if he had dug through the therapist office’s database for that instead. Sometimes, you had to wonder how an upper-class lady like you got entangled with a man like him, but a five-minute round trip to the first floor could not possibly hurt, right?

“I’ll meet you, then,” you eventually replied and ended the call.

Catching the first elevator car down, you had no trouble spotting the iconic blue Corvette convertible that stood outside the building’s entrance. Upon your approach, Choso rolled down his window and stuck his head out. This evening, his jet-black strands were pulled back into one low ponytail rather than two, his prominent jawline appearing even sharper against the nighttime backdrop.

No wonder this man had a whole harem in the club.

“Hey,” he hummed as his inky eyes ran down your figure, his gaze lingering a little longer on your exposed collarbone before traveling down to your legs. “I like your style.”

At the compliment, you looked away, feeling a bizarre prickle in your stomach. “I’m on a dinner date.”

“With Naoya?” Given how the therapists have recently revealed their disdain for your husband, you were not surprised to see Choso grimace. “Why…would you do that to yourself?”

Great question. “He’s paying, so I can’t complain.”

Choso pressed his lips outward, nodding when he could not argue against that. “I see.”

During the silence that ensued, you clicked your heels together, too busy floundering in the burning presence of your companion that you almost forgot the reason you were here in the first place. “Do…you have my dress?”

Nonchalantly, the man pointed to the back with his thumb. “In the trunk. What? You’re in a rush or something?”

You nodded slowly. “Naoya doesn’t know I’m down here," you explained but, given the psychological pain that your husband had inflicted on you, there was no good reason for guilt to be tugging at your lungs.

Even Choso narrowed his eyes. “You’re going back to that asshole?”

Another great question.

Without saying much, Naoya already made clear that his intention with you tonight was grounded only in sexual gratification, that he viewed you as nothing beyond—as he had put it—‘a motherfucking dimwit.’ Despite the pain, you never failed to find a reason to crawl back to the husband that lashed at your heart.

“Naoya is already angry at me,” you eventually remarked, twirling the edges of your dress. “If I don’t get back...”

“Then what? Even more of a reason to ditch him, to be honest. Maybe that will teach him a lesson for all the times he left you.” Choso was not the type to talk much, but he inevitably had the uncanny ability to leave you dumbstruck once he did. Oblivious to your state (or not), he then casually adjusted the braided bracelet at his wrist. “Better things to do with your time than stay with him.”

Funny that your first instinct was to defend Naoya again. However, even if you were to dutifully return to your husband, he would internally welcome you with apathy, his only goal to leave you smitten as a kitten just so he would have a pussy to play with.

Abandoning Naoya also came with one other problem, though. “There isn’t much else for me to do.”

How pitiful was that?

Sure, you had a stack of invitations to various charity dinners and networking parties, but—even with all the riches and respect in the world—you found those events pretentious, repetitive, and dull.

You half-expected Choso to mock you. (Because, really, who were you to complain about first-world problems?) However, the man just paused slightly, a dash of sympathy running over his expression as he then motioned to the empty shotgun seat.

“I could take you out for a ride.”

Your brows shot up. Tempting. “Where to?”

“Since I’m free tonight, I was going to take myself somewhere by Tokyo Bay—one of my favorite spots around,” Choso explained as he ran both his hands through his hair. “Although, if you’re interested, I could show you the area, too.”

At the proposal, you tried not to smile too obviously. Who knew that a hardened part-time hitman actually had such a soft spot?

“Then I’d love to.”

Choso drove off the second you jumped into the Corvette, the convertible greeting you with its familiar ashy honeysuckle scents and a The Neighbourhood tune. With a long exhale, you sank into the red leather seat and stared out the window, watching the nearby scenery transform from skyscrapers to highway signs.

Quietly, you relished the soothing silence in the car that was a refuge from the charged cacophony over dinner, reflecting on the steps that brought you to this moment. What a twist of fate, how the man who had detested you weeks ago was now a warm beacon that offered light in the merciless sea, providing you more comfort than you'd like to admit.

When you unconsciously turned in his direction, you tried to not stare too obviously at the metal on his ears, the piercings gleaming as they caught beams from bypassing streetlamps. You might have had a rough start with Choso Kamo, but you still found him ridiculously attractive with his oversized white sweater and black jeans, hiding his athletic physique underneath.

“Need me to pull up Google Maps?” you asked upon realizing your extended ogling.

“No,” he shot back. “I know this city like the back of my hand.”

And Choso sure seemed like he did.

He was focused solely on driving, his palms clasped around the steering wheel as his fingers drummed to the bass of ‘Sweater Weather.’

This close to him, you noticed how his hands were rough and calloused—almost definitive sign of working out. Right where he rolled up his sleeves, veins also weaved beneath his forearm tattoos, the inked vines something you never had the chance to examine extensively either.

This time, you weren’t too discreet given that he caught your gaze. “What?”

Oops. “Nothing.”

You turned away to look ahead, trying to calm your frenzied heart by observing some uninteresting cars on the expressway. A proper lady like you knew better than to gawk at someone for a prolonged time, yet you still got caught red-handed. How embarrassing.

Slumping further into your seat, you pouted as your weird way in mitigating the internal humiliation. “Just…keep your eyes on the road.”

While Choso did as he was told, he held back a low chuckle. “And you could keep your eyes on me.”

“But I wasn’t—!" A complete lie, but you still shouted with flailing arms, defenses hopeless.

Yet, what really disarmed you was Choso’s faint smirk.

One minute, you were frustrated and flustered; the next, you were simply stunned at the amused tilt in his lips, all because his smile was so rare. There was something enchanting about the cocky way Choso grinned as he stepped on the accelerator, the maniacal gleam in his eyes as he stared ahead, the bright colors of the Tokyo evening that glittered behind him.

“Jesus, take the fucking wheel,” you muttered like a starstruck teenager.

“What’s wrong?” he asked harmlessly because this man definitely heard you over the music. He threw you a quick glance even as the smile on his lips stayed. “I mean, you could keep staring if you want to, bimbo. I won’t judge.”

Mouth opened to back talk, your ambitions immediately got cut short as Choso moved a hand from the steering wheel to your inner thigh. While you hid your gasp at the unexpected contact, you only hoped that he did not notice the way you tensed under his searing touch.

But Choso noticed, alright.

“Hm, why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” Choso pressed again, his focus still on the lane as though he was not caressing you, massaging you, his thumb running in hypnotic circles centimeters away from the dull throb between your legs,

How he managed to maintain his composure in such a situation was a mystery given that you, unlike him, gripped hard at the side of your seat.

“Because…” you hissed after mustering all effort.

Then, you stopped.

How could you respond while completely distracted by the tightening in your stomach, practically holding your breath as his hand crept up higher? It was not helping that his fingers were so thick, that he had a small dagger printed by a knuckle, that his scent was reminiscent of burning maple leaves during a New England fall.

“‘Because…?’ Because what?” Choso asked, knocking your thoughts loose momentarily because he—on the other hand—did not miss your incomplete answer. His nails dug into your skin, nearly making you yelp at the incredible burn. “What’s the issue? I don’t remember you being this shy with the other therapists around.”

The steeliness that underlined his tone…

Was Choso still hung up about your frisky flings with Toji and Sukuna? Even though you should have never gotten sexually involved with them in the first place, you never would have thought that Choso would hold such a grudge.

In response, you cautiously observed his side profile. “Are…you jealous?”

He closed his eyes momentarily at the question, indescribable salaciousness etched on his lovely face, and he shuddered slightly. His eyes opened back as a sharpened glare, Adam’s apple bobbing as the result of a drawn-out swallow.

“Oh, baby,” he growled, and it was the backward tilt of his head that left your mind spinning, “you have no idea.”

Traveling beneath your dress, his hand roamed a little higher, then higher again, his pinky finger brushing at your panties’ seam such that if he decided to travel up any further, he might just feel how miserable and soaked you were.

Just hurt me, you begged silently, legs squeezing together subconsciously as you feel a delicious heat churning through your body, biting back a moan when Choso gripped hard at your thigh before smacking at the flesh.

“Harder,” you accidentally pleaded out loud, immediately clamping your hands over your mouth.

Unsurprisingly, your insanely handsome driver turned to you. When you met his gaze, you only wished that you hadn’t because Choso had a gaze that left you weak in the knees, the murky pool in his eyes enough to leave you whittled to a frantic and blubbering mess.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

“Well, I'm curious what your husband would say,” he interjected, debauchery bleeding in his tone, “when I send you home my handprints on your ass cheeks?”

Wow, that really took you aback.

“‘When?’” you bleated. Not ‘if?’

“Yes, ‘when,’” he confirmed with a hoarse thrum. His overflowing confidence clouded your head with something heady, something intoxicating. As much as you think you should tell Choso to stop, words were lodged in your throat once he forced your legs apart with one firm pull, and while you found pleasure in the pain, it was his next suggestion that sent sweet vibrations straight down your spine: “Because I wonder what would happen once I spread you over the car hood and took you right there.”

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[pankowperfection]

Congratulations I’m so proud of you <3 you most definitely deserve it!! Can you write 44 & 33 with Rafe Cameron?!

44. “Holy shit, you came pretty quickly.”

33. “Show me how much you missed me.”

Missing You

Summary: after some time away, Rafe shows you just how much he missed you

Warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), sweet sex, 18+

Rafe had been away with Ward on business, down in the Bahamas for a few weeks. Your mind, body, and soul missed him, a deep ache in your chest from going so long without having him by your side. Of course he called and texted, but nothing could replace the feeling of his large hand wrapped around yours as you walked through town, how his eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled sincerely, how his face relaxed when he wrapped his arms around you. He was finally coming home today, so you sat anxiously by the door, counting the minutes until he would show up.

Around 3 you heard the doorknob rattle, key turning as your heart began to race. There he was, looking better than ever, the warm Caribbean sun had darkened his skin even more making his blonde hair look lighter. You ran to him, jumping into his arms as he somehow managed to catch you, kissing you sweetly. “I missed you so much Rafe. I love you.” His baby blues warmed at your words, slight hint of mischief as he gave you a show stopping smile. “Missed you too y/n. I love you.” He sets you down, turning and locking the door before leading you to the couch and pulling you into his lap.

“So how was it?” He rolls his eyes, tucking some hair behind your ear as he lets out a sigh. “Same as usual. Dad didn’t want to let me do anything.” You cuddled into his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne before kissing a path up to his ear. “Mmm, missed that mouth of yours baby,” he moans quietly, cock growing harder in his shorts. “Oh yeah? What else did you miss?” You swing a leg over his lap, grinding your hips down, making his eyes fall shut at the friction. “Shit sweetheart, missed your sweet pussy, your perky tits, big ass.” He bucks up into you, moan spilling from your lips at the sparks in your core. You lean down, breasts in his face before nibbling on his ear making him shiver. “Show me how much you missed me.”

He stands up abruptly, turning and setting you down on the couch, kneeling on the floor between your legs. His hands slide up your thighs, cool metal of his rings spreading goosebumps. You lift your hips, letting him pull your shorts and panties off before he showers each thigh in kisses. “Fuck princess, so wet for me.” He licks from your entrance to your clit, groaning at the taste of your arousal. Two fingers dip into your heat, tongue working your clit expertly as you grab handfuls of his hair, yanking hard when he sucks the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth. “Oh fuck” you cry out, orgasm crashing over like a wave way quicker than you wanted. “Holy shit, you came pretty quickly,” he teases, kissing up your body before his lips find yours. “Can’t help it Rafe, hadn’t felt your mouth in so long. Just too good.”

You both make quick work of the rest of your clothes, Rafe dragging his swollen tip though your folds before plunging inside. You both moan loudly, almost feeling like the first time again after a few weeks apart. “Shit, so tight,” he kisses your neck, working his way in inch by inch before finally bottoming out. “Please move, need you.” He starts thrusting in and out quickly, intent on making you come again before he does. Luckily your body has craved his touch, coil already winding tighter each time his pelvis meets yours. His hand finds your clit, rubbing soft circles as he tries to fight off his high. “Such a good girl. Come on sweetheart, come for me.” The coil snaps, body following his command as fire works spread through your system. A few pushes and pulls later he groans, spilling his seed deep inside you. “God, you can’t leave me for that long again.” He chuckles, sweetly kissing your forehead before helping you stand. “I won’t baby, I promise.”

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[fific7]

Dangerous and Divine - Epilogue

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: The final part!! This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 Hopefully you’ve guessed by now that is my “Billy Russo Deserves Real Love AU” as I totally refuse to accept what happened in S2! The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My GIF)

Six Months Later

You opened up your eyes slowly, becoming aware of a finger trailing gently down your arm; it felt like a butterfly fluttering on your skin. Two dark chocolate eyes were gazing down into yours, sparkling with mischief.

“Good morning, Mrs Russo,” a very self-satisfied Billy Russo whispered, smiling at you.

You yawned, stretching out out your limbs and enjoying the feeling of a light breeze on your body coming through the patio doors.

“Morning, Billy,” you replied, reaching up and kissing his lips, scratching a finger along his bristly jaw. “And how is my wife this morning?” he asked, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “I’m good... actually, very good,” you smiled up at him. “Just as well we’ve got our own villa, angel. You were so noisy last night, screaming my name,” he teased.

Getting up, you stretched again, aware of Billy’s eyes on you as you picked up your little silky robe, slowly putting it on and enjoying the disappointed look on his face. “That’s just to big up your male ego, poppet,” you teased back. He flung himself onto his back on the bed, faux-sulking, “How can you say that, sweetheart?! ....after I kept you up half the night making love to you?”

“Only half the night? Would’ve thought the love god that is Billy Russo would be claiming it was all night!!” A pout instantly appeared on his handsome face and that was just too much, so you leant down over him, stroking his face and kissing him passionately. He grabbed you, pulling you down onto him and your robe came off a lot faster than it went on, unceremoniously dumped on the floor. “Ride me,” he whispered in your ear.

You had to bring him back down to earth though, as you quite urgently needed to visit the bathroom and so you’d extricated yourself from his arms and stood up, picking up your robe. The pout had got even poutier and his eyes looked huge as he gazed up at you from where he lay on the crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets. “Oh, okayyy,” he drawled, grinning, both hands going up behind his head as he lazed back on the pillows, “....so now we’re married, you’re gonna start slappin’ sex bans on me, huh?” You slipped your robe back on and put your hands on your hips, “Billy Russo! Don’t be such a drama king! You’d think you were on your honeymoon or something!” He just kept on grinning at you.

“Well! You either wait two minutes so I don’t have an accident on those lovely clean sheets, or maybe I’d better just call my divorce lawyer right now!” you mock-threatened. His face fell, “Angel! I’m only jokin’ y’know!” You burst out laughing, “Me too, you silly big sap! But not about going to the bathroom!” Flouncing out of the bedroom, hearing his answering laugh as you went.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Once you were in the bathroom, you let your mind drift back over the last few days. You and Billy had been married just two days ago, a small wedding just as you both wanted with close family and friends only (Billy’s Marine buddies being his family). You’d had the most perfect day, but after all the planning and rushing around in the run-up to the big day, you felt as if it had all gone by in a flash. Whoosh - and it was all over. One minute Karen and your little cousin had been fussing round you, helping with your hair, your makeup, your dress, and in no time at all - it seemed - Billy was taking your hand and leading you out of the reception party, accompanied by a chorus of wolf whistles and catcalls.

You two had stayed that night in the beautiful hotel in upstate New York where the wedding had been held. Billy had picked you up ‘bridal style’ while you were in the hotel elevator and then carried you along the corridor to your suite, kicking the door shut behind him and laying you gently down on the bed. Then he had slowly and sensually slid your wedding dress and underskirts up over your thighs, smile as bright as the sun as he ran his hands over your stockings and garter belt, pushed aside your lacy underwear and had taken you right there and then, whispering to you all the while that now you were truly his.

The next day, you and Billy had flown from JFK to Ibiza in the Balearic Islands, Spain. He’d been surprised when you’d said where you wanted to go for your honeymoon. He thought you’d want to go to the Caribbean or the Maldives or suchlike. But you’d spent some very happy times there when you were on your travels a while back, and you knew he’d love the laid-back vibe of the island.

So he’d booked a luxurious villa for a whole month, in the pine-clad hills above a large cove with a beach called Cala Llonga, east of Ibiza Town. The aromatic scent in the air was truly intoxicating and you closed your eyes, inhaling it from the small breeze making its way through the bathroom window, open just a tiny bit.

You sighed happily; both workplaces had been asked to contact you only in a dire emergency and with Frank and Jake left in charge while you and Billy were on honeymoon, after initially being anxious about being away for so long you now felt surprisingly relaxed about it.

Washing your hands and making your way back to the bedroom, you smiled as you saw your new husband sprawled out on the bed, naked and looking at you with a devilish smirk on his handsome face.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy happily stretched out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and hearing the water running in the bathroom in the background. The more he thought about it, the more he could hardly believe it - he’d actually managed to persuade her to marry him. He really thought he’d blown it when he’d proposed the first time. When she’d changed her mind and said ‘Yes’, he’d been so happy he thought he’d explode like a human hand grenade.

Still somewhat surprised about his complete turnaround from playboy to lovesick sap, he’d decided long before the wedding to just lie back and accept what the Fates had in store for him. Maybe they’d decided to give him some good karma for a change, after his solitary and loveless childhood and the difficulties he’d had after he left the Marines.

He thought back to just before the wedding ceremony, when Frank had been helping him tie his silver silky cravat after he’d put on his fancy morning suit and dress shirt. His big friend had suddenly clasped his shoulder, saying gruffly, “Bill.... you’ve finally got a chance to be ‘Happy Ever After’, y’know bud. Don’t fuck it up, whatever you do.”

Grabbing the big paw on his shoulder, he’d said sincerely, “I won’t, Frankie... believe me, I won’t.”

He’d also thought about a text he’d received the night before the wedding, and which he’d decided not to mention to his girl. Because it was from Madani. She’d heard the news about Billy getting married from Sam, who he’d met by chance in a local bar a few days before the wedding.

Typical vitriolic Madani, he thought. Saying how he was making a big mistake and he’d regret it in the end. Meaning, of course, because he hadn’t chosen her. Hadn’t even wished the two of you well, couldn’t bring herself to make even that small concession.

Bitch. He’d angrily deleted the text along with the whole string of her past messages, and had then deleted her contact details out of his phone. A feeling of great satisfaction had washed over him as he’d hit the ‘Delete Contact’ button on Dinah Madani. Gone and very definitely forgotten.

Now he looked over to see his angel walking back towards him, looking totally edible in her silky robe.

Grinning, he patted the sheet next to him, “C’mere, sweetheart....”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy grabbed your wrist, pulling you down next to him and pouncing on top of you. The robe came off again and he was kissing you hungrily, appetite undiminished even after your mutual athletics the night before. He ran his hands all over you, pulling your body closer against his, telling you how much he loved you, wanted you, needed you. Then he rolled over onto his back, grinning over at you, “C’mon, angel... I need you to ride me.”

Grinning back at him, “Might do,” you replied. He shook his head, “No, really.... angel... you need to do it and do it now.” You also lay down on your back, “What’s the consequences if I don’t?” you teased. He looked horrified, “You sayin’ No to me?” You shrugged, smirking. “Angel! Please.... what... uhhh... do I gotta beg?” You nodded, “I think you do.” So Billy sighed, getting up and then kneeling beside the bed, hands clasped together and held up in supplication to you, “Please, goddess, m’beggin’ you.... pleeeease! Please!”

From your lofty perch on the bed, you looked down at the male masterpiece currently on his knees in front of you. The early morning sun highlighted his sculpted muscles to perfection, including the delicious-looking erection he was sporting, and you couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer. You reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging on it several times as his now-grinning face looked up at you.

“Ahhh... so I got the green light, goddess?” You nodded imperiously, and he leapt up and onto the bed at the speed of light. You pushed his shoulders down into the pillows and climbed on top of him, seeing his eyes widen in anticipation. Leaning over, you slid your fingers to the back of his neck and began gently stroking, then took his ‘tache between your lips and sucked gently, before running your tongue over it and then sucking again. Hearing small whimpers coming from him, you moved on to the tufty bit of beard under his bottom lip, giving it the same treatment. Then you ran your tongue very slowly over his bottom lip and suddenly you heard an agonised ‘Fuck!” from Billy, and wetness spread over your stomach and thighs.

Sitting up, you looked down in surprise at the sheen you could see glinting on your skin. A very sheepish-looking Billy was gazing up at you, “Uhhh....m’sorry, angel,” he whispered, “....y’got me too excited.” He covered his eyes with one big hand, then you saw two dark chocolate eyes peeking out between his fingers at you. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, somewhat fearfully. You leant down and kissed his nose, “No! Course not, Billy.”

He slid his hand away from his face, “Really? Been goin’ on at you to ride me then don’t even get inside you before.....!” and he gestured at the pearly liquid on your skin. His face was tinged pink by now, “M’so embarrassed!” he wailed. “Honestly, Billy.... I’m not mad at you,” you said, tweaking his nose between finger and thumb before getting up and heading through to the bathroom. Grabbing a handful of baby wipes you went back to the bedroom, sitting on the bed and quickly cleaning yourself up before teasing Billy by running a baby wipe slowly and sensually along his velvety length. You heard some low soft moans from him, and knew it wouldn’t be very long before he was fully aroused again.

So you kept on stroking him. Laying the baby wipe aside, you continued using just your hand on him. “Sweetheart, what you tryin’ to do to me?” he asked in a breathy voice. “Oh, poppet.... I think you know exactly what I’m doing,” you smirked down at him, loving the way he looked at that moment, vulnerable and at your mercy, big wide eyes gazing up at you, lips parted slightly. You slid your hand in between his legs, taking hold of his balls, gently massaging and squeezing them while still working his cock with your other hand. He squirmed below you, breath catching in his throat, one hand going to the hand you were stroking him with and pulling it to the head of his cock. Taking the hint, you concentrated on it, squeezing and rubbing at it while Billy writhed under you, letting out a string of swears.

Then you decided to add a little something to the mix and leant down to lick him, letting your tongue drag over his tip back and forth with quite some force. Billy had cried out really quite loudly as you started doing that and you smiled, thinking he’d made a good point about having a private villa. You could both be really noisy when you wanted to be. Feeling him stiffening in your hand, you increased the speed and firmness of your stroking and also took him more fully into your mouth.

“Please.... sweetheart!” groaned Billy, “....gotta get inside you... please!!!” You could hear him beginning to pant so without further delay you guided him inside you, before sinking down onto his length. He gave a long low moan, while you gasped with pleasure as soon as he was fully sheathed inside you. Billy was giving out soft whimpering moans and began desperately thrusting up into you, hands running up the sides of your body onto your breasts and he began slowly massaging. In turn you started moving on him, hands on his chest, relishing the feeling of both his firm muscled body and how he filled you completely. “You...” Billy whispered, big dark eyes gazing up at you, “...you’re perfect for me, angel. Fit me like a glove.” His hand moved down to where your bodies were joined and began rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“Could say the same about you, Marine,” you breathed against his ear, leaning down and giving him a dirty open-mouthed kiss before moving your mouth onto his neck beard, and running your tongue over it. You felt Billy tense up and knew he was about to climax, and you felt your own orgasm building. Both of you were wound up tighter than springs! You wrapped your arms round your new husband’s shoulders and let the waves of pleasure roll over you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

A lot later on, you and Billy strolled down to Cala Llonga and joined the small queue of people waiting on the little stone jetty for the water taxi to Ibiza Town. The boat was fairly small and you all crammed onto the wooden benches which filled most of it. Billy wrapped his arm round you, glaring at the Dutch guy sitting on the other side of you who’d been smiling and trying to make small talk with you. “We’re on honeymoon,” he growled at him, butting in just as the guy asked where you were staying. “Oh that’s great, congratulations!” he said, and you’d smiled at him, “Thank you.” Billy however was still glowering at the poor guy, so you elbowed him and he said reluctantly, “Yeah, thanks.”

You tried to distract Billy by pointing out several landmarks as the boat bobbed and puttered its way round the coast, and then the main town on the island came into sight as you rounded the last headland.

Billy gazed at the sight of the Dalt Vila (Old Town) in front of him and said in an awestruck voice, “Oh hey, that’s so pretty.” You smirked at him, “Told you you’d love it.” He looked back to you, “What’re our plans for this afternoon then?” Pleased that he was handing over the reins to you, smiling fondly at him you said, “Well, first of all I’m gonna make sure my hungry husband gets fed and watered. There are some lovely little outdoor restaurants along the marina.” You heard his stomach rumbling quietly as you mentioned food and he gave you a huge grin, “Now that’s what I call a plan.”

Stepping off the ferry, you guided him to one of the restaurants you’d eaten at before, and chose one of the tables at the front overlooking the yacht moorings. There were quite a few superyachts - some the size of small ocean liners - moored up so the oligarchs were in town, you thought to yourself.

The two of you enjoyed a leisurely lunch, before heading into the maze of narrow streets of the Old Town. Strolling right up to the old church at the very top of the hill, Billy oohing and ahhing at the whitewashed old houses and the view once you reached the church. He leant on the wall enclosing the courtyard in front of the church, looking out over the town, the two marinas and the surrounding hills and you heard a big happy sigh. He turned his head towards you, “This is perfect. You’re perfect. I love this place. And I love you.” He leant in for a kiss, and things started to get a bit raunchy before you heard a throat being cleared loudly behind you. The two of you broke apart, turning to find two elderly Spanish ladies glaring at you with outraged expressions on their faces.

You smiled at them, “Ah... lo siento, señoras, estamos en nuestra luna de miel.” Instantly, large smiles appeared on their faces and they moved away in a flurry of waving hands and staccato Spanish which you couldn’t quite catch. “What d’you say to them, sweetheart?” asked Billy. “That we’re on our honeymoon,” you grinned, “...didn’t understand all of the replies but rest assured, we’re forgiven!” He leaned in, “Well, reckon we should pick up where we left off then,” mouth back on yours. You surreptitiously ran a hand over the zip of his jeans and felt an interesting bulge there, hearing his low gasp, “Okay, but we better leave most of it till we get back to the villa... otherwise we’ll get arrested!” He sighed, nuzzling your neck, “Couldn’t we just go down one of these little streets an’.....” Laughing, you walked away holding out your hand to him, “No we can’t! C‘mon, tiger,” and with a pout firmly in place he followed, taking your hand in his.

Heading back down through Dalt Vila into the main part of town, you came to Paseo Vara de Rey, a wide, short tree-lined boulevard near the marina. In the evenings, the locals would come here for their before-dinner strolls, stopping for a chat with friends or a quick aperitif. It was just starting to get a bit busier as locals and tourists alike came along to enjoy the late afternoon sun.

You and Billy joined the strolling groups of people, looking in the shop windows and at people sitting in the open-air café sections, gradually making your way towards the marina end of the Paseo. Steering him towards a large hotel situated on the corner of Vara de Rey and into the cool white interior of its bar, you suggested he might want to buy you a cocktail. Leaning on the bar, he grinned at you, “Okay, I will... but then can we go back to the villa?”

“But why do you want to go back to the villa, Billy? I thought you were having a nice time here in town?” “I am!” he protested, “...and you know perfectly well why I wanna go back!” said with an accompanying eyebrow wiggle, “...we’re on our honeymoon!”

One of the barmen overheard him, “Ah, señor y señora! Let us make you very special cocktails in celebration of your wedding!!” Bill looked round, embarrassed, “Oh no.. s’okay, honestly - we’re fine, thanks.” Shaking his head vigorously, the barman grabbed a couple of cocktail shakers and tossed one of them to his co-worker, “But we must! It will take just a few moments.”

Then there was a flurry of pouring, shaking, ice, fruit and citrus slices being added before a couple of glasses were placed on the bar in front of you with a flourish. You and Billy eyed each other before taking a sip from your drinks. It was pleasant enough - you could taste rum and fruit - but not particularly what you’d’ve chosen for yourself. However, in the same spirit as the drinks were offered, you both made appreciative noises and thanked them profusely, before escaping to a table by the window overlooking Vara de Rey. Sitting down, Billy chuckled, “I guess I better learn to keep my big trap shut!” You agreed, “You’re forgetting that most of the locals speak really good English, so don’t be giving away any more of our secrets!” “What... like the fact you love my dick and think it’s really pretty?” he sniggered, while you slapped his arm, looking round quickly to make sure no-one had heard him.

Seeing no-one within earshot, you leant forward and said, “No... more like you telling me you’re in love with my ‘perfect pussy’ and how you’d be inside me 24/7 if you could be!” He snorted out some of his drink, and the two of you just sat and laughed at each other for a few moments in sheer happiness. “I love you,” he said, serious all of a sudden. “I mean, like really love you.” You smiled at him over the rim of your glass, “Well that’s good, Russo, cos I love you. Like, really love you.” Again, you sat looking at each other with goofy grins on your faces. You caught sight of both barmen looking over at you and smirking so you finished the last of your cocktail, purposefully making a noisy sucking sound through your straw as you did. “Hey, Billy... will we have one more drink and then head back?”

His eyes lit up, “Yeah!!! What d’ya want to drink this time round, angel?” “I’ll just have a mojito, please.” A few minutes later, a luscious mojito-filled glass was placed in front of you, while Billy had decided on a Sidecar, which he polished off in a few quick gulps and then sat looking expectantly at you. Shaking your head and laughing at him, you said, “I won’t be downing my lovely mojito as if it was a beer, Billy. I will be sipping it in a ladylike manner.” His face fell, “Oh.” “You’ll just have to be patient, loverboy.” He perked up a bit, “But if I’m a good patient boy, I’ll get a nice reward when we get back to the villa, yeah?” You patted his silky-haired head, “Yes, you will,” and couldn’t resist tugging on a few locks of it while you were at it. His grin grew devilish, “You wanna tug on something else, angel?” You slid your hand onto his thigh under the table, giving him a very innocent smile, “No, I am not going to lower the tone of this fancy hotel bar by misbehaving, Mr Russo.” His hand covered yours on his thigh and pulled it up onto his zip, “Well, I haveta say I’m very disappointed, Mrs Russo,” before bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing it, putting on his best puppydog eyes and pout.

You had to admit, a frisson of excitement had run through you as he’d done that - Billy had made sure you realised he had an impressive erection. So in fact you picked up your mojito and drained the glass like a sailor who’d just hit a bar after six months at sea. “Okay, Billy,” you smirked, “....you win. Let’s go, tiger.” Billy sprang up from the table and pulled you by the hand towards the door, waving over at the barmen as he went, while you gave them a smile as you passed them.

Then you had to contend with an impatient Billy, pacing up and down at the marina while you were waiting on the water taxi back to Cala Llonga. Eventually it appeared, and Billy hustled you on board, making you sit at the back and beginning to kiss you as he boxed you into the corner seat. More passengers joined soon though and you pushed him back slightly, “Billy.... behave, please. We don’t want to upset any more people with PDA’s.” He grinned, “Okay, okay, I’ll keep my hands and my mouth to myself ... for now.” As the boat began to manoeuvre backwards and away from the quayside, you pointed at the town, “So, what did you think of Ibiza Town then?” Billy nodded, “Yeah, I loved it. It’s beautiful. But y’know, as long as you’re with me.... wherever we are, that’s what I really love.” You poked him in the side, “You big sap!” you laughed and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, “...but you’re my big sap, as they say.”

Those gorgeous dark eyes of his sparkled back at you, and his hand stroked your cheek, “Yeah I am, sweetheart... and that’s the most important thing. It’s all anyone needs to know about us. I’m yours, and you’re mine. And we’re in love. And together. Forever.” You put your lips next to his ear, “Yes, Billy... forever,” you whispered as the little boat carried the two of you away into the gathering dusk.

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Additional A/N: Hope you enjoyed this little journey with Billy and his sweetheart. All I ever wanted for Billy Russo was for him to be happy. Maybe we’ll meet these two again, who knows? Thanks so much for reading.

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@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry

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[thekatebridgerton]

You white “ fans” are so annoying. Just because your shitty Duke left, all of a sudden the idea of any other lead being a poc is suddenly a problem. Piss off

Wow 😳 everything you just said is wrong on so many levels.

First of all while I have no need to disclose what I consider personal information. Let's get this out of the way really fast.

1) I'm not white, I'm Latina/Hispanic.. Where I live, if you called me white you'd get laughed at

2) I live in a Caribbean island where the population of Caucasians is approx 10%. Most of them who are Latinos. I don't live in a place where the population is predominantly white or associate with predominantly white people. And it's weird to have that idea.

3) my mother is married to a black man. Who has been a great paternal figure I could hope for in my life and I respect him a lot. In fact 90% of the people I asociate with are either black or east Asian/Desi. For me POC representation IS a big deal. Doesn't mean I don't have white friends or asociate with them. It just means I had a multicultural upbringing.

4) what makes you think I liked the Duke of Hastings? I mean Rege was fine and as an actor he was 10 times better than Phoebe. Carried all their scenes on his back and everything. But Simon Basset has never been in my top 10 no matter who plays him. Fake dating has never been my thing, I've said it before, it's an incredible turn off. And also sexually objectifying Rege Jean Page makes me uncomfortable. I'm simply not attracted to him.

So yeah, what I said about not wanting Sophie to be a POC is really sincere. I've grown up around some wonderful black women who have wonderful very black very proud black daughters.

I want those little girls to be able to see themselves in media as more than the tragic character who must run away from a life of oppression. But if Sophie does end up being played by a POC more the reason to cheer her on because Sophie is an amazingly brave and generous heroine.

On a last note anon. As a person who can pass off as white living in a place where the population is predominantly Black you can't say silch to me about prefering white leads to POC. Because if you think black people don't discriminate when they are majority and feel entitled to, then you are dead wrong. Black people are just as capable of discrimination as white people. And just as proud too.

As a Latina, I've been discriminated by both white and black people, even by fellow Latinos. In fact if I had to name the ethnicity who I've been personally discriminated less by, it would have to be the East Asian/Desi/Indian. Who have definitely done it too.

And here's a secret about racism and discrimination: IT'S NEVER ABOUT RACE

Any kind of discrimination is about people who feel entitled to humiliate others and just need an excuse to do it. An asshole is an asshole, no matter their racial background, political affiliation, gender, sexual orientation or nationality. They just use the previously listed things to justify their assholery to people they consider themselves superior to as if somehow that makes it okay.

I've grown up around black people who are incredibly kind, understanding and generous. I've also grown up around other black people who are terrible assholes. And guess what? They didn't develop those traits because they're black. it's just the kind of person they are. If I went around assuming all black people are assholes, I'd end up missing out on some amazing friendships and relationships.

Same applies to the Latinos I know, some are wonderful human beings, some are liars and cheats. And white people too, a lot of them won't even talk to a person who's a shade darker than them. And others would willingly get covid to help a POC friend.

This is why when I talk about the Penelope vs Marina situation. I never mention their race. To me, who has grown up in a certain kind of environment where I've been discriminated against by people from multiple racial backgrounds the idea feels so foreign. Since their race had nothing to do with it, the show never gives any indication that it does.

Marina was being an asshole! From almost the very first few episodes and that had nothing to do with being a woman of color. It had everything to do with the kind of person she was! Penelope retailiated by also being an asshole. It had nothing to do with Penelope being white, it had everything to do with her chosing to be an asshole.

And me liking Penelope better than Marina when both of them were assholes says absolutely nothing about me as a person. Sometimes I just like some assholes more than others.

But since you were rude first here's an advice, do us both a favor and get off your high horse anon. Being a POC or supporting POC doesn't make you better than anyone else. Being a good person does. Because speaking from experience here, no matter their racial background when an asshole has the opportunity to discriminate or oppress someone else, they do and when a good person has the opportunity to discriminate or oppress someone else, they Don't. They help. They support. They become actually better than people around them and have absolutely no need to advertise it, because it becomes self evident.

Try working on that and you'll see how media like Bridgerton becomes easier to consume

[thepolyamorouspolymath]

Whelp, guess I finally have to write what I don't want to because it was draining and awful. But I promised you relationships, and while I have few now, I am nothing if not sincere.

So I'm remaking my life. Because it sucks and because my therapist and shrink said to. Got a job, which pays $20 an hour when I'd have been happy with $15 and has nothing to do with customers. Win all around. I'm on Bumble's friend app and Meet up, trying to build a circle of friends. I want a new style, even though I have no idea what it is And I'm trying new hobbies.

Now here's the issue. There's this doubt in my head that a lot is motivated by M, who I will probably never see again, will never know, and would not care. So doing so would make no sense but emotions and subconscious processes rarely make sense.

Getting a job puts me in a more ambitious place, which he may like. Lots of friends makes me seem likable and gives me people to do even more with. My style? I'm feeling the urge for my alt hair and piercings -- which I did have prior to M, but is returning to that because that was a lot of the girls he reblogged porn of back when he was here. He liked tight black dresses on me and I find myself dismissing thing that aren't and marking lots of tight black dresses, low cut to show the boobs he loved. (I do like low cut and my boobs and I look fabulous in black. But high necks also show off my fantastic ne k and since I'm the color of paper, I kind of go with any colors, so don't necessarily want all black all the time, nor do I always want tight, I like flaring skirts too.)

Then there's the hobbies. Burlesque, belly dancing, and if I'm ever strong enough pole. Do I want them because I think they're neat or because he finds them really sexy? Kung Fu. Do I want it because he has a big thing for being able to fight or would he dislike it because he liked being protective and knew me as a pacifist? And why does that matter? Art projects. Would he be impressed at any skill I show and would it show him more about me, even though he literally never asks about my life and made no comment when I showed him my paintings? Glass blowing. He always said he wanted to try it. Working out with weights. Because he was into lifting (though last time I saw him he'd lost so much muscle, it was disappointing) or just because I want to lose weight because E has invited me to the Caribbean this summer and I want to look good in a bikini (and is that so I have hot pics in case he someday, somehow sees them?) The plants I'm mostly sure of though I do want my bedroom to have plants that are supposed to improve sleep and he has trouble sleeping too but that's so vague. Horse back riding. He used to when he was a kid. Kayaking. Tried it the first time because he mentioned it with his rebound. Trying to increase my knowledge. It's mostly history and science, particularly physics and biology which he cared about (he even wants a PhD in history) and shared interests were part of our appeal. Learning to play an instrument. I hated it, just hoping if I take lessons, I'll like it more. Is it because I want the skill or because he plays guitar and I want to be able to duet with him? Learning a new language. Am I just trying to prove how smart I am because he always praised that? Traveling. Well I've always loved that but he did a ton and it'd give us a connection, especially considering I've been thinking about places he'd remarked on.

I went to B with this because I was worried and upset at the thought. He was unsupportive completely. No reassurance at all. Even said "I guess I should be glad you think M would want you to care about me." Wow, passive aggressive much? Since I spend 14 years caring about him prior to M and M probably would have preferred me to himself and definitely wouldn't now... it was just a dick thing to say, especially with how completely he was dismissing me and how little he cared about my feelings, because it wasn't ever about M, it was about my doubts and insecurity.

He claimed he was just trying to get me not to quit abd give up on it because I was scared that was my motive. Except that I've been continually moving forward and only haven't done anything yet because we've been quarantined. And not once did I suggest that I was going to abandon the projects or wanted to or thought I should.

No, it was because he is bitter and resentful of M and his place in M life, my heart, and my head.

[wordynerdygurl]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Author’s Note:  Well hello my friends!  Since hitting 1000 Followers in July (WHAT?!  STILL UNBELIEVABLE!!!) I’ve been working on the requests sent in by my amazing troop of readers!  This is another one of those stories which I’m pleased to share.   As always, help my unending need for validation but re-blogging or liking the story!  Also, you can send asks, make your own request, follow me, or be added to my tag-list! Last, @sammy-jo1977 is my beta... and my ride or die home girl!  Thanks lady! Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader, appearances from most of the Avengers

Summary/ Request:  @queenofmischief asked for a story where “Loki and you guys are friends growing up and you realize you like him and try to hide it but somehow at a party or something or another, maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven is involved, it comes out and really hot smut ensues?”

I used some of the ideas you gave me, dear reader, but made it a little more mature, so I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Warnings:  Lots of 80′s references... music, movies, clothes, etc.  References of smut, heavy petting and kissing

ENJOY!

"But, like, I really don't want to go."  Your cellphone, pinned between your ear and shoulder, pushed your earring into the tender flesh behind your lobe.  It probably didn't help that the jewelry in question was a pair of huge hoops, fluorescent in color and hard plastic.

You heard Wanda sigh, "Yea… I know.  It's just, we all are… and you know it'll be worse if you don't show up."

"I really hate it."  Using a sing-song voice didn't change the feelings behind your words.  Going up to the main floor of The Avengers Tower for a theme party was not a thrilling idea.

"I know you do-", pulling open the door between your room and hers, you palmed your phone, frowning at your friend, "-But you look great!"

"Radical… or wicked… or tubular would be more 80's appropriate."  Still, her compliment made you smile.  It really was a great outfit, totally encapsulating the MTV generation's vibe, complete with hot lime colored leg warmers. 

 Your cropped REO Speedwagon t-shirt was cut off at the neck, dripping low enough to expose one whole shoulder, and a wide stripe of the magenta colored tank top underneath.  Having tucked the camisole into your acid washed denim micro miniskirt, you finished the ensemble with a pair of black pumps, and the obligatory scrunchie of cheap yellow satin.  It pulled your hair into a low, side ponytail.

For makeup you'd painted your eye-shadow on, bright turquoise with pink under your brows.  Lipstick in a shimmery rosy hue brought extra attention to your lips.  And you stored your cell phone, lip gloss and keys in your iridescent fanny pack.

Wanda couldn't help giggling at the sight of you and your collection of clashing colors.  For her look tonight she'd dawned a pair of skin tight leggings, an over-sized button down shirt with a stretchy black belt that was about four inches wide.  Ballet flats, teased out hair and stark makeup had Wanda looking like a video vixen.  It was impressive.

"See, you went sexy… and I went silly."  Pouting now, you flopped onto your bed, "Can I just not?"

Sitting down next to you, patting your knee, "You don’t look silly, but you do look like you could be a hair band groupie!  That’s sexy!” Shrugging your shoulders, unconvinced, Wanda added, “Besides, tonight… It may be fun.  And, worse case?  You get blitzed like a teenager on prom night."

"No… that's not the worst case.  Worst case?  He's there."

Sighing, Wanda shook her head, "He does still rub you the wrong way, huh?  And, yes, he may be there… but-" standing, taking you with her, "-it would be a shame to waste all your wicked cool work!"

Hearing her use the dated vernacular made you grin.  She was right.  Tonight could be a blast, if you were able to get out of your head.  Jumping off the bed, unsettling one of those fashionable leg warmers, you hugged your friend tightly.  You could do this.  You wouldn't be alone.  And if Loki was there, he'd just have to get over it.  You weren't going to pay him any attention.

---

"Mr. Loki… can we please go?  We're already stupid late."  

Bending to straighten his red suspenders, Loki smirked at himself, "Greed is good."

Sighing, exasperated and edging into anger, Peter pulled open the front door, "I don't know what that means, but you look… greasy."

"Like I could steal your company in a corporate take over?  Maybe steal your woman too", Loki questioned, excited at the idea.

Crossing his arms over the red puffy vest he had bought specifically for tonight, Peter grunted, "Uh… I… I guess.  I meant more like one of the assholes in Wolf of Wall Street."

God, you had better be there tonight.  Loki was putting a lot of hope on Stark’s little shindig and he wanted to make sure that all of the little details were absolutely perfect, giving him every advantage.  Standing now, slicking back his long dark hair, "That, my young spider friend, is exactly what I am going for… Evil 80′s CEO."

"Great."

Loki heard the frustration in the young man’s voice.  Someday he would understand, Loki thought, turning to the youthful Avenger beside him, "You certainly make a dashing Marty McFly, Peter.  Truly."

"Aw!  Really, Mr. Loki?  Ya mean it?"  That made the Spider Boy preen, popping his collar, and standing a little straighter.

"I do!  Now-" flashing a rakish smile to his reflection as he passed, "-let's get upstairs and see how everyone else is doing!"

---

Everyone else was ready to party.  The last mission, a particularly difficult one, involved Hydra agents banging it out against our heroes along the rough terrain of the polar ice cap.  Draining the physical and emotional resources of everyone, including you and Loki, Tony had planned a little party to kick off a period of rest and relaxation.

As soon as the elevator opened you knew it was going to be an insane night.  Everything was brightly lit.  Paper streamers were strung up haphazardly along the walls and ceiling.  Big plastic buckets of chips and cheese curls were put out on the counter along with a huge punch bowl that reeked of rum and sugary fruit juice.  On the floor in the kitchenette was a garbage can, freezing, full of ice, only the keg tap visible.  A stack of red plastic cups was at the ready.

Someone had ordered pizza.  Well, dozens of pizzas.  The boxes were piled along the table already crammed with pretzel bags and Doritos.  

Steve was being instructed on the basics of Beer Pong and, you decided, definitely being hustled by Sam.  Bucky looked on with curiosity, quietly sneaking closer to the chips and dip, hoping no one would notice.  Rhodey was watching them both through the reflective lenses of his aviator shades, doing a great job of looking like a Top Gun cadet, including the tight jeans and broken-in bomber jacket.  Grinning as he drank down a bottle of beer, Rhodes shouted, "Hey Stank!  Is all of this really necessary?"

"Don't come for me Rhodey!"  Wearing a pair of neon leopard spotted knit pants, a green polo shirt and white sneakers, Tony was clutching a glass bowl filled with little slips of paper to his chest.  No one had managed to figure out what they were or why he held them.  Drinking two beers from his plastic, can holding helmet, Tony would answer only with a slightly slurred, "It's my trashy 80′s party and I do what I want!"

And Tony had thought of everything.  Sounding like a mixed tape pulled from the radio, the tunes didn't let up!  Ratt, Foreigner, Cindi Lauper, Madonna and Tom Petty all took turns blasting through the room.  So many hits from the past pumped through the sound system, getting people on their feet and keeping them there.  You were swinging and swaying along, having a blast, but when Bon Jovi hit the group of Intergalactic Warriors went wild.

Clint, rocking a mullet wig and a vest with no shirt, jumped onto a table making the motions of an air guitar champion.  Singing into a beer bottle like it was his microphone, "Whoooooaaaa we're halfway there…"

Guffawing, you hid behind your Bud Light filled cup, already red cheeked from the non-stop laughing and alcohol in your system.  At some point you had given up Wanda to Vision in a varsity jacket, doing his best jerk-off jock impression, and not quite pulling it off.  It wasn't his fault that he was too polite to put people down in the way of Eighties movie bad guys. Alone, feeling flushed, but happy, you needed a break and some quiet.  Flinging yourself onto the soft sofa, watching the frat house style antics unfold all around, you couldn’t help laughing.  Tony always found a way to knock the group out of their post mission funk.  Sometimes that meant week long Caribbean vacations and sometimes that meant dressing up in retro attire and scream singing with a cold beer in your hands.  Either way, it seemed to bring everyone closer together, and the pictures were certainly worth framing. The couch dipped as someone joined you.  Swiveling, not quite drunk but not quite sober, you couldn’t help the groan that left you.  “Oh.  It’s you.”

Not exactly the response Loki wanted, he was just grateful that you spoke to him at all.  Lately you seemed to flee any room he entered, a hurt and heavy sigh escaping you before you'd make your exit, never looking back.  Loki couldn't understand why.

After all, it had been two months since that night.  The one where he'd stumbled on you, glowing blue in the light of the television set, alone and in the darkness.  You asked him to join you, he had accepted.

The movie was called "Say Anything" and Loki had to admit, as far as romance on film went, this story was very moving.  But that was an unexpected bonus to being so near to you.  Before the credits rolled, you had burrowed against him, snuggled under his arm with your head on his chest.  

Stroking your hair, Loki pressed a kiss to your forehead, thoughtlessly, naturally.  Pushing away, looking up at him through hooded lashes, "You… you kissed me?"

Words failed the silver tongued devil, something he still pondered all these weeks later, so a nod was all you got for a response.  Kneeling, your sleep shirt riding over your thighs, Loki watched your small hand rising to cup his cheek.  Feeling your lips against his own was the beginning of the best night of his life.

And then, nothing.  It was like a switch had been thrown and no matter how many ways he tried to reach out for you, Loki wasn't able to connect.  Not like that night.

So, he was going against his nature tonight.  Joining the group, drinking a bit of his brother's mead, wearing a dated but pristine business suit.  All done in the vain hope that something would shift in his favor.

He had already lost too many nights to memories of you.  Soft, full skin under his broad palms.  The tiny moan you exhaled when Loki’s tongue met your own.  How your wet, willing body accepted him, without question or stipulation.  And in the afterglow, when your head rested in the crook of his neck and your cherry cola scented breath circled him, you let Loki hold you close.

But he buried it all.  Tonight he was the embodiment of all things slick.  Nothing could stick to him; not when he had a goal in mind and this much gel in his hair.  Loki Odinson would be taking you home tonight, come hell or high water. Wolfish, Loki’s grin was wicked, “Yes.  Your dream has come true.”  Sitting back, he crossed his designer suit covered knee at the ankle, exposing socks with little golfers on them.  He let his right arm rest along the back of the sofa, not around you… not yet, but inching closer. “What is that cologne you’re wearing?” “Don’t you like it?  I’m told Drakkar Noir was quite the scent of the 80′s.  I did my research.” Twisting, you looked him over, impressed despite yourself.  The suit was totally of its time.  Black, pinstriped and you were sure the jacket that came with it was draped somewhere safe.  His shirt was shiny but soft and bright, blinding white.  Suspenders of red matched the tie that draped down the center of his chest. With his hair combed straight back and held in place with some kind of product, Loki looked like he was capable of eating a six course lunch at Sardi’s, complete with dirty martinis, then jetting back to the office in time to defraud a corporate spending account.  The kind of executive that blackmails a co-worker with pictures of a mistress.  The kind of douche bag that tries to take over a rec center to build a mall.  In short, an avarice little asshole.  So, why was it so hot? “It’s… overpowering.”, boy, was that an understatement.  Loki’s whole aesthetic was overpowering right now.  And, was he moving closer? His bent knee brushed against your own as he leaned near enough to be heard at a whisper, “You look adorable, you know that?” Scrunching into the corner of the couch, eyeing him suspiciously, “Oh?  Really?” “Really.”, his hand brushed over your exposed shoulder, making you jump at his touch.

Uh uh.  No way.  You would not be so easy to seduce this time around.  Even if those wide hands sent goosebumps growing all over your body, Loki would not charm his way into your panties again.  Not like last time.

It had been spontaneous.  Genuine, at least for you.  And in the moment, it felt like Loki had given you a little piece of himself, a tenderness that no one else ever saw in the far flung Frost Giant.  

Maybe that's why Clint's words hurt so much.  He had told you so casually, holding up a spoonful of Cheerios, "Loki said his last girl was a drag.  Basic bitch?  Is that what the kids say?"

Thinking about it now made your heart hurt.  You had given yourself to someone who thought you were beneath him.  Loki couldn't want you.  You would never be good enough.

But that night haunted you.  His soulful kisses that stole your breath.  The drag of Loki’s hands over the swell of your bottom as you straddled his hips.  His solid chest under your own hands, dark head curved against the couch cushion, but those burning eyes never leaving your face.  “I thought you said I was plain.  Simple.  Boring.”  

Leveling his own words back at him made Loki straighten in his seat.  How could you think that?  Unbalanced, stammering, “Uh… I… I’d never…” “Never expected me to find out?  I believe that.  And, let me tell you this-”  Pushing yourself up with the help of the couch’s arm, you rose on unsteady legs, “-I’m not nearly drunk enough to fall into your arms again.”  Spinning away, you made a dash towards the people in the kitchen, without looking back. Watching you go, Loki could do nothing but stare after your retreating form, flummoxed.

“That was… painful.”

He knew that voice well enough, frustrated, confused and unfit for company, “Go away, Tony.”

“I don’t think I will.  In fact-” sitting down in your empty spot, patting Loki’s knee, “-I’m going to make myself comfortable.  Now, tell Uncle Tony all about it.”

Rolling his eyes, unable to find you in the crowd, Loki risked a sideways glance at his replacement companion.  Was he really going to indulge in this?  Tell his almost friend about you… about your one night together?  Loki raked his hands through the pomade in his hair, growling low, “If you breathe a word of it Tony, I’ll-” Lowering his wrap around sunglasses, peering at Loki, Tony smiled, “Your secret is safe with me.” ---

Thinking less and less about Loki as the night went on should have been a relief but it seemed like the scent of him followed you everywhere.  Unable to get free of him, you busied yourself with drinks, dancing, and munching like you were a kid again.  Anything to keep your mind from wandering.

It's not like the party was boring.  Not at all!  There was plenty to distract you and you let it.  Natasha made you her partner for beer pong and somehow you successfully won against Rhodey and Sam.  

Next, Wanda needed you, which is how you wound up sitting on the bathroom sink listening to her go on about Vision in that wistful, loving way that made your own heart ache.  Being a little drunk, you had to fight the urge to cry because you were lonely and hurting. “I saw you talking to Loki… what was that about?”  She was reapplying ruby red lipstick, studying herself in the mirror, not looking directly at you.  

Wanda's voice cut through your self doubt spiral though, something you were thankful for, and with a casual tone you countered, “He was trying to get something started, I think.” Eyebrows lifting, Wanda’s interested piqued,  “Really?  Loki was hitting on you?” “Yea… I mean, I think so.  Was coming on awfully strong too.  But… he’s been a jerk, right?”  

Wanda cleaned up her eye make-up taking a minute, after washing her hands she looked at you, “I mean, he is here.” “So?” “So, you know he’s not really a joiner.  More of a lone wolf.  In fact, I think this may be the first of these little parties he’s come to.  Maybe he’s changed… grown a bit?  And, honestly, you never asked him about-”

Hopping off the counter, cutting her off, more than a little huffy at her good sense, “No, I didn’t and I don’t plan to.  Loki thinks I’m a bore?  Too basic for him?  Fine.  I have better things to do with my time.” Laying her hand on your shoulder, Wanda stopped you, eyeing you in the mirror once more, “I know his words hurt… but you’re going to have to clear the air eventually.  Especially if we’re all going to work together.”

Shrugging, you offered your friend a small smile.  There was truth in her sentiment, even if your slightly drunken brain rebelled against hearing it, “Yea, you're right… plus-” looking around the small washroom, just to make sure no one could hear the pair of you, “- he looks really hot tonight!”

Giggling, Wanda hugged you close, “I didn’t want to say anything, but… yea he does!” The pair of you were still laughing together, standing at the back of the crowd as Tony turned down the music, announcing, “Gather round children, Uncle Tony needs your attention!”  There were a few groans, mostly from the beer pong table, as apparently Bucky was unhappy about forfeiting his winning match.  Everyone else, in all their high haired glory, were congregating near their host, curious and more than a little drunk.

“Tony, what the hell, man?  You killed the tunes!”, Clint shouted, spilling Bud Light foam as he joined the tightening circle. “Patience, my drunk friend.  You all remember this?”  From the table nearby, Tony picked up his glass bowl, triumphant, “Our Destiny!”

Pepper, sighing with a smile, “So dramatic!” Shaking the bowl in her direction Tony smirked, “Ok smarty, then you pick first.  Go on… Pick!” There were oohs and ahhs from the assembled Avengers.  Rolling her eyes, Pepper reached in, grabbing the first slip her fingers found.  Pulling it free, she grinned, eyeing Tony, “It says ‘Loki’...” Hearing his name, Loki snapped his head up, surprise registering on his face, “Excuse me?” Holding it up for his examination, Pepper waved the slip under the regal nose of the junior Odinson, “See… your name.” “Yes, but why?”

Butting in, Tony snatched the scrap from the hand of his lovely fiance, practically dancing with glee.  Turning to Loki, “Now you, Gordon Gecko, pull a slip.” Aware of all eyes locked on him, Loki reached into the jar, digging around a little more than necessary.  Finally satisfied, the thin paper pinched between his fingers, Loki opened the folded note.  When his fierce gaze met yours, you knew without a doubt.  It was your name he had grabbed. Throwing a thick arm across Loki’s broad shoulders, Tony hugged him close, “Well?  What’s it say?” It all made sense in that moment.  The tacky costumes, flat beer and endless music.  A drunken moment of clarity had descended.  Tony, waving his arms, eating up the crowd’s reactions, heads turning to gauge your response.  Swallowing hard, your hearing failing you, you just faked a smile. You and Loki were going into the closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven. Only there was no way you were going to do that.  Not after what he’d said.  Not after your one night together, right?  But you felt a gentle hand pushing your forward, into the center of your circle of friends and for some reason, your feet followed.  

Refusing didn't enter your mind.  With everyone ogling you and Loki, making a scene would only cause more speculation, something you weren't keen to do.  Instead, you stepped next to Tony, outwardly eager to play along.  

You just shouldn't have dared to look at your proposed make out partner.  Laser focused, Loki’s lusty look hadn’t wavered.  No, the light in those thundering blue eyes was carnal, darker than you had ever seen, matching your own.  Against your better judgement, you wanted Loki, too.

Whatever Tony was saying was a blur, merely sounds, because you were utterly stunned by the nearness of Loki.  The roaring laughs of the rest of the group were drowned out by your pounding heart.  A door opened to a dim room, the pantry maybe?  You didn’t know and in that moment you didn’t really care. 

With a small smile, Loki ducked into the cupboard, lacing his fingers with yours, offering a bit of his strength.  Dragging you inside, your body pinned between a shelf of snacks and the hard body of your frenemy, a whimper of want passed your lips.  Loki still smelled so good and now he was so close.  “Have fun you two!”, Tony’s words were accompanied by the door shutting you and Loki inside, in the dark.  Surrounded by silence, Loki’s sharp pants were the only sound louder than your racing pulse, which was saying something. Afraid to move, afraid of spooking you, Loki struggled to search your stare in the low light.  He had already experienced your angry dismissal of his attention tonight.  It wasn't something he wanted to relive, not when you were so close with sweet and speedy breath, your chest brushing against his own at each exhale.

Lifting a hand, grazing over your uncovered shoulder, Loki's touch was electric.  You moved towards it, towards him, needing more of his energy.  Craving it.

Bold in the dark, you grabbed at Loki’s suspenders, tugging him closer.  Rising on your toes, covering some of the distance between your mouth and his, you pressed a hot kiss to those soft, pink lips.  Under your fluttering fingers Loki shivered, "Darling-"

"Shut up.  I… I don't care."

"But I never…"

"I told you.  I don't care.  Now kiss me like you mean it, because we only have about six more minutes!"

Not needing any more encouragement, Loki found the flare of your hips in the shadows, molding your curves to the rigid planes of his body.  Desperate, needy, you felt his tongue move against your own.  Want, plain and simple, led your own fingers to the collar of Loki’s starched shirt and the tangle of his raven hair. Fisting it, tugging against those luscious locks, you couldn’t seem to get close enough to the tall God sharing your cupboard.  Whining, his name on your lips, you drew Loki tight enough that the press of your breasts was edging towards pain.  Demanding, true to your word, with every pass of Loki’s magical mouth over your own the last few weeks were forgotten. Hungry for more, Loki roughly squeezed the flesh of your ass, grinding you against his wool blend covered crotch.  Stuttering, his arousal was so stiff, for a minute Loki worried about making a mess.  But that feeling was replaced with unbridled ecstasy when your lips found the tender skin below his ear.  

A nip, enough to make Loki hiss, was soon soothed by your sucking on the same spot.  Resting your butt on the nearest shelf, you didn’t have to stand on tip-toe to reach the soft, sweet sections of Loki where you longed to lavish attention.  He took advantage of your new position by sliding a free hand along the swell of your separated thighs.  “I just need to feel you, dove.  I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.”  It was a husky whisper, directly into your ear, and it sent an arc of icy fire to your core.  When his long fingers skimmed over the silky slick of your panties you moaned in unison, bucking into Loki’s touch, lost in the moment. Stepping between your legs, Loki took one of your hands into each of his own, pinning you wide open against the boxes of cereal and granola bars that lined the pantry walls.  Devouring you slowly, Loki kissed along the column of muscles at your throat, across the exposed line of your clavicle.  You could do little more than take his delicious torment as more and more of your sweat dappled skin was serviced by his silver tongue. “Yes… Loki…”, tumbling out of you, just like the night when you first came together, you crooned his name in delight.  Breathless, boneless and broken with need. CLICK!  The sound made you both freeze.  Snapping swiftly, Loki’s head swung towards the door where the bright light and noisy crowd of the party was intruding into your private pantry. “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!  What do we have here?”  Swinging into the tight space, Tony’s shrewd look took in the scene in seconds, “What were you two doing in here?  It was a very quiet seven minutes!” Straightening to standing, Loki stood, blocking you from sight as you readjusted your clothes.  Smoothing down his tangled strands, sarcasm dripping, “Talking.  Very quietly.”  When he was sure you were decent, Loki offered you his hand, and blinking you stepped back into the wild and raucous party still in full swing.  Tony, flashing a knowing grin your way, nodded, “I hope you didn’t smush the chips!  We still need those!” Giggling, you locked onto Loki’s arm, letting him lead you towards the keg and away from the shouted questions of your friends.  You knew there was no mystery about what happened in those seven minutes.  Hair mused, makeup smudged, lips swollen and shirts twisted, the pair of you were walking neon signs for getting to third base.

Silently Loki poured you a beer, taking a small glass of Asgardian mead for himself, before raising his glass your way.  Returning his gesture, you downed the frothy ale fast, feeling a little parched after your spit swapping time in the hall closet.  Boring into you, his eyes followed each of your movements, searching for a sign of your feelings. Dropping your empty cup on the counter, you turned and jumped onto the marble ledge, feet dangling.  “Loki?” Placing his own glass down gently, Loki took his position between your bent knees, looking down at your darling face, “Yes?” “Did you say those things?  That I was… boring?  Basic?” Shaking his dark waves no, Loki bit into his bottom lip, “Never.  What I said was, my last girl, ages ago, was those things… but my new lady-” tracing along your jaw, tipping your chin his way, “-she is everything I could ever want.”

“Am I… am I your new lady, then?” With a fierce flicker of fire in his eyes, Loki nodded yes this time, “Absolutely.” Leaning into him, arms around his neck, you tugged him down to meet your waiting lips.  “Good.  Good to know.  Because I think I’m going to watch a movie tonight.” “Really?  I recall really enjoying the last one.” “Hmm… me too.”  Sliding off the counter, ducking under Loki’s long arms, you turned back to face him, “My room… say, an hour?”

Snapping his suspenders, smirking, “I’ll be there.”  Watching you skip away made Loki’s pulse pound in anticipation.  Pouring himself another glass of clear liquor, he chuckled, amazed at the change seven minutes had created.  

“You’re welcome.” “Ah!  Yes, many thanks Tony.”  

Leaning against the counter, Tony knocked into Loki’s shoulder, “You’re cute together, Rock of Ages, but don’t make me regret helping you tonight!  Treat her right.”

“Of course.  I... truly, thank you.”, sincerity seeped from Loki at the favor from Tony. “No worries!  No worries!”  Waving away any additional gratitude, Tony looked over the group of half cocked, and totally cocked heroes before him, “Of course the real bitch was getting Pepper to pull your name from the bowl…”

My Marvelous Minxes tag-list:  @queenofmischief @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @sammy-jo1977 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @is-it-madness @jenjen8675309 @alexakeyloveloki @poetic-fiasco​

[tanyawritesstories]

She Bites | Max Phillips x Siren!Reader

I came up with the strange idea of: what if Max was bitten by another creature? And siren was the natural answer for the reader's creature. I imagined their water form as basically the mermaids (sirens) from Pirates of the Caribbean. Enjoy my weirdness!

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: vampirism (duh), plenty of sexual innuendos, flirting, Max is a bit of a douche, insinuations of murder, blood, biting, fluff, Max and reader are unaware of each other's supernatural identities

•••

Your day at the office started slow but now it was picking up. You had just locked in your fourth sale, and began printing the finalization papers. You signed off on them and stood to walk them to your boss's office. On your way, you passed Andrew, looking the part of a hungover, underpaid college student, like he always did.

"Hey Y/N, you sure you don't want to come out tonight with us?" He asked.

"Um, no thank you, Andrew. I have something planned already," you responded politely.

"Aw, c'mon," he looked you up and down sleazily, "I can make it worth your while."

"Andrew, can't you tell the lady has important plans," the spritely voice from behind you made you tense and turn around. Your boss was standing there with a smug look on his handsome face. "She's been telling me how much she is looking forward to her date tonight."

You looked at the floor sheepishly and you could see Andrew shift awkwardly in place. "You're doing great on that presentation, buddy," Max assured the other man, "Now run along."

Andrew scurried back to his desk and Max leaned against the wall beside you, his arms crossed over his chest. "Are we still on for seven tonight?" He asked with a smirk.

You looked up at him and smiled, nodding. "Absolutely. You're picking me up at my place right?"

He nodded back. "Of course, sweet cheeks. Especially if there's a chance I can come inside after dinner."

You smirked back at him, your tone as flirty as his. "Play your cards right and maybe I'll let you."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh trust me, baby. I've never lost a game."

You took a step closer to him, booping his nose gently with your finger. "Then you should have nothing to worry about." At that, you tucked the papers for him into his crossed arms and walked back to your desk.

Of course you knew what kind of reputation Max Phillips carried. Who didn't. He was the type of person your sisters would call a man-slut. Arrogant, attractive, and brainless. Also the type you thought would make easy food.

Your clan had moved to the city only a few months ago, having come to the conclusion that there wasn't enough food in the ocean. You and several of your mer-sisters had taken to the land, tasked with feeding your family. It was getting increasingly more difficult for sirens to survive, especially out at sea. People didn't travel out on the ocean as much as they did a hundred years ago. Plus, now their boats were made of metal and a lot bigger. Even with super strength and the combined forces of the clan, they were hard to take down. Attacks usually ended with more than a few injuries and only a small reward.

Blending in with the humans was easy. Your tail turned to legs when on land and your slit eyes, fangs, and claws only came out when you attacked.

You had figured out a plan to be able to support the clan for hopefully a long time. If you were able to take control of this company, you could employ the rest of your clan to run the business and any new hires would be dinner. It was easy. Or so you thought. You hadn't exactly anticipated the charming and quick-witted sales manager standing in your way.

You had taken out a few minor employees already, none of them were missed and nothing was suspected. You had used your siren charm to hypnotize them into submitting resignation forms the day before you took them.

You were confused when Mike went missing before you could get him. You thought maybe one of your sisters had gotten to him first, but perhaps he just quit. It was frustrating to think you missed such a good potential meal, but alas you had work to do.

You knew you had to ultimately take down Ted, but Ted was wound around Max's finger. So your current target was Max. You played along with his douchey behavior, falling into the role of the shy, naive new girl that was easy to woo. It had worked thus far, getting you a date with your target victim. You planned on insinuating that you would sleep with him, get him back to your place, and then kill him. It would be easy.

You had managed to conjure up a final sale before you left for the day. You gave Max a wave and flirty wink as you walked by his office. You mouthed the words 'don't be late' before the elevator doors closed.

~~~~

Back at your apartment you had completed putting the finishing touches on your makeup. Minimal, since beauty came naturally to sirens. No matter how they looked, they were always beautiful and always praised for it.

You slipped on the sleek black dress. It was satin with thin straps and a slight V plunge in the middle, exposing a teasing amount of cleavage. You looked good enough to eat. You knew Max would think the same. You grabbed a light jacket and donned it to cover your top half. You heard the doorbell ring and looked at the clock on the wall. Five minutes early, typical punctuality. You grabbed a pair of black heels, quickly throwing them on and grabbing your purse.

You found Max with a surprisingly sincere smile on his face when you opened the door.

"Good evening, doll," he greeted, "Ready for our date?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," you replied cheerfully.

He was wearing a nice suit as usual, but he had foregone the tie and waistcoat. Instead having the first few buttons of his shirt undone. It was a very relaxed look for him, and, shockingly, you didn’t dislike it.

You walked to his car, once again surprised when he opened the door for you. You slid in and thanked him. The drive to the restaurant didn't take as long as you thought it would.

Max offered you his arm as you walked in together. You had made the reservation, not trusting him to do it. You let him pull out your chair for you as you removed your jacket. Max only noticed once he was sitting in his own chair across from you. You snatched the wine list and glanced over it. From the corner of your eye you could see him staring unashamedly at your chest where the dip exposed the tops of your breasts.

“Do you have a preference?” You asked. “Anything red is fine with me,” Max answered, his eyes didn’t leave your body even when he knew you were watching him. You scanned back over the list, picking out something simple. “You look stunning tonight.”

You looked up to find Max with a smirk on his face. Willing a blush to come to your cheeks, you looked down at your plate. “That’s kind of you, Max. But I’m afraid you’re a bit of a liar.” He pouted adorably, leaning his elbows on the table. “Nonsense. You’re the most beautiful woman in the office,” he complimented. He reached over and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

You knew that was rubbish. Everyone had a crush on either Amanda or Zabeth. If someone had a crush on you it was because of your siren charm, otherwise they hated you because you did your job and got praised for it.

You ordered your food and found it easy to make conversation with Max. He kept up the perfect attitude with snarky and flirty thrown in. You weren’t learning much about him but you were learning his traits. You didn’t expect him to be such a good listener. He hung onto every word you said and asked questions here and there. You almost felt bad for spinning him the entire fake backstory you had made up for yourself. You tried asking him questions but he only answered a few before turning the conversation back to you.

By the time dessert came you had almost run out of fake information and stories to tell him. This was getting tiring, you hadn’t expected him to act like this. Most men couldn’t shut up about themselves, but you hadn’t gotten hardly anything out of him. It was strange, for sure. Max offered to pay and you let him think he was doing you a favor. He stood first and grabbed your coat, helping slide it over your arms and back. His hands stayed on your shoulders and he whispered into your ear.

“So did I play well?” You smirked turning to face him, putting your hands on his chest. “You’ll see, later.”

He placed his hand on the small of your back and led you back out to his car. He drove with one hand, the other was draped over the center console. You figured it was time to answer his question now. You took his hand and rested it on your knee, keeping your eyes out the window. You could hear him turn his head briefly to look at you. You waited until his eyes were back on the road before sliding his hand up your leg a little bit, you let go and allowed him to decide what he wanted to do next.

He took the hint and slid his hand further up your leg, pushing your dress up in the process. He stopped on your inner thigh, slowly rubbing your warm skin. You knew what he was doing, he was teasing you, trying to make you beg. This time you weren’t going to pretend, he would wait until you got home and was inside your room. If you let him live that long.

You made it back home and invited Max in. “Make yourself comfortable, you want anything more to drink?”

You strolled to your drink cabinet, kicking your heels off on the way there, and pulled out scotch for yourself. “I’ll have what you’re having, sweet cheeks,” he said sitting down on your sofa.

You turned, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. You jumped when you felt his chest press into your back, his nose nuzzling into your neck. How did he get behind you so fast? You probably just didn’t hear him. It was unlikely with your acute senses but who knows.

“Can we skip the drinks?” He whispered huskily into your ear. You reached back and ran your fingers into his hair. “You’re eager, aren’t you?” You replied making sure your tone was as smooth as his.

"I'm hungry," he said, "and I wanna know what you taste like." He ended his sentence with a squeeze to your ass that actually made you gasp. He was good at dirty talk, you were almost starting to feel bad about having to kill such a fine specimen.

You turned around in his grasp and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. You expected him to try and heat it up right away, yet he surprised you once again. He took the kiss as slow and deep as you, keeping one hand on your ass, massaging it to his liking.

You broke away from his lips after a while of having them locked together, instead trailing kisses over his jaw. He took the break to place kisses and licks up and down your neck. You nuzzled your nose into the flesh of his neck, seeing the perfect moment open up.

You didn't hesitate.

Your pupils became slits, with your fingernails extending into sharp points and anchoring themselves into his suit coat. Your fangs descended into their proper places, now poised for harvesting. You barely registered the feeling of his teeth scraping along your skin before you bit down.

Your fangs pierced his skin with more resistance than you were expecting. However, that wasn’t the strangest thing to occur at that moment. You felt a sharp burning pain in your own neck, right where Max had been licking. Did he...he had just bitten you!

You retracted your fangs and shoved Max away, his teeth having unlodged from your skin. You glanced at your neck where two puncture holes were now steadily exuding blood.

"You fucking bit me!" You shouted.

Max recovered from your shove, his eyes tinged yellow, a smear of blood on his upper lip…and his own fangs.

"Why the hell do you taste like fish!" He yelled back.

You were beyond confused. "What? Doesn't matter, who the hell are you!" You grabbed a towel and quickly placed it over your bite wound.

"Me? Who are you!" He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, "Ugh, and why in fucks name does your blood taste salty."

"Usually when I bite people, they die, not complain about how my blood tastes," you grimaced.

"That's what happens when you bite a vampire, sugar tits," he deadpanned.

Your mouth dropped open. Well that explains a lot, but in addition, it made you angry. How were you supposed to take over the company now?

"I didn't know I had a fellow vamp working in my building," he smiled, "Though, that doesn't explain the fishy taste."

You rolled your eyes, heading towards your bedroom to find a bandage. "I'm not a vampire, I'm a siren. Did you honestly think vampires were the only supernatural beings walking this planet?"

Max followed not far behind you, intrigued by your revelation. "A siren, like a mermaid? Where's your tail?"

"I don't have a tail while I'm on land, and no, sirens are much deadlier than mermaids," you informed gruffly. Max appeared to be thinking over your words while he watched you tend to the two holes in your neck. He was unaffected by your bite, his skin having already healed itself.

"Why were you trying to kill me?" He suddenly inquired. You looked over to see him lying back on your bed. He had removed his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, comfortable as could be.

"Because my sister's and I need to eat and I don't like killing just anyone on the street," you answered.

"Are the rest of your sisters as hot as you?" He sat up as you crossed the room, watching your every move. You sneered at him, "I figured killing you was an easy way to take over the company, therefore providing my family with a steady food source, and ridding the world of one less asshole."

Max nodded along to your words. "Great idea, sugar plum, but half the office has already been turned. Tough luck," he mocked.

You swore under your breath, "Then there's no point in working for the company anymore. You can leave now."

No wonder it had been so easy to lure him in, he was playing you too. You both fell right into each other's traps.

Max rose from your bed. He walked to you and gave you a teasing smile, pinching your cheek like an affectionate grandparent. "Don't worry, fish lips. Maybe we can work something out," he winked at you.

You pulled away from him and glared as he swung his jacket over his shoulder. "See you at the office tomorrow!"

~~~~

Max hadn't noticed you came into his office as you entered the same time as Evan was leaving. The loud thud of papers landing harshly on his desk made him look up.

"My resignation form," you said, "since my purpose has been...worn out."

Max looked taken aback despite the fact that you told him you would be quitting last night. "Why is that a reason to leave?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

"I literally just told you, and you know about me when my existence is supposed to be a secret so…" you trailed off.

Max looked to be thinking again, never a good sign. He took your papers off his desk and promptly threw them in the trash bin. "No."

You raised your eyebrows, "No?" He nodded, "No. You happen to be doing the best work here so I can't let you go."

You put your hands on your hips. The audacity of this man! "Huh, right ok. Then I'll just walk out and never come back and there's nothing you can do to stop me," you said firmly. You turned heading towards the door.

"I could tell."

You looked back at Max, who was now standing, hands in his pockets. "Excuse me?"

"I could tell. I could walk out and announce to everyone that you're part fish and all I'd have to do to prove it, is throw some salt water on you," he threatened. You realized as he talked that he was dead serious, and it scared you. "Yeah, I did my research on sirens, believe it or not. I know how you operate," his smile evil and teasing at the same time as he moved to the front of the desk and sat on the edge. "If you stay, your secret is safe with me."

"That's blackmail," you stated obviously.

"Pfft," Max rolled his eyes, "And? Does it look like I'm giving you much choice here, sweet cheeks? You stay with the company and I'll help you, it's a lot easier for me to obtain blood, and I can do it without killing them. I can help you."

You sighed in frustration. What choice did you have? You hated him for not giving you an alternative, but the company wasn't all bad and pay was decent.

"Fine." Was all you said before walking out and resuming your work.

~~~~

Max had stayed true to his word, you had been listening, and he hadn't even hinted that you might be a dangerous supernatural creature to anyone. Maybe he was due more credit than you gave him

You were currently sitting on your sofa, wearing comfortable leggings and a t-shirt, drinking a beer while watching a movie. You were interrupted by a knock on your door. When you answered it you didn't expect to see Max standing on the other side with a cooler in one hand. He was wearing a button up with a black leather jacket and jeans, it was the most casual you'd ever seen him and he still looked so good.

"I brought dinner," he said simply. He unzipped the cooler bag and showed you its contents; four large plastic bags filled halfway up with blood.

"Max!" You whisper yelled. You ignored his smile and pulled him inside by his arm, quickly closing the door. "You can't just show me that, wait till you're inside," you sighed, "Now what do you want?"

"These are for you," he said, "and your family of fishes." He set the cooler down on the counter and proceeded to take the bags of blood and arrange them nicely in your fridge.

"You got that for me?" You asked, skeptical of his sudden kindness. "Yes, I said I would help you, so I am." He grabbed a beer out of the fridge while he was in there and took your place on the sofa.

This man was making a habit out of shocking you. He noticed as you stood shell-shocked in the middle of the room. "Did you really think I wouldn't keep my word?"

You wanted to be mad at him, you desperately wanted to be mad.

"No, I didn't think you would. I thought you were joking," you admitted. You took a seat next to him and took another sip of your beer.

"You wound me, fish lips," he sassed. You sighed, trying to maintain your current mindset of not being mad at him. “Only one thing,” you looked at him, “Can I see your tail?”

Your eyes practically rolled on their own. “Aw, c’mon,” he pouted, “I brought dinner for your whole family and saved your job, it’s the least you could do.”

“You do know that when I’m in the water the tail is the only thing I’m wearing,” you said. You watched as Max’s lips slowly turned upwards into a smug smirk. “You dickhead, that’s exactly what you want!” You took a pillow from the sofa and chucked it at his head, heading towards your room to shut yourself in.

He burst into laughter and got up to follow you. You attempted to close the door in his face but he caught it. Even with all your strength thrown against it he was able to hold it open like it was nothing.

“No, I’m genuinely curious, sweetheart,” he said once he was able to stop laughing. You stopped fighting him once you heard him. He’d never called you sweetheart before, it was normally irritating nicknames.

“I’ll think about it,” you relented. He smiled. “I did bring some of that blood just for us. You want to have dinner with me again?”

For once you found yourself smiling along with Max Philips.

[camdentown-library]

🌺 Sean MacGuire

𝕺𝖍, 𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖋, 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊?

Summary: Sean seems to have disappeared, but on his return he seems to have a strange surprise with him, and is it for you?

Genre: fluff ;; funny

Pairing: Sean Macguire x fem!reader

"Did Sean come back with the money?" Arthur's deep, scratchy voice made its way through the thick vegetation, as he returned from a long day's work. You rushed to help him tie his steed into place, and then give him some tasty carrot to munch on.

"Actually the last time I saw him was when you left this morning, Arthur. I thought he was going back with you" you answered with all sincerity, while the cowboy cursed something through gritted teeth, and then gave a kick to a poor pebble nearby.

"That goddamn rotten alcoholic rat..." he hissed adjusting his hat and then looked into your eyes "I gave him the stolen money, 70 dollars for him and another 140 dollars to give to Dutch for the camp" he explained as he put his hands on his belt nervously moving back and forth.

"Oh c’mon mr Morgan, I bet there's a valid explanation-" you tried to protect Sean, albeit unsuccessfully, while Arthur interrupted you by now on the verge of exasperation.

"Yes, he must have gone to town to have a drink, and if he didn't spend all the money on alcohol some motherfucker stole them from him" you opened your mouth to reiterate something, but no sound came out, and you decided to bring back yours pay attention to Mr. Morgan's horse starting to groom him.

"Good evenin, fellas!" a familiar voice made you peek out of Arthur's trusty steed, there was no doubt that it was the voice of that flaming Irish head Arthur was hunting.

Desperately trying to save him, you started looking with your eyes for the place where the young man would emerge so as to signal him to run away before being lynched by the whole Van Der Linde gang.

But when Sean came out your eyes widened not so much from amazement as from being incredulous. The Irishman was holding a large bouquet of colorful flowers, flowers with petals with very bizarre and exotic shapes, never seen before.

You knew that Sean was a very bizarre boy as well as an extrovert, but the reason for having such an exaggerated amount of flowers with him escaped logic even though you were trying hard to understand.

"Macguire! Stupid piece of-" barked Arthur approaching him in great strides, while the young Irishman seemed to jump on a floor of clouds, completely ignoring the cowboy and talking over him.

"Aaah Y/N! Dere you are, lass! You must know dat Arthur and I robbed a house full of bad guys" began to tell the boy approaching you, more and more confused "So after I saved Arthur frahm certain deat, I found a lot of mahney 'idden in a wall. So we divided dem and Arthur tells me to bring 'alf de sum to the camp and to keep a part for myself and so I wanted to do, I swear!" he continued to say, trying to highlight his totally unbelievable sincerity with the theatrical "But den i wanted to go to de city and I found a florist who was sellin sahme really beautifoehl flowers, i think he told me dat dese come from the Caribbean islands!" Sean showed you some beautiful pink flowers, with large and round petals, with a sweet scent "And those who come from the East, i dink 'e said Japan!" his smile widened, showing the small crack that showed the lack of his tooth.

"It's...really gorgeous Sean. What are you going to do with it? Want to sell it back to the highest bidder?" you asked on the verge of confusion, scratching your head with your hand, trying to ignore a furious Arthur on the background.

"What? No! No no no no! I got dis magical bouquet o' flowers for you, you are such a special girl and...so beautiful, and I had to bring you flowers that were at least at your level" he explained trying to hide between his numerous freckles the blush on his cheeks, meanwhile, you couldn't help but put your hands over your mouth to cover it, but you weren't sure if it was for the romantic gesture or for the fact that now that Arthur has discovered that Sean had spent all the money for flowers had somehow ushered in his death sentence.

"You want to tell me that you spent all your money on goddamn flowers?!" Arthur asked in all his fury, while Sean gave him a funny look, as usual, not at all touched by his threats.

"Oh no...I spent my share on flowers obviously, who ded you take me fahr, Mr. Morgan?" he asked almost offended, and for a moment you put your hand to your chest to breathe a sigh of relief "I spent de mahney frahm de camp, to book one o' de best hotel room in town and...an excellent restaurant!" your eyes almost popped out of their sockets in shock, what had that fool done?!

"MACGUIRE!" Arthur barked starting to charge towards him to be able to beat him, Sean on his side left you the bouquet of flowers with a quick shot before running like a hare, not before yelling at you:

"Tonight! At nine o'clock, let yourself be found near my horse! You don't need to dress up gorgeous, your beauty doesn't need bulky pomp! .... Ah! Come on Arthur! You wouldn't have done the same for the lady you are like it?!" asked the poor red-haired boy in the distance as he left you to your thoughts, with your heart pounding with emotion and a loving smile on your lips.

𝕿𝕳𝕰 𝕰𝕹𝕯

𝕯𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖊? 𝕺𝖗 𝖉𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓?

[dracosollicitus]

(CW: discussion of body image and the potential for accidental fatphobia in fandom)

Look idk who needs to see this but I know I’ve been squicked by seeing it in TOG tag —

Luca Marinelli/Nicky is not chubby? and I get that people like to head canon the way they want to head canon (completely fair and I am not the HC authority) but I also assume a fair number of TOG/joenicky fans are young and/or still processing their body image, and they might see that people calling Nicky’s (flat, undefined, totally normal-looking) abdomen “chubby” or writing things that say Joe loves to play with his “fluff” and then perceive themselves and their own bodies differently or negatively — and I want you to hear and read that in reality there’s literally nothing chubby about Luca/Nicky.

There wouldn’t be a single thing wrong if he were of course, it’s just that he isn’t, and if you’re a person who sees reflections of their person/identity in media, and you like Nicky and like to project onto him/even just find him attractive or whatever .... you do not need to think that if you look like him (skinny, flat stomach) or if you’re bigger than him that people are going to call you chubby//that you yourself are a “big person” who would garner that opinion from random strangers on the internet.

And AGAIN, there is nothing wrong with having extra fat on your body/not fitting a certain aesthetic of thinness — I am (finally, after a fifteen year battle) very happy with my very chubby body. This half-rant is really just to assure people who are excited and in love with TOG and who see things floating around in the tag without proper CW/TW for body image issues that Nicky/Luca is a very thin character /person and you do not need to think negatively of yourself if you do not fit another person’s criteria of what people’s bodies look like

Sincerely, a person whose mother said Keira Knightley (yes, seriously) was a pretty girl, “if a bit thick” in the first Pirates of the Caribbean in 2003, approximately one year before I developed a hellish eating disorder at the age of 11.

[heli0s-writes]

V. Twenty Years and a Month*

Summary: You spend four summer weeks with Steve, but some things are too good to be true. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy! 

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

Your first thought when you stir the next morning is that someone is cooking in your apartment. The second thought you have is purely frantic as you realize that no one should be cooking in your apartment, and then finally, that this isn’t your apartment at all.

The comforter is gray under your clenched fingers, not cream, like your own. The bedsheets are too smooth and silky, and the pillow under your head is much too nice to be anything you’ve bought for yourself. In the distance is the quiet hum of a range hood as well as a peppy whistling tune. Your heart begins to slow as you realize… it’s only Steve.

The alarm clock on top of his dresser blinks six-fifteen back at you and you wipe the sleep from your eyes with a traitorous yawn. From the commotion in the kitchen, he wasn’t joking when he said that he only slept four hours a night.

You only hope that you’re somewhat decent as you hear his footsteps coming closer to the bedroom. Should you pretend you’re asleep? Should you run to the restroom? It’s been so long since you’ve woken up next to anyone that you’re grasping at straws.

“Hey…” Steve greets shyly as he steps in, as if he’ll scare you off. “Good morning.”

He’s wearing grey lounge pants and an off-white tee, feet nestled in a pair of green house-slippers. His hair is slightly ruffled from sleep, but he is otherwise just as magical as ever. Glowing, almost, as he scratches his beard.

“I, um, made breakfast, if you’d like to join me? Monday’s my day off… so… no rush.”

You nod with a smile, but then point towards the restroom door. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

He dutifully dips into the room and pulls out one from the cabinet before picking up his own as well. You ease yourself from the warmth of his sheets, not quite ready to start the day, but hopeful that you can return to the plush fabric that smells fragrantly like him.

And, you think suddenly, like sex.

You become introverted like a timid maiden, blatantly aware of your nakedness in his bedroom. You slip on his shirt from last night—a faded, speckled grey jersey knit that hangs on you like a dress. You have no idea where your underwear is, so you’re glad Steve’s as large as a door because the hem swings a few inches above your knees, just enough for some modesty.

He’s already gently scrubbing at his teeth by the time you start, and you tilt your head forward so that he can’t see the shyness that’s determinedly crawling up your neck.

He rinses and spits. Then moves to the door but stops.

“I… really like this…” He says quietly, trailing a finger down your spine. You rinse and spit too, standing up and wiping your mouth, catching his downcast eyes in the mirror as they trail over the shape of you through his clothing.

His gaze flickers upward, holding your own eyes steady in the reflection of the glass. Steve clamps his minty fresh teeth over lower his lip and takes a step forward until his knee is situated between the back of your two thighs.

When he presses his body against yours, the sudden shyness that seized you in the bedroom is nowhere to be found as the two of you watch each other in the glass.

“You should have more days off, I think...” You sigh distractedly as his hand reaches under the shirt. Steve smiles into the back of your neck, hums a musical agreeance, squeezes your sides.

 Breakfast is cold by the time you make it to the kitchen, but you eat it anyway, both giggly and alive with newfound energy. Steve pulls your chair so close to his that you end up practically in his lap and nuzzles his nose into your neck any chance he gets.

The sunlight pours in from the opened blinds and cuts across the table and your legs with streaks of bright white. Scents of coffee, bacon, and spices fill the air. Steve licks frosting from your mouth as the two of you share a cinnamon roll and when you gasp at the way his tongue tickles, he promptly takes you back to bed to show you what else his tongue will do to you this morning.

It’s blissful like a dream, your time with him now that you’ve crossed this bridge. He makes love to you ardently, cradles your body like it’s made of glass, and breathes sincerity onto your extremities until all you feel is the warmth of Steve Rogers.

You spend the next few Monday mornings like this: lazy, indulgent, with sleepy eyes and roguish smiles.

The weekdays are spent mostly apart with Steve’s schedule of waking up at three to work out before he starts baking at Cap&Co. His timetable is strict and nothing like your own, so you don’t see him until he gets off work for dinner— when he still makes the meals. You try your best to help, washing the dishes afterward and wiping the counters. He’s usually so tired that he’s asleep before he hits the bed at nine, so you let yourself out and lock the door behind you.

And it’s not like you don’t have your own life. You see Heather for dinner and get together with some other co-workers when they go out for drinks. You also visit your mother—a five-hour drive away, and even slowly begin to add more furniture into your world.

Steve also gifts you a small watercolor kit and four very expensive brushes. When he’s busy at work, you continue practicing your painting. It gets better, slowly, and you branch out to different types of still-life: fruit, knick-knacks, silly arrangements you scrounge together with the items in your house.

Your days are spent looking forward to Sunday evening, when you meet up with Steve early, help him close, and trail him enthusiastically back to his house. The nights are full of fingertips and wine, knees knocking together following the rhythm of unhurried kisses and husky breaths, exultant laughter and pillow talk after the fact. Then, you both fall asleep in each other’s arms, naked as the day you were born.

 Eight-thirty blinks on the clock when you finally settle on your side the third Monday of this divine ritual, tracing the lines of Steve’s face with your eyes. His room is rosy with daylight as the beams catch on his drawn curtains and scatter over the walls.

“Mm…” He hums, smiling, returning the gesture with his own inspection of your face. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” You say breathlessly, praying to every known deity that you looked okay, just as you do every morning with him. This new love still blooms butterflies in your stomach. “Just, appreciating you—you’re really handsome.”

He laughs, eyelashes landing on his cheeks before he begins to scrub his beard with his fist, “Thank you.”

“So you agree?” You ask mischievously, “You think you’re really handsome?”

His brow furrows before he pops one eye open and asks carefully, “Mean Girls?”

You shriek with laughter, turning over on your back and holding your sides- encased in another one of his shirt, “Oh my God!” You cry, “You’re perfect!”

He shares a lopsided grin with you, pulling you into his arms that you playfully take a bite of.

“So…” Steve croons, “You don’t just like me for my arms? You also like me for my knowledge of Mean Girls, is that right?”

You nod eagerly along, cheek pressed against his chest, and he gives you the equivalent of a noogie with his chin, the thick hairs on it scrrtch-scrrtching as the sound echoes along your skull.

It’s more of this bliss for the next half hour. Joking, playing, burrowing beneath the covers to stare at each other under diffused light. Your fingers are linked in his, and he’s telling you a story about his childhood when you start to nod off, dreaming about Steve as a boy, catching bus rides all over Brooklyn.

“Bucky and I would get into all sorts of trouble,” his disembodied voice floats over your fuzzy state of mind, “Bucky with the girls, and me… well, with everybody else.”

You chuckle softly as he kisses the top of your head.

“—we’d forgotten the fare—“

Back and forth, like floating on a Caribbean current, staring into the clouds, you sway.

“—and the dog chasing—“

You can almost hear it, a little terrier’s yelp. You’re warm and full of sunshine and affection for him. The young man, troublesome, and the grown man, tender and loving. Both blonde and blue and beaming at you with a smile brighter than any star. A sluggish smile spreads over your lips when Steve tilts his head down to check on you. He presses his nose into your scalp, breathing in the fragrant scent of his shampoo in your hair and a lingering aroma that’s solely yours.

“Love you.”

His eyebrows raise at your sudden admission. The words sound so nonchalant that he thought they might have belonged to someone who’s been in his life more than a month. He checks on you again because he was sure you’d fallen asleep already. And you are, heavy sighs caressing his sternum.

He rolls your words around in his mouth silently, the syllables making his chest swell with every touch of tongue to teeth. It’s new love, and he hasn’t felt a new love in over two decades. The excitement, the unknowing, the thrill of discovering, he’s never thought he’d look forward to ---

A shrill ring jerks you from your slumber and Steve from his musings.

He paws around the bed for his phone. Peggy’s number lights up and he knows it’s Sarah requesting a video chat. They’ve done this at least twice a week, but it’s the first time that you’re here, too. You rub your eyes and scoot to the edge of the bed, making sure that you’re out of sight when Sarah comes on screen.

“Daddy?” Her voice calls when he picks up.

You watch Steve’s profile light up with a grin as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. You smile too as you watch him beaming. “Sweetheart! I’ve missed you so much.”

“I miss you too daddy! I’m about to eat dinner and mummy is setting the table. Today mum, she took me to see this big clock thing and it’s name is Ben! And didja know? Didja know in London, the money is called a quid? Like a squid, daddy!”

Steve chuckles as Sarah rambles on, telling him more about her sightseeing in London. You hear her blow kisses and can’t help but smile because you also miss her.

“Daddy when I come back I’m gonna bring you some squids and—“

Your heart leaps when she asks if you’ll be there at the airport too. Steve sends a quick look your way and you reply with a nod. He reaches over to squeeze your hand before pulling it back.

“—Yay! I’ve been taking lots of pictures I want to show! Look, look! Here’s me and grandma and mummy—“

“Mummy, huh?” Steve asks, “Why, Sarah, you’re a certified Brit now, aren’t you?”

“Well, I’m half!” Sarah cries, “Here’s mummy and I put this flower in her hair. Isn’t she the most beautiful person in the world?”

A pang of jealousy hits your chest as soon as Sarah’s words leave her lips. Steve looks on, sadness eroding his formerly happy features. He doesn’t say anything, though, and you know it must be to spare your own feelings as you lie perfectly still only a couple of feet away. It feels like leagues of ocean as you float unsteadily, waiting selfishly for the moment to end. The rocking of the Caribbean is gone. You sink down like Atlantis now.

“Sarah, my dove,” A voice calls on the other line, growing closer. “Sweetheart, could I have the phone?”

“Can you talk to mumma today?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he sits up quickly, back against the headboard. You watch him run his fingers through his hair, patting down the sides that have become disheveled. He’s become fearful like a deer in headlights.

“Hello, Peggy.” He says quietly when the screen shifts. If you weren’t motionless before, you certainly are now. A perfect frozen statue, steely and cold, drained of even your own breath.

“Steven,” she responds, “You look… healthy. I… I’m glad to see you. Have you been well?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yes.”

Even her voice sounds beautiful—polished and refined with that fantastic English accent Americans are so easily attracted to. You’ve seen pictures of her, of course, ones that Sarah has shown you all those months ago when the kids did a project over their parents. You only wish you felt the way you did then—appreciative of Peggy Carter’s loveliness in a completely disengaged way, rather than how you do now. Sick. Ill with envy and dread.

“That’s excellent. I just want to, well, I just want to let you know that she’s doing well on our little holiday.” You hear her voice lift a little, tell-tale sign of a smile, and you can only imagine just how radiant her smile is. “She’s very impressive, our girl.” Peggy says, “She’s really grown so much.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees quietly, “She has. I’m glad she’s having fun. Thanks for letting me know, Peg.”

“Of course. Well, I’ll leave you be. Sarah’s already at the table so perhaps we’ll call you later tonight? If that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah... of course.”

A moment passes before they both say their goodbyes carefully and Steve tucks the phone face-down under the blanket next to his thigh. Yes, you know this feeling, you think as you watch him slide his palm over his forehead until the heel of it is the only thing touching his temple. His eyes are closed as he inhales deeply.

You don’t want to be the first to speak, so you wait for him to acknowledge you.

“I’m sorry about that.” He whispers, staring up at the stationary fan overhead.

“No, it’s nothing.” You respond. Your hand moves to take his, but you stop yourself. It suddenly feels wrong, and you feel wrong—like an unwelcome guest in his home, in his life. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“I- I, uh, sorry!” He laughs bitterly, “Don’t know what’s come over me.”

“No, I understand.” You pluck up the courage to hold onto his hand, but it lies heavy over your own.

“I haven’t talked to Peggy in months,” he sighs, “It’s… it’s hard. You know? Being with someone for half your life and… now my life is… this.”

Of course, he doesn’t mean it that way, but you take his statement like a slap to the face because you are the this that he’s talking about—the other, the unknown thing that he’s fumbling with. There’s not a lot for you to compare what he’s feeling to, because your previous relationship is a blip compared to Steve and Peggy’s marriage.

Even though this new relationship is fun and thrilling, full of electricity and warmth, you know that the comfort of being with someone you know, someone you have loved, someone you can fall back to so easily… is just that. So damn easy.

Steve and Peggy have spent nearly two decades together. They know each other just as well as they know themselves. If this recent conversation is the beginning of a reconciliation, then, who are you to stand in the way of their family?

You’re full of concern and self-hatred as you suddenly feel like… like this: like four short weeks, like nothing at all.

“Y-yeah.” You breathe, because it’s all you can do.

 Twenty minutes later you’re heading out the door, much earlier than your usual Mondays together. But the call from London had left a painful thorn in your side and a haze of discomfort over Steve. The two of you stepped around each other when you go to the restroom to shower, bumping into the doorframe and wall on accident. He reached for the curtain first, but you had the same thought, and your hands both retreated. Then you accidentally elbowed him when you tried to take off your shirt and, in his attempt to dodge the rest of your arm, he knocked into the sharp corner of the countertop.

Steve had snapped at you after that—asking you harshly to be more careful with what you’re doing, and it made you physically take a step back, cheeks burning with ire. He was so caught up--merely minutes later after talking to Peggy—that it was all he was thinking about.

“I think I’ll just go.” You said, hastily pulling on your clothes from the night before and sweeping your hair up into a bun.

 He doesn’t even stop you, which makes it all the more painful.

 He doesn’t text or call the next day. Or the day after that. And you conclude that both of those days signify the death of your new relationship. He doesn’t need to tell you it’s over for you to feel it in your heart. You think it’s better like this anyway and begin trying to sweep the memories of him into the back of your mind.

You spend the mornings sleeping in as late as your body will allow you to because any moment awake would be another moment that your mind will wander to Steve. You feel beyond torn, oscillating between accepting the fact that the man has a family and a history, and then growing infuriated that you let yourself fall into his trap in the first place.

What were you expecting, anyway? That he’d marry you? That he’d fall in love with you and you would live happily ever after in his cozy Four-Square sanctuary? You wish you had never said yes to him, never gone to the bakery, never given him your number, never kissed him or made love to him. Your body aches to think of him.

Less than thirty days ago, Steve Rogers was the absolute least of your worries. And now, you can only blame yourself.

You cry at the end of your jogs and into your bowls of oatmeal. You throw the watercolors against the wall. You stare angrily at the black hole of your phone screen. Your eyes burn into themselves any time you catch your reflection in the mirror.

“Idiot.” You chastise yourself to the emptiness of your apartment. “You goddamn idiot.”

--

On the phone, Bucky Barnes rolls his eyes and gestures incredulously to his girlfriend. Sometimes he can’t believe that Steve is capable of being so senseless.

“Rogers, you goddamn idiot!”

“I’m serious, Bucky.” Steve retorts, “It’s—you know it’s more complicated than that.”

Bucky scoffs loudly and disapprovingly, “I don’t think it is, man. Run it through for me again. C’mon—from the top.”

Steve sighs loudly and leans back on the couch, craning his neck to the ceiling as he cradles the phone against his ear. “For the last month, I’ve—“  

“You’ve been seeing the teacher—someone you’ve pined after for like, a year.”

“Am I telling this? Or are you?”

Bucky snorts. “Go on, then.”

“We’ve been seeing each other the last four weeks—it’s been wonderful. She’s yeah, she’s exactly how I thought she’d be.” Steve mumbles almost apologetically, “Sweet. Kind. Hilarious. Beautiful… Listens to my shit. Takes me up on my painting lessons.”

“Good in bed.” Bucky supplies.

“Jesus, Buck.”

“Wasn’t she?”

“Jesus—yes, fine.” He groans forcefully, feeling his face grow warm with embarrassment. “But—I don’t know. Peggy’s been calling me again. She’s been… talking to me. A lot.”

“A lot being… two times.”

“Yes, but… God, Bucky. We talked for hours yesterday and—“

“And you’re convinced it’ll just snap back together like it used to be?”

“We were together for almost twenty years! That’s the equivalent of some people’s lifetimes. We have a daughter, Buck. Sarah wants her mother in her life. And Peggy is her mother.” A quiet passing of your name goes through the receiver—so softly Bucky almost misses it. Steve sounds like he’s grieving when he says it, “She’s so young— And she doesn’t even want kids, Buck. How can that work? I already have one.”

“Hey, man.” Bucky cuts him off, “Twenty years is somebody’s lifetime, sure. But so is four weeks. You get me?”

Steve doesn’t.

“Buddy, you called me every night for almost eight months. You spent days on my couch in shambles—you lost fifteen pounds! I still can’t look at Peggy. A lifetime is… fucking nothing to me. Nothing when I’m looking at you crying on the floor.”

The venom in Bucky’s voice stings Steve even from hundreds of miles away. He remembers those days—when Peggy first started pulling away from him, from Sarah, and he felt his heart begin to chip away until it crumbled all over the divorce papers as they finally slipped under his nose.

“You know Peggy’s only there when it’s convenient for her. You two brought an entire person into the world and she still left. This… this isn’t real, man.”

“But what if it is?”

“What if it is?” Bucky asks back, “What if what you already have is real, too? I know you think time and security is reassuring, but nothing about Peggy reassures me. I’d rather you raise Sarah on your own than get back together with Peggy and watch her leave for weeks at a time again. Did she say she’s going to quit her job?”

“No.” Steve admits, that’s the one thing they haven’t reached yet when they talk on the phone late into the night. They’ve reminisced about all sorts of things--- high school, their first dates, their wedding, Sarah’s birth, her interests, and even future ruminations—what she might be when she grows up. But not once did Peggy bring up the topic of her career as they discussed their broken little family. And Steve had been too scared to prod—too complacent in just enjoying the relief of her familiar voice, her laughter, like falling backwards into his own bed at the end of the day.

“If that wasn’t her first topic of discussion,” Bucky cuts through his thoughts, “Then it’s not one at all.”

Steve snatches his hair in frustration because Bucky’s words on a side not invested in Peggy’s happiness or comfort, rings with deafening truth.

“And it wasn’t just a month, Stevie—you’ve seen your new girl for a year. And you’ve seen her through Sarah. Throw that not wanting kids thing out the window, pal. You said it yourself—you already got one, and they already know each other. What? You want another baby?”

“No! God, I don’t think so.”

“Then it doesn’t matter. Rogers, I swear to God—don’t be a sentimental idiot.” Bucky huffs angrily, “Twenty years…” He sounds like he’s rolling his eyes, “Those fucking years crushed you. Last month, man. I haven’t heard you that happy in almost ten years. If you care so much about numbers, think about that some, you dumbass.”

 Steve hangs up minutes later when Bucky grows even more frustrated with him and groans loudly as he stares at his screen of recent calls. Bucky. Bucky. The bakery. Peggy. Peggy. Peggy. You. Bucky. You.

And then the trend is--- You. You. You. Peggy. You. You. You. You.

You.

He throws his head back once more. Steve Rogers hates himself. He hates himself so much. It’s been three days since he’s talked to you, and he knows, in his goddamn bones, he knows it’s wrong. He’s a coward. And he’s desperately clinging onto some hope that maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow and his whole life will be figured out and nothing will hurt anyone anymore. Steve shuts his eyes with a wretched whimper.

He wants what’s best for Sarah, which is her mother. The possibility of having his family back to one semi-chipped but almost-perfect piece is killing him, because that’s all he’s ever wanted.

But, it’s made him a selfish fucking asshole, he thinks. Because he convinced a perfectly happy woman to date him, and then ghosts her after four sublime weeks, right after she says that she loves him. And maybe it would have been forgivable if she was just any random woman.

But she’s not.

She’s the kind of woman who loves his daughter so much she spends twenty extra minutes at every parent-teacher conference to tell him as much detail as possible about her. The kind of woman who shares her lunch with her. Who advises him at every arbitrary panic-induced question he flings out about her. Who gifts his daughter her own camera so she can have fun on vacation. Who coaxes her out to apologize to him—something he can never do on his own.

She’s the kind of woman who conceded to quietly slip out of his life when he turned his back on her. Because she understands that he loves his daughter.

Because she loves his daughter too.

And he’s not even brave enough to apologize. Or say goodbye. Or do anything.

 Steve’s fists land on the coffee table with a slam as lurches forward.

He needs to do something to get his mind off all this—even for a few minutes, because any more of it and he might just lose it. He clambers to the kitchen and starts tearing out cleaning supplies because that’s the kind of stupid domesticated shit that he does when he’s distressed—cleaning. Like a fucking giant, idiot Roomba.

He sprays and scrubs. Mops and vacuums. Polishes and dusts and scours every single surface of his house for any single speck of grime that he can wipe out of his sight. The more he cleans, the more he imagines doing it to his own conscience because it is so saturated with filth that he can hardly stand it. He doesn’t even bother to use gloves because maybe the solutions will simply eat the flesh of his hands right off because he fucking deserves that, too.

 In the third hour of punishing himself, Steve ends up in the kitchen—the last room. Both his and Sarah’s bedrooms are spotless. The spare bedroom that he’s transformed into a study is immaculate, and he’s even rearranged the bookshelves so he can dust everything behind them. He’s cleaned out the garage, too, Jesus Christ Almighty, he’s thrown away so much crap that he’s been stupidly hoarding—at least three old mixers with broken paddles and frayed wires. The two bathrooms are bleached so brightly that they’re nearly blinding. The dining room looks like it’s been pulled straight out of an IKEA magazine.

He gets to work on the stovetop and the sink, spraying the ever-loving crap out of it before he grabs the rags from out underneath the cabinet. Then he moves objects off the bar counter, putting Sarah’s favorite potted plant on another surface and reaching for the next when something catches his eye.

Steve leans forward curiously as he finds a little plastic rectangle that had been hidden behind the plant’s pot, sprinkled lightly with soil. His chest seizes with guilt. It feels like it could collapse right into his guts.

Inside the tiny plastic rectangle between his fingers, there you are. Wearing that yellow summer dress with the flutter sleeves that he held onto so desperately. You’re sitting on your knees, leaning back and putting your weight on your hands as you grin fondly at Sarah.

And at him, now, four weeks later, after he’s broken your heart.

 Steve doesn’t even bother washing his slightly burning hands as he drops the rags and runs back to the couch where he left his phone.

On the fourth ring, Peggy picks up—voice dazed and crackly as she breathes out an unsteady “Hello?”

“Are you quitting your job?” Steve says with as much confidence as he can.

“Steven? Goodness—what time---“

“Are you quitting your job?” He demands before she can finish.

“What?” He hears her rousing, pillows and sheets sliding around as she tries to catch onto his train of thought.

“Are you quitting your job, yes or no.”

“Steven what are you—I—what?”

“Why have you been calling me? Why have you been talking to me?” The longer he speaks, the louder his voice becomes, and the more assertive he grows as he stands next to the coffee table, absently nudging it with his shin. “This friendliness—it’s confusing Peggy. Because you know that what I want-- more than anything-- is for us to be a family again.”

Steve pauses, listening to see if she’s still there before he asks calmly, even though he feels like he could burst apart and erupt into tears following this mission. “So I need you to tell me, right now. Are you quitting your job?”

And she knows that he doesn’t mean for her to not be employed at all and live as a stay-at-home mother, but that he needs her with him, if this is to work. He needs her with Sarah. Stateside, at least. Home for more than a couple weekends a month, at least.

“No,” she whispers, after a silence, “No, Steven. I won’t be quitting my job. It’s my career—you know that. It’s my--”

“Goddamn it, Peg!” He cries, “What the hell has this been, huh? You just yankin’ my chain around? Watching me fall apart again?” Steve’s voice catches in his throat as it fizzles out. Tears spill from his eyes and he falls backwards onto the couch, placing his throbbing head in his hand. He tries to speak, but his voice only comes out as a raspy whisper, choked by a sob that shakes his whole body.

“You know I’d do anything for her.” He weeps. “You know that. I’d let you tear me apart again.”

Six hours ahead of his time, Peggy sighs deeply into the phone. “I’m sorry, Steven.” She says, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s… hard for both of us. Please believe me… I’m sorry.” There’s a short breath being taken, as if Peggy would continue, perhaps explaining herself or continuing to apologize, but Steve’s had enough. His heart hurts so much he can hardly breathe.

Steve shakes his head, as if she can see it four thousand miles across the Atlantic, “Goodbye, Peggy.”

 It’s eleven-thirty. He washes his hands and face in the immaculate guest sink and stares at himself unsteadily as he takes deep breaths. He should go to bed because he needs to wake up early tomorrow. But instead, he stares at his phone again.

The list of recent calls stares back at him. Peggy. Bucky. Bucky. The bakery. Peggy. Peggy. Peggy. You.

He hits the last number as time stops completely. He runs through every possible scenario in his head. What is there to say that could remedy this situation? How does he even begin to apologize for being such a selfish coward? Steve clutches onto your polaroid picture like a lifeline.

It goes to voicemail.

He tries again, only to receive the same automated tone— the phone doesn’t even ring. Have you blocked him? Of course, thinks, he deserves it.

He grabs his keys from the table and slams the door on the way out, chewing viciously on his lip the entire drive to your apartment complex. He even angrily punches the power button to turn off the radio because he’s punishing himself with silence. It’s only fair.

It’s dark and crickets chirp as he plods up the steps, reaching your door with the curling numbers hanging over mahogany paint.

Steve knocks.

Nothing.

He tries again. Nothing.

First, he thinks, it might be for the best. Then, because he’s an overreaching asshole, his mind leaps over into the conclusion that you might be in trouble. He rushes down the steps, as quietly as possible because it is midnight and normal people are asleep—not stalking their girlfriends. Steve winces at the thought. Perhaps ex-girlfriend is more fitting.

He whirls around the parking lot for any sign of your car, air whipping through his beard and hair as he searches frantically. It’s not in your usual spot, and for the life of him, he can’t find it anywhere.

Steve’s heart pounds. It’s midnight. Other than his house, where the hell could you go?

Defeatedly, he trudges back to his car where the quiet rumble of the engine rocks his body gently. There are a million and one thoughts racing through his mind. But he knows now, none of them are true other than the fact that you’re ignoring him. And he deserves it. Goddamn, does he deserve it.

He sighs and picks up his phone again. As expected, it cuts off before it even rings.

“Hey.” Steve sighs after the beep, “Hey. I—I’m so sorry.” He scrubs his beard and lays his head against the top of the steering wheel, letting the ridges press into his face.

“I know there’s nothing I can say that will actually express just how sorry I am. I... I really messed this up. I messed it all up, honey.”

He’s sniffling shamelessly at this point, letting the tears blur his vision as he stars blankly to the empty passenger seat and out the window. The streetlights look like fireflies. The sky an inky black sea staring down at him. Infinite twinkling eyes, asking what he’ll do next.

“If you’ll ever talk to me again—which I hope you will, please know... I want to make this better. Any way I can, I will.”

And then he pulls it out—the confession he’d been holding on to as soon as he heard you half-mutter it in your sleep. It’s desperate. It’s perhaps not the right time. But he blurts it anyway.

“I love you. I know how that sounds. I... just.. It's true. Please call me back when you’re ready.”

He uses when and not if because maybe the connotation will persuade you into calling him back sooner. He doesn’t want if. He wants when. He wants now.

Steve lingers in the car a few more minutes after he hangs up, holding as tightly as he can to the far-fetched hope that you’ll pull up in the empty space beside him. He thinks he’d jump out of the window if he could and fall to his knees. He’d beg. He’d cry and beg until both of his kneecaps bleed.

It would be another week before you hear his message. It would be even longer for you to actually listen to it.

-

It’s eight when you wake up. There is a tray of breakfast on the vanity to your right and the big gold mirror stares your reflection right back. Pink eyes, a little blue underneath, much better than last Monday, at least.

Your mother had let you stay with her when you showed up Wednesday night. She didn’t ask any questions and has been consistently accommodating by cooking, letting you have your space, watching movies with you in silence, and rubbing your back when you suddenly burst into tears. You return her kindness by picking up groceries, doing the dishes, watering the plants, anything that allows you to stay busy.

It’s been nice. Peaceful and dumbly idyllic back home. Old neighbors wave to you and remind you of when you used to run around under the sprinklers as a child. Your brother even comes by with his wife and daughter and at the sight of her little pudgy 6-year-old cheeks you almost crumble right there in the front yard.

They ask you what’s wrong. You lie and say you just really love children. Your brother knows you better than that, but he doesn’t say anything more of it.

His daughter only reminds you that teacher workdays begin in two days, then it’s back to school the following week. You’re absolutely not ready because you know you’ll see Sarah’s sandy blonde head and pudgy cheeks. You’ll see her father’s blue eyes and beautiful lashes in the carline. You’ll see the weeks you’ve spent with him, reflecting back at you.

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