#stretching assistance pls

[liillyliilly]

Alamort - half dead from exhaustion

yaku morisuke x reader words; 1117 synopsis; it's been way too long since Yaku's stretched properly, and who else better to help him than the girl he's been teasing relentlessly for months?

Yaku rolled his shoulders and groaned slightly, it had been way too long since he had stretched out any of his muscles. But how could he when Nekoma hardly had a break from all of the practice matches?

The libero had been through the ringer, bouncing on and off the court more than twice of what was usual for him. While holding his arm over his head and stretching out to touch his opposite shoulder, he caught her staring at him before turning her head quickly.

Yaku licked his lips slightly, his tongue just barely peeking out from his teeth to wet his bottom lip. Even though he is noted as a mature and respectable senpai, that never stopped him from going out of his way to flirt with the second-year manager. How could he not? Whenever he approached her, she always did that timid smile, holding her hands behind her back and shifting her feet, and he loved it. He loved that he made her nervous.

Whenever he teased Y/n or made remarks about her, she always turned to look at him with that deer-in-headlights look. Yaku swore he would one day be the object of her affection, but for the time being, he was satisfied with her being the object of his affections. As she started picking up water bottles and cleaning up the Nekoma bench for the day, Yaku made his move.

Like a cat on the prowl, he approached this mouse. She never squeaked, but she did scurry. He had to measure out his approach for the maximal benefit and yield from his approach.

Just like last year, with the introduction of her to the team in the first place. She and Yaku had shared homeroom, but she was in the more advanced classes for her core subjects. Yaku had sat behind her, in the back far corner. Her desk was also so organized and perfect, his was messy but for him it had a dysfunctional functionality.

Yaku almost lost his mind when she bit her pen. Her pen was a bright yellow, with dark yellow spots around it, just like a block of cheddar cheese but in pen form. That was where the mouse comparison began.

"We need a manager, I'm close to dead." Kuroo rubbed his eyes after he and Yaku had just spent the last thirty minutes tidying up the gym. Kuroo has flitting through the various paperwork. "I don't even know how to sort some of this stuff."

"So we need someone organized?" Yaku stated, beginning to list off the ideal qualities for their manager.

"Obviously."

"We need someone who is a first year, so they'll have to stick around."

Kuroo shrugs, "A first year would be nice, we just need someone."

"Preferably a girl."

"Yes, preferably." Kuroo finished sorting papers, with a miscellaneous pile that was a majority of the documents. "It sounds like you have someone in mind Yaku?"

"Hell yeah I do."

He slipped the application form into her cubby after school the next day. Her filled out application was turned into Coach Nekomata before the end of the day. Yaku never knew exactly why she just accepted the form, why she filled it out, and why she so quickly turned it in. All he knew was that from then on, she was apart of his life a little more deeply.

His approach to her was timed to perfection, she had just begun digging her shoe into the linoleum floor. He pounced.

“Are you busy?” Yaku knew she wasn’t. She tucked her hands into her pockets and shook her head. “Okay, can you help me stretch then?”

Yaku grabbed a hold of her forearm lightly and tugged her over to the cool-down area, where Lev and Kuroo were already sitting on the floor and touching their toes. When Kuroo caught sight of Yaku pulling their manager along, he smirked to himself before pulling Lev away, telling him to help clean up the gym.

“Um, what do I do?” She pulled her hands out of her pockets, wiggling her fingers lightly. Yaku froze for a moment before sitting down.

“You just need to push on my back, so I can stretch it out.” She hummed an affirmative noise. She set her hands in the middle of his back and pushed down lightly. “Put your hands up more, on my shoulders. You can also put more pressure.” Yaku could hear her swallow thickly, gulping lightly as she slid her hands up to rest on his shoulders.

Yaku reached forward past his feet, she leaned her weight on his shoulders. Just to mess with her, Yaku flexed his back and shoulder muscles slightly, causing her to gasp before quickly closing her mouth. Yaku stood up and turned to face his manager again.

“Next stretch, I’m going to lay down on the mat and then you're going to need to hold my thighs down as I do a few sit ups.”

“Hold your thighs down?” She raised her eyebrows lightly. Yaku was sure if her touched her cheek it would be burning hot.

If she wanted to question his unique stretching methodology, she kept it to herself. In fact, none of her athletic study books ever mentioned a stretch quite like this one that Yaku was proposing. But if he was one of the top liberos in all of Tokyo, then of course his stretch had a form of validity to her.

Yaku could tell that she was thinking just deeply enough, but skimming the surface of it. He thanked her trust in him mentally.

“Or you can sit on my thighs? Whichever works for you.” Yaku shrugged, a grin dancing on his lips.

She shook her head and held her hands out, “I can hold them, no need to sit down.”

Yaku leaned in, not holding back the smile on his face. “Even if I asked you to?” She looked like she could faint any moment.

“Well, I mean, if that would be effecti-” She mumbled, her words crumpled like a balled-up piece of paper.

“Then yes.”

Soon, Yaku was laying down, and she was straddled over his thighs. Yaku spoke up, “Hey?”

“Yeah?”

If there was ever a time for Yaku to be bold, it was going to be now. The gym’s final occupiers had finally left, leaving him and his favorite person alone. “Can I kiss you?” He leaned up, holding her waist, he slightly raised his legs, causing her to fall into him. Their bodies pressed up against each other.

She was stunned, her entire body going slightly rigid. Before exhaling the tight breath held in her chest, giving Yaku her answer, “Yes please.”

[trivia-yandere]

Can I request a very smuttyyy storyyy? Pairing a successful & huge actor yandere jungkook x starlet/newbie actress reader pls!

starstruck (1)

jungkook, a highly award-winning actor, has his eyes set on you, an upcoming actress, to be his love interest in his new movie.

word count: 5.652

warning: yandere themes/tendencies, power imbalance, naive reader, manipulation, coercion, dub-con, non-con (acting) scenes, oral sex, dirty talk, face-fucking, ass-slapping, choking/w belt, squirting, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie,

“I want her.”

The director’s lips snap shut as Jungkook points at your portrait photo. Dare he say he takes several deep breaths before he speaks. 

“She has little acting experience.” the direct murmurs. “She’s only ever starred in indie horror films that are complete trash-”

“I happened to enjoy “Attack of the Killer Space Beetles”.” Jungkook jokes. He couldn’t help but begin to laugh at how ridiculous the name sounded. “Besides, you said you wanted a fresh face, right?”

The director sighs, but nods his head. A new face alongside Jungkook, an academy award-winning one, was needed. He wanted the audience to come to the theatres because of Jungkook, but stay long enough for the story.

“Exactly. She auditioned. Her credentials are���” Jungkook trails off. 

You did a lot of horror movies that only “horror lovers” would watch - for the sake of saying they’ve watched a lot of horror movies. They weren’t blockbuster or household names. They did, however, have a cult following. You were a newbie, but you did have a small fan base that enjoyed you being dragged across the ground covered in fake blood.

“This is a horror movie, as well.” Jungkook shrugs. He leans back into the leather seat and stretches his arms out. “Right in her element.”

“Yes but…there’s sex scenes.” the director shakes his head. “She’s never done that. She hasn’t even been nude before. I don’t have time to coach a new girl-”

“You don’t. That’s what the intimacy coach is for.”

The director ponders why Jungkook was fighting so hard for you specifically. Being a big name  in the industry, Jungkook cost millions and was the highest paid in any movie franchise or television series he starred in. He directed a few movies himself, and even assisted in producing them. He was the reason as to why a few celebrities had careers today - he had an eye for talent.

Jungkook’s current eye was now on you - a fresh face. Your acting was good and you had the potential. You went to college for acting and all; a degree not everyone had. Your heart was in it, you just needed the opportunity.

Jungkook was going to be that opportunity for you. He watched the way your eyes widen as you walked into the audition room, script in hand. You were immediately nervous when your eyes locked with his that it caused Jungkook to smile with how innocent you were.

So new and naive to the world of cinema - anyone would take advantage of such naivety. 

“Fine. If you think she’s good, then I’ll give her a call.” the director throws his hands up. Jungkook wasn’t a fool. He put on many celebrities - Kim Taehyung was one of the highest paid actors a part of a soap opera right now. The man hadn’t even come to the audition for himself, but instead as support for his friend. It was Jungkook who spotted the deep voiced man and asked him to audition for a role and said “Jungkook sent me”.

When your phone rings with an unknown number you hadn’t recognized, you assume it was either a spam call or a call from your agent telling you that you didn’t get the role but “there will be other roles available”.

You weren’t expecting to get a call from the same director as a week prior telling you that you got the role. You had forgotten how to breathe when the news was given to you that when the director asked if you were still there, you almost fainted.

“I’ll get in contact with your agent and pass her the details. In the meantime, Jeon Jungkook-” Your heart instantly pounds at the name. “-will be speaking with you soon. I hope it wasn’t bad that I’ve given him your contact information.”

“No!” you nearly scream, and you want to slap yourself. “I mean no, it’s not an issue.”

“Good.” the direct chuckles. “Jungkook has a good eye for talent, Ms. Y/L. He chose you himself.”

Your heart jolts and your eyes widen.

“If things go as planned, you could be just as big as him one day.”

Just as big as Jeon Jungkook one day.

Jeon Jungkook - thee Jeon Jungkook - had picked you. The award winning actor who’s graced your screen since you were a teenager had chosen you. You out of hundreds of female leads.

Upon your arrival at the audience, you were already nervous. You were in a room full of beautiful women, some you recognized. You contemplated turning around and going back home to this very apartment you rent for far too much than you can truly afford.

But you hadn’t. You stayed for hours and once your name was called, you entered. You audience and you got the role.

All because of Jeon Jungkook.

You could faint right now, your eyes swelling with tears. This could be the moment you studied so hard for. The acting classes you took daily cost you to work night shift, along with you studying in college for acting. You took your dream seriously and now…

“It’s paying off.” you say to yourself. You’re in complete silence now, head against your satin pillowcase. You’re staring up at the ceiling.

Your phone begins to buzz against your chest. You’re alarmed by the amount of notifications that are coming all at once.

Instagram notifications were coming through rapidly, all too quickly for you to grasp as to why. You open the app and find out for yourself.

You were an actress, yes, and you did have a bit of a following. You posted behind the scene pictures to your instagram sometimes and it garnered you over 10,000 followers.

You were shocked to see the following count rise from over 10,000, to nearly 100,000.

“W-What…?”

You understood why. The post shows up right as you click “home”. 

Jeon Jungkook has followed you. He had uploaded a picture of him with a script in his hands, smiling. His lips are a rosy pink and the lip-piercing adds a touch of attractiveness - how was that even possible? 

jeon.jk can’t wait to start filming our new horror movie “starstruck” with @yn. we’re both going to look good covered in blood 😭

Your breathing quickens. 

Breathe.

Breathe.

“Oh fuck.” you gasp out, palms sweaty. This was an exact reminder that this was all real. Jeon Jungkook acknowledging you publicly. He appeared excited to work with you - fuck, he was the one that chose you.

Not to forget that Jungkook also said you were going to look good covered in blood.

“Oh fuck.” you repeat.

You’re running, your feet nearly getting caught on the pavement. The sky is dark and cloudless, and the street lights don’t do enough to shine your path. 

Your heart is racing outside your chest and you feel as though your body is going to give out any moment now. You want nothing more than to stop and catch your breath, but you don’t. You don’t dare to.

Your footsteps are not the only ones you hear. The ones behind you are catching up - growing closer and closer. You don’t look back - that would only distract you. You could only wish that they are further than what they sound.

A loud screech releases from your throat when your hair is being pulled and you’re set backwards and right onto your back. Your manage to not hit your head on the way down, but your body is soaked in mud.

“Why are you running?”

That voice.

Your ankle is grabbed tightly and you’re being dragged. You continue to scream and cry as the man drags you closer to him. You attempt to kick your feet and to free yourself from this crazed man, but you’re unable to.

“Stop fucking screaming.” the man roars suddenly, his yells echoing off of the trees. “You,” a hand is slammed against your lips. “are only alive because I want you to be.”

Your heart pounds with how close the man was.

With how handsome, too. A handsome man like him didn’t do things like this. Handsome men with good jobs and money didn’t stalk you. They didn’t threaten your livelihood.

They didn’t chase you in the middle of the night, either - yet here he stood.

“Please.” you shake your head, crying. The tears finally spilled down your cheeks and your vision of the handsome man was blurring. “Please…”

“You’re so pretty when you cry.” the man laughs. His thumb rubs away a stray tear. “You’re pleading now because you’re scared. Where’s the woman that fought me earlier?”

You cry harder when the man shakes you roughly, now screaming in your face.

“Where is she? Where is she?!”

Your eyes grow wide when the man clenches your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His dark eyes stare a hole through you. Almost if he was looking right through you - inside of you.

“Open your mouth.” the man commands.

You stiffen. Slowly, your eyes drifted to the side.

The director is seated in a chair. He’s watching the scene unfold, intrigued with how well you are acting. He doesn’t seem fazed that Jungkook had deviated from the script.

“I said,” Jungkook, in character, hissed. Without much thought, he squeezes your cheek until your mouth opens. He forces two of his fingers inside of your mouth and you’re entirely distraught to do anything. “open your mouth.” he repeats.

DId you somehow forget this scene? You’ve read the script countless times - there was no way this was in it. You’re far too shocked to do anything and neither Jungkook nor the direct stop. 

“Let me see what that mouth of yours can do while you’re afraid.”

Your chest rises and falls, eyes widening. Jungkook’s fingers force themselves deeper inside of you, holding onto your limp form.

“Cut!”

You gasp when Jungkook’s fingers remove themself from your mouth. He wipes them onto his pants without a care and smiles at you. “You okay?”

The demeanor changes instantly. Jungkook’s eyes soften and the hardened expression you witnessed before is gone entirely. 

This was all an act, of course. Jungkook was an actor. Of course he wasn’t some psychotic psycho chasing you through the woods.

“Y/N, you’re a natural.” the director calls from his chair. “I’m actually shocked by how well you’re doing. We’ve filmed all day now so we should have enough.” he says, clapping his hand. “Need everyone back here first thing tomorrow morning. Jungkook, Y/N,”

Your eyes turn back to Jungkook who is now standing. He offers you his hand - it’s covered in makeup to hide the tattoos - and you hesitantly take it.

“I’m sorry about the sudden change in script.” Jungkook murmurs to you. “I was told to improvise. He likes raw reactions.”

Raw reactions.

You nod your head, cheeks warming. “No problem, really.” you assure, yet you’d be lying if you say the change in script didn’t terrify you. It all seemed too real, even with countless people around you watching. Jungkook had a way that made you feel like it was only you and him around - and that’s just with the little scenes you and he acted in already.

“Intimacy coordinator wants to meet with the two of you.”

You bite your lip.

You knew that this was a horror film and there were scenes you’ve never done before. Sex scenes to be precise. You’ve read the script and you were left an embarrassed mess when you had to read the lines over with Jungkook, but he was professional. He made it easier for you with how polite and reassuring he was.

“You’re doing great.” Jungkook says as you and he walk down the grassy hill towards the trailers. 

Jungkook had his own trailer and much to your surprise, he had even rented you one. Typically, there was a trailer for people to share, but you’ve never had your own. It was never in the budget for the films you’ve done.

“Thanks.” you smile at him. “I was hoping I wouldn’t fall on my ass before you got to me.”

Jungkook chuckles. “You’re a natural on camera.” he says, and the compliment causes your body to warm up. “You can tell that you’re accustomed to the horror vibe.”

You nod your head a bit. “I try to be. I’ve been in corny horror movies though.” you joke. 

You recall when you and Jungkook had officially met to go over the script and he mentioned he enjoyed ‘Attack of the Killer Space Beetles’. You were immediately embarrassed, but Jungkook had actually watched and enjoyed it. He recounted scenes from the movie that even you forgot about. 

“Corny movies are only a stepping stone to your big break.” Jungkook says. He places a hand onto your shoulder and squeezes it gently before bringing you closer to his side in a sideways hug. 

Meeting with the intimacy coordinator had only reminded you that you’ve indeed never experienced anything like this. She was sweet in asking for your opinions - if you felt comfortable in the amount of sexual activity that would be happening behind the camera.

 A sex scene was new to you, but not to Jungkook. That also caused more nerves to be added onto your shoulders. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself too much in front of him and the rest of the crew.

Jungkook, however, was more supportive. He insisted that things weren’t as they seemed and most outcomes were just illusions.

“So since you’re new,” the intimacy coordinator states. “you’re possibly wondering how scenes are executed on set. These are modest garments.”

The coordinator shows you different skin-color shades of garments. “They’re strapless things with a barrier inside of them. Do you want to feel?”

Though you’re humiliated, you are also intrigued. You touch the garment and hum as you nod your head. You suppose this is how things are done - so you wouldn’t actually be feeling Jungkook.

“For men, we have them wear something called a modesty pouch.”

Jungkook leans back into his chair. He watches the way your eyes examine all of the garments, genuinely intrigued by it all as the intimacy coordinator explains to you how everything is done. Your naivety with how everything works is what causes Jungkook’s lips to form a small smile - you were cute, he thinks. This was like a whole new world to you that you’ve never been a part of; one that he was showing you.

“We have different types of garments you could wear and try on. Since you are new, we’ll have to find your size.” you nod along to her speech.  “And we’ll also have to work on what we call “faking it”.”

“Fake moaning.” Jungkook nods his head at your confused look. 

“We have to make it look real while we’re filming so the final product appears as such. But as you can see, it’s all fake at the end of the day.”

For the next hour, you were explained step-by-step of how intimacy works, camera angles, faking sounds and all. Once the meeting was over, you felt that this was something you could actually do without feeling like such a newbie.

“Feel better?” Jungkook asks. 

You and Jungkook are side by side now as you make your way out of your own trailer. You changed back into your clothes and decided that it was best for you to head back home. The evening sun casted a burnt orange type of hue over the set entirely.

“Yes.” you nod your head with a soft grin. “I can’t wait to watch the movie when it’s all done. I want to redeem myself from my past work.”

Jungkook snickers. “You’ll be amazing. Trust me.” he assures. “I waited to ask if you wanted to grab dinner and go over the script.”

You blink a few times, uncertain. Your stomach was rumbling and you could go for food right now - but did you truly want to go over the script? “What scenes did you want to go through?”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “A few. Especially if we’re going to get told to keep improvising.”

Improvising. Your mind flashes with the way Jungkook looked and sounded earlier, followed by the way he forced his fingers into your mouth. It was eerie, especially when you didn’t know it was happening. You’re positive, however, that the raw reaction the director was looking for was highly evident.

“It shouldn’t be an issue, I guess.” you shrug your shoulders. You didn’t want Jungkook to think you weren’t passionate about the project - you were!

This is how you and Jungkook found yourselves, eating takeout while attempting to go over the script. You willingly drink the wine Jungkook gives you, admitting to yourself that it actually was an amazing taste - he told you it was thousands of dollars and you cannot comprehend just how someone could spend that much on it.

“Okay, let’s get back to the script.” you say after another sip of wine. “Where did we leave off?”

Jungkook turns a few pages before looking up at you. “We should try an intimate one. Get it out of the way so tomorrow it’ll be easier to perform.”

Nodding your head, you take a deep breath. You had read this scene countless times to memorize your lines. Watching Jungkook get into character was amazing. Even while practicing, he still gives a stellar performance.

“I missed you.” He says, taking a few steps towards you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I-I haven’t.” you say. This scene involves you being in bed, but you and Jungkook are in his living room, so the couch would have to do.

“Yes you have. Are you afraid of me?” Jungkook comes closer until he’s hovering above you, dark eyes tracing over your body. “You know I’ll never hurt you.”

You flinch when a hand comes near you. “I-I…you told me you’d kill anyone who touched me. That’s not normal.” you quip.

“I can’t help how I feel!” Jungkook hisses. He plops down besides you, his eyes softening. “Please, baby…I’m sorry. Just give me another chance. You know I’ll never hurt you. Sometimes I get angry and…”

This was where the intimacy got started. Jungkook’s lips are on your neck immediately, kissing at the nape of it. His hand places itself onto your inner thigh and he squeezes.

“You drive me crazy.”

Your eyes close for a moment, swallowing. Jungkook kisses up your neck, hand growing closer and closer to you.

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” you murmur. “...you-”

You stop immediately when Jungkook’s hands touch your clothed heat. He cups it in his palm, your cheeks warming.

“Sssh…” Jungkook hums, continuing to rub. You weren’t wearing any safety garments - Jungkook knows this. You’re unable to move as he continues to rub. “...just let me.”

Jungkook squeezes your cupped heat, eyes flickering to see your reaction. Your shy face appears bewildered and you’re unable to move.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks. That wasn’t part of the script, and neither was him touching you. “Does it feel good?”

“Jung…kook?”

You say his name so sweetly that it causes him to moan.

“I like the way you say my name.” Jungkook admits. He’s so close to your face. It’s warm with embarrassment and nerves. This wasn’t part of the script - was he improvising again? Even this is too much.

“W-What are you doing?” you ask. He’s close like he was before, his eyes dark with someone else that you couldn’t put your finger on. Your heart is pumping so loudly, your thighs quivering.

“We’re going to be around one another for months. You and I have to look like we’re intimate on camera.” Jungkook’s tongue swipes along your neck. The hair on your skin rises. “We mind as well get comfortable.”

Comfortable…

The way Jungkook’s hands forces it’s way into your pants, you’re entirely stiff. You’re afraid to move, especially when his fingers rub along your clothed heat through your panties. A soft gasp comes from your lips.

“It feels good, right?” Jungkook hums against your neck. His tongue slides up towards your ear, his teeth nibbling slightly on it just to tease you further. “Talk.”

“Is this…okay?” you ask him, as if you aren’t the one that should be assured. Jungkook looks into your eyes and it drives him crazy. Those sweet, innocent eyes. Such naivety behind them.

“Of course this is okay. You feel good, don’t you?” Jungkook asks.

You nod your head a bit. It felt good - but you and Jungkook were co-workers. You didn’t want to go too far with him and have things be awkward on set later on. Nor did you want him to think you were a groupie who is willing to jump his bones at any given moment.

“We’re going to have to act in front of the camera, Y/N. You’re going to have to moan…” Jungkook murmurs. “I want you to be completely comfortable for me. It’s just us.”

You don’t move when Jungkook tugs your pants down and discards them on the floor. His eyes are intense, watching you the entire time. He places his hands back between your legs, continuing to rub your wet core through your panties.

“You’re new to this.” Jungkook chuckles. “But it’s just you and me. I want you to be comfortable enough for me, okay? Tell me how you feel.”

You aren’t new to sex, but those hookups weren’t Jeon Jungkook. You were self-conscious already. You’re positive he’s done this with countless women - all beautiful models and actresses. You were just you; a newbie in the world and you’re positive you look it.

“It feels nice.” you mumble.

“Yeah?” Jungkook chuckles again, just because you were so cute. “And now?” 

Pushing your panties aside, Jungkook slides his fingers across your wet clit. He rubs a bit more profusely, hissing as just how good he knows your pussy feels. He knows it's tight and would milk him for everything he has.

“In order to look convincing on camera, we’re going to have to experience it behind the scenes.” Jungkook explains. “Don’t you want this? This movie is going to be big.”

Jungkook wouldn't say he was manipulating you. You could push him away and say no - he just knows you won’t. You did want this. He was going to open doors for you that would’ve remained closed if it wasn’t for him.

"The scene we’re acting out is a bit aggressive, but not all of them are.” Jungkook assures. His cock tightens at just the thought of handling you the same way his movie character handles yours. “You trust me right?”

Slowly, and slightly unsure, you nod your head.

“Good.” Jungkook removes his hand from your clit. “Get up. And strip.”

Jungkook was blurring the lines between reality and the script. But you wanted to be good - good enough for him to realize that he didn’t make a mistake in choosing you.

“Yes, sir.” you nod your head, following along with the script.

Jungkook watches you peel off the remaining clothing. Your bra falls right besides your panties, erect nipples staring back at him.

“Go up the stairs and to the right. That’s my bedroom.” Jungkook instructs. “We can’t act this scene out on the couch.”

You can feel Jungkook watching you as you do as he says. Being fully nude before him is nerve wrecking and you just hope you can appear sexy as you’re supposed to. You and him were actually going to do this - there’s no garments to hide either of your parts from one another.

“You think I’d allow anyone else to have what’s mine?” Jungkook hisses. He removes his belt as you sit on his bed, innocent eyes looking up at him.

“N-No, sir.” you murmur back.

“Exactly. I’d kill anyone who thinks they’ll take you away from me.” Jungkook pushes his pants off. You don’t want to stare at the obvious bulge in his underwear, but it’s hard not to. “How should I punish you then? You tried to run away from me.”

You swallow. “Sir-”

“How about you get on your knees?”

You lick your lips. Your character is supposed to be frightened, doing whatever it takes to survive Jungkook’s character - the obvious bubbling psychopath. Witnessing you on your knees, naked with those eyes causes something in Jungkook’s chest to rumble. His cock throbs, wishing you’d touch him already.

“I’d do anything, sir.” you say. Your soft hands lift up to touch him, sliding up his bare legs until they are on either side of his thighs. 

“Open your mouth.” Jungkook demands. His free hand is placed on your chin. “Wider.” he instructs over and over until your tongue is out.

You’re trembling when Jungkook pushes his underwear out. This is something you’ve never done. Oral sex wasn’t something you were interested in with simple hookups. His cock is big, veiny with a wet tip. Without warning - though you should’ve expected, he rubs his tip against your tongue. It’s salty and at the first sign of your hesitance, Jungkook tightens his fingers on your chin.

“You’re doing good.” Jungkook instructs. “You’ve sucked on a lollipop before, right? Treat it like that.”

This was Jungkook talking to you, not his character. His breathing increases when you listen. You were such a good girl - and your compliance would be rewarded. He could make you into the perfect actress - highly awarded just like he was. In due time, of course.

You do as Jungkook says, licking his tip just as you would a lollipop. It’s new to you and you aren’t sure if you’re doing it correctly, but Jungkook’s gasping lowly so you assume you are. Your eyes flicker up to look at him for reassurance.

“You’re doing good.” Jungkook says as if he knows. “Just…take more of me, yeah?”

Jungkook thrusts himself deeper into your wet mouth, groaning when you allow him to with little resistance. His hand holds onto your cheek. “Stay like this, okay. Let me…”

Jungkook begins to pump his cock in and out of you slowly. His moaning increases, his dark eyes fluttering every so often. You’re shocked with how wet you were, your thighs clenching together. Doing this for Jungkook and witnessing how good it makes him feel makes you feel good.

“You’re so beautiful taking my cock.” Jungkook speaks, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. “You’re so good.”

Jungkook picks up the pace, as does his moans. Watching the way your wet mouth takes his cock deeper and deeper with little resistance, even if he can see the whelming tears forming to your eyes with how overwhelming it was. Fuck, you were such temptress.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/N. I promise you’d have it all. Just be good to me, okay?” Jungkook’s cock is so deep in your mouth that you cannot physically respond, but a hum vibrates from your throat and sends Jungkook into a frenzy. 

You’re unsure how you haven’t gagged more than a couple times with how deep Jungkook was, growing more aggressive by the second. You’re breathing through your nose heavily for air, your eyes glossy.

Jungkook spills entirely into your throat, the salty, warm substance causing you to actually gag. You swallow it, unsure what else to do after he removes his cock from your mouth. You finally breathe from your lips, blinking away the tears from your eyes.

“Look at you,” Jungkook hisses. “turn around.”

You were going by the script again. Once you can see again, you do as you’re told. You already know what’s next - the belt still in his right hand. You had to prepare for when you and him do this scene you suppose.

Jungkook wraps the leather belt around your neck, tightening just enough that it isn’t choking you. He forces you onto your feet.

“This is what I do to whore’s who don’t listen.”

You’re forced onto the bed. You immediately know what position to get into, having read the script. And Jungkook thinks you’re such an obedient person that it drives him crazy.

You aren’t sure how this scene was going to play out in front of the camera, but Jungkook isn’t hesitant to slam a hand directly on your bare ass. You yelp at the sudden action - and the sensation of it.

“Count.” Jungkook demands.

“One.”

SLAP!

“Two.”

SLAP!

“T-Three…”

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Your thighs are quivering, forced apart so Jungkook could watch the way arousal trickles down your thighs helplessly. Your ass is stinging, a pleasurable feeling you’ve never experienced until now. 

Jungkook yanks at the belt and you’re forced upward and against his chest. You struggle a moment, eyes widening. 

“You’re wet.” Jungkook says against your ear. “You like this, don’t you?”

You nod slightly, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“That’s okay.” Jungkook assures. “I want you to feel good, too.”

Jungkook’s free hand slides between your legs. He doesn’t allow you to move and his grip onto the belt is firm. He likes the way you helplessly lean against his chest while his hand rubs along your wet clit.

“Let’s see how well you take my fingers.”

Jungkook’s fingers are intruding, but he doesn’t care. He slides them between your folds and  right in you. You’re tighter than he thought, fully taking him entirely. 

You gasp at the feeling, your pussy clenching instantly. Jungkook doesn’t intend on being soft with you - no. It’s what you were going to have to get used to. This wasn’t a soft movie - it was hard. It was intruding and invasive - showcasing just how obsessed Jungkook’s character was with yours.

Your pussy is squelching so loudly that Jungkook adds another finger. You’re moaning helplessly, your thighs aching too close to stop the overstimulation but Jungkook isn’t going to allow it. He forces his knee between your legs to assure you stay exactly like this.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, a hand on his wrist. “s-slow down, please. I-i can’t-”

“Shut up.” Jungkook hisses. He was enjoying fucking his fingers into your pussy. He can feel it - the throbbing and clenching and unclenching. 

“I have to…” you’re breathing heavily. Your eyes squeeze shut and your hands, to no avail, are attempting to pry Jungkook off of you. His hand only tugs on the belt.

There’s pressure building up in you. You felt as though you had to pee and you weren’t going to humiliate yourself and do that now. “P-please…!”

“Let go, Y/N. I know you feel it.” Jungkook’s voice is so deep that it tickles something in you. He wasn’t going to release you - not until you did what he said.

You have no control over the pressure that builds and builds until your body forces it out. It sprays entirely onto your thighs and onto the silk bed sheets.

“Such a good girl you are, Y/N.” Jungkook shakes his head, his wet fingers removed from your hole.

Jungkook isn’t going to let you regain any peace - not when you and he had to perfect your roles. When you feel something else at your entrance, you’re too overstimulated to say anything.

Jungkook enters you. You’re so wet that he slides past your walls effortlessly. He groans, feeling your wet pussy around his cock is mind blowing. You were amazing, he thinks, so wet and willing. He finds pleasure in knowing that it was him that is going to discover you and all your talents.

Jungkook begins to pump, forcing you onto his bed so he can get a better grip on you. Your legs are forced apart and your head is shoved into the wet sheets. You’re unable to form words and your eyes are still shut. He’s so deep, pounding into you with every ounce of aggression the script calls for.

“You’re going to be a star, Y/N. I’ll make sure of it.” Jungkook hisses. He’s positive that you’re only half listening, the other half of you babbling and moaning to yourself. But he’ll make sure to tell you once more in the morning. 

Your hands grip the sheet, unsure if you were going to be able to handle another orgasm, but Jungkook wasn’t going to stop until you both were there.

Your ass bounces against his abdomen, your wet pussy gushing with more and more juices that he’s unsure just how this was possible. You’re creaming around his cock, so good that he’s positive you’re cumming over and over again.

“You love this, don’t you? You get to get fucked by me and have the world at your hands. You and I…” Jungkook speaks, now more to himself. To think about it, he could be your guide. Someone to protect you from harm in this industry - you were new and naive. Anyone could take advantage of you. “...I’ll protect you, Y/N. Make sure no one has their way with you.”

You whimper once more when you feel another sensation flowing though you and Jungkook are chuckling with delight. You’re limp, forced to allow Jungkook to have his way with you.

“Maybe we should become the next power couple, huh? Dominate the industry…the perfect actress I can have you be…”

Jungkook’s thrusts become sloppy, satisfied with the possibility of making you the star he knows you can be. The one you and he could be together - fuck, he was going to cum. His eyes squeeze shut, a few more thrusts and-

You feel warmth pool through you and Jungkook falls right on top of you. Your thighs are trembling and your eyes are heavy. You’ve cum more than you ever had before and you had no energy in you to move.

Jungkook is panting, his mouth right against your shoulder. He’s still pumping cum into you, sweat forming on his forehead. One thing for sure, Jungkook couldn’t wait to make you a star.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @minshookie29 @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious

trivia-yandere: i think this calls for a second part :3

[rafecameronssl4t]

i’m actually obsessed with all your works pls i need more ceo!rafe and sweetheart!reader, maybe something with their kids??? you’re actually amazing 🙇‍♀️

Office visit || CEO!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: thank u for the request xx

Warnings: use of daddy and mommy but not in a sexual way 😭

Word count: 2,002

MASTERLIST (CEO!Rafe au masterlist)

“What do you boys want to do after this?” you ask, glancing back at Luca and Kai as they focus on their ice creams. The two of them sit on the edge of the bench outside the tennis club, still buzzing with energy after their lesson. The faint scent of sunscreen lingers, and their flushed cheeks tell the story of a morning well spent.

Kai pauses mid-bite, his little tongue darting out to catch a melting drip before it slides down his cone. His brows knit in concentration as he thinks, his chocolate-streaked fingers almost comically poised. Luca, always the quieter of the two, finishes his bite and watches his brother, waiting to see what he’ll suggest.

You reach over and smooth Kai’s tousled hair, the strands damp from sweat and the summer heat. “What about…” you trail off, pulling your phone from your bag to check the time. It’s just past noon, and an idea sparks. “How about we go and see Daddy at his office for lunch?”

Both boys instantly straighten, their eyes lighting up with excitement. “Yes! Yes!” they exclaim in perfect unison, their voices loud enough to draw amused glances from a passing couple. Kai bounces slightly in his seat, and Luca’s smile stretches wide, making your heart melt.

“Alright, finish up your ice creams first, and then I’ll make a quick call to see if he’s free,” you say, chuckling at their eagerness. You bend down to zip up their small tennis bags, tucking away their water bottles and rackets. Their names are embroidered neatly on the sides of their bags, a gift from Rafe when they started lessons last year.

Sliding your phone out again, you scroll to Rafe’s assistant, Rachael, and hit call. It barely rings once before her bright, professional voice answers. “Hi, Mrs. Cameron! How are you?” “Hi, Rachael,” you greet warmly, stepping a little away from the boys, who are now energetically debating whether they should bring Daddy a surprise snack. “Does Rafe have any meetings or calls in the next hour or so? The boys want to see him, and I thought we could bring lunch.”

“Let me check for you,” Rachael replies. You can hear the soft tapping of keys as she looks at his schedule. “You’re in luck—he’s free until 2 p.m. today!” “Perfect,” you reply with a relieved smile, already picturing Rafe’s reaction. “We’ll be there soon. Thanks, Rachael.” “Of course! See you soon,” she says, and you hang up, sliding the phone back into your bag.

Turning back to Luca and Kai, you find them eagerly finishing their ice creams, their little legs swinging excitedly beneath the bench. “Okay, it’s all set. Daddy’s free, so we’re heading to his office. But first, wipe those sticky hands!” you tease, handing them some napkins. They giggle as they clean up, practically bouncing with excitement as they climb into the backseat of the car.

You secure their tennis bags in the boot and slide into the driver’s seat, glancing in the rearview mirror to see their gleaming faces. As you pull out of the car park, their excited chatter fills the car. “Do you think Daddy will let us sit at his desk like last time?” Kai asks. “Maybe we can help him work!” Luca chimes in, his voice hopeful.

You laugh, your heart full as you drive toward Rafe’s office. “Let’s see how much work Daddy gets done with you two around,” you joke, feeling a surge of warmth at the thought of surprising him with his two biggest fans.

~

The second you parked your car in the reserved spot beside Rafe’s sleek black car, Luca and Kai were out of their seats in a flash. “Wait for me!” you called, though you already knew your words would be ignored. You watched with a mix of amusement and exasperation as the two bolted toward the glass sliding doors, their laughter echoing through the underground parking lot.

“No running inside, please!” you called after them, quickly grabbing your bag and locking the car. Your heels clicked rhythmically against the pavement as you hurried to catch up. By the time you reached the doors, Steve, the ever-friendly security guard stationed by the front entrance, was already greeting them. “Well, hello, Luca and Kai!” he said with a broad smile, his weathered face lighting up at the sight of the energetic boys.

“Hi, Steve!” they chorused, their voices loud and cheerful before they darted further into the building. You reached Steve just in time to catch his amused chuckle. “And hello to you, Mrs. Cameron,” he greeted warmly, his tone respectful yet familiar. “Hi, Steve,” you replied with a smile, placing a light hand on his arm. “How’s Margaret doing?” you asked, genuinely curious about his wife.

“She’s doing well, thank you,” Steve replied with a proud nod, the lines around his eyes crinkling with warmth. “That’s wonderful to hear,” you said softly, offering a kind smile before glancing ahead to see Luca and Kai at the front desk, already reaching for the small bowl of lollies. “I’d better catch up with them before they cause too much trouble. See you later, Steve!”

“Have a good visit, Mrs. Cameron,” he called after you with a wave as you made your way inside. The front desk staff greeted you with bright smiles as you approached. “Hello, Mrs. Cameron!” Jake, one of the receptionists, said cheerfully. You chuckled softly, smoothing Luca’s hair as he eagerly unwrapped a lollipop. “I hope these two aren’t bothering you too much,” you joked.

“Not at all,” Jake replied with a grin, glancing down at the boys. “They always bring a little extra energy to the office.”“Well, that they do,” you said, shaking your head fondly as Kai offered Jake a gummy bear from his stash. “Alright, boys, let’s not take all the lollies.” Luca and Kai quickly popped the last of their treats into their mouths and followed you toward the elevator, their small feet pattering against the polished floors.

As the elevator arrived, a group of Rafe’s staff stepped out, their chatter pausing as they noticed you and the boys. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Cameron,” one of them greeted, while another bent down to fist bump Luca and Kai. “Good afternoon,” you replied, nodding politely as the boys giggled, clearly thrilled by the attention.

You guided them into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, where Rafe’s office was located. The doors closed, and the boys glanced up at you, their excitement bubbling over. “Do you think Daddy will be surprised?” Luca asked, his voice full of anticipation.

“I think he’ll be very happy to see you,” you assured them, adjusting the strap of your bag as the elevator hummed softly. As the elevator ascended, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, already picturing the look on Rafe’s face when he saw his two little boys storming into his office like it was theirs.

~

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the sleek, modern design of Rafe’s executive floor. The expansive space was quiet, save for the faint hum of activity from his staff in the open office areas. Luca and Kai immediately bolted out of the elevator, their small sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floors as they made a beeline for Rafe’s corner office.

“Boys, wait!” you called, your voice firm but amused as you followed them at a brisk pace, your heels clicking against the floor. You exchanged polite smiles and greetings with passing employees, most of whom glanced at the boys with fond amusement. It wasn’t the first time Luca and Kai had stormed through these halls like a whirlwind.

By the time you reached Rafe’s office, the boys had already pushed the heavy door open just enough to slip inside. You caught up just in time to see them racing toward Rafe’s large mahogany desk. Rafe was seated behind it, his brow furrowed as he reviewed a stack of papers. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows highlighted the sharp lines of his face, but the moment he heard the familiar sound of his sons’ excited giggles, his head snapped up.

“Daddy!” Luca and Kai shouted in unison, running around the desk to get to him. Rafe’s expression softened instantly, his serious demeanour melting away as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, what’s this?” he asked, his lips curving into a smile. He opened his arms just in time for the boys to climb onto his lap, their chatter filling the room.

“We came to surprise you!” Kai exclaimed, wrapping his small arms around Rafe’s neck. “Did you now?” Rafe replied, his tone warm as he ruffled Kai’s hair. He glanced over the boys’ heads to see you standing in the doorway, a knowing smile on your face as you watched the scene unfold. “And you brought reinforcements, I see.”

You chuckled, stepping further into the room. “They insisted. It was either this or trying to sneak into your meetings.” “Good call,” Rafe said with a smirk, shifting Luca onto his other knee. “You two behaving for Mommy?” Luca nodded earnestly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes made Rafe arch a brow. “Mostly,” you teased, leaning against the edge of his desk.

“Mostly?” Rafe echoed, giving them both a mock stern look that made Kai giggle. “We were good, Daddy!” Kai insisted, throwing his arms out dramatically. “I’ll take your word for it,” Rafe replied, pressing a kiss to the top of Kai’s head before glancing at you. “Thank you for bringing them. This is the best kind of interruption.”

“They wanted to see you,” you said softly, your heart warming at the sight of Rafe with the boys. “And they may have bribed the front desk staff with gummy bears on the way up.” Rafe laughed, his deep, rich tone filling the office. “Sounds about right. So, what’s the plan now, little troublemakers?” “Lunch with you!” Luca declared, leaning against his father’s chest.

“Lunch, huh?” Rafe looked between them, feigning thought. “Well, I think I can make that happen. What do you guys feel like eating?” “Pizza!” Kai shouted, while Luca chimed in with, “Burgers!” Rafe glanced at you, his grin widening. “Guess we’re having both.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll call get Rachael to call the kitchen while you catch up with your boys.”

As you stepped aside to make the call, you couldn’t help but glance back at them—Rafe, with his arms full of Luca and Kai, looking more at ease than you’d seen him in weeks. Moments like these made all the chaos worthwhile.

[mariasont]

hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘

Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself

wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)

a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!

Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.

You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.

Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.

He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.

What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you—one you didn't want to name—had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.

But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).

The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.

Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course—Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy—but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.

It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.

His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under—okay. Enough.

The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.

He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was—sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.

He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in—not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.

You sigh—loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart?  There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.

You toss the magazine onto the table—just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there—only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.

You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.

You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle—just a natural consequence of your posture.

Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him—memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:

He's absolutely a boob man.

You realized it gradually—the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.

Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed—they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.

His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras—he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.

But it wasn't until months later—when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin—that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.

"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"

His eyes lift—quick, practiced, almost indifferent.

Almost.

Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.

But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.

You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.

Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.

You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.

You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.

Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.

"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.

Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."

"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."

His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, slow, gentle, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."

You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare. "You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"

"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"

"I don't know. Is that an option?"

Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud—it doesn't have to be—but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.

"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."

You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.

"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"

Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."

You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"

His answer is immediate. Too immediate.

"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."

"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.

You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters—just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."

A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then—his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything. You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it. He's humoring you, and that's fine.

You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.

His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.

"Sit still."

"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.

"Sweetheart."

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."

Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long. His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach. His reaction was subtle, the shift of his jaw, his hand brushing against the desk, like he doesn't trust himself to touch you yet.

His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.

His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.

You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. His fingers dig in—tight—like he's trying to stop you, but you don't miss the way his breath catches, the way his grip falters for half a second. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.

You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear. Your teeth scrape, light, but not accidental.

"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in just enough to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"

His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.

"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."

Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."

You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.

The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.

"I told you to stop," he murmurs, but the way it sinks into you, the way it wraps around your ribs like something stretched too tight, tells you exactly what kind of trouble you're in.

He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"

You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.

"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."

His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.

"First, you sprawled out on the couch—" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."

Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.

His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.

"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these—" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "—right in my face."

Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.

"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"

The words settle in your spine, and suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop. A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.

"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."

Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."

Your grip on his shirt is useless, you're clinging to him, to anything, but he's the one in control. His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.

The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.

"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."

His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."

And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns—your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."

Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.

The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.

And then he finds you.

His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.

"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."

Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.

His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.

"Aaron—" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

"I didn't mean to—" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just—" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."

"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.

"Please." It falls from your lips like a confession, like you'd say anything if it means he'll give you what you want.

His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.

Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.

You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.

You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.

And then—he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.

"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.

But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then—oh.

He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?

It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.

"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.

His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then—he presses deeper.

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.

"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"

You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.

"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"

"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"

Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.

"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.

"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"

His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.

He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."

It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.

He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.

You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.

"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."

His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.

"Don’t move yet."

Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher—

"I want to make sure it sticks."

You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything—the fullness, every drop of his cum—settles in.

Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him. 

"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this—enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.

"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."

You nod—or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.

He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.

"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.

"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no—hold on."

His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.

"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."

Hotch lets out a slow breath, like he's holding something back. His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.

"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.

It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are. 

You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.

When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary—just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.

"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.

"Wow?"

"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."

A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.

And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.

"You said something earlier."

You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.

Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it. 

"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does—"

You shift slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.

"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"

"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.

His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back. 

"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."

His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."

Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.

He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.

You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.

"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."

"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."

"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."

His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."

Your brows furrow. "It does?"

"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes—even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."

"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else—everything outside of that—is temporarily shut out."

"When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."

Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.

His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."

Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.

"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.

You blink. "Uh... sleep?"

He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."

Your face warms. "That's just—,"

"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."

"I—,"

"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"

You swallow.

"No."

"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."

"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."

Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.

"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches—not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.

You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.

Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."

You shake your head quickly, sniffling.

"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.

He smirks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just—I feel very loved and now I have to process that."

"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"

Your smile is instant, automatic, the kind that takes over your whole face before you can even think about stopping it. Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt like you have any intention of letting go.

"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."

His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"

You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99 @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs @reire11

taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(

[tierras]

raffle for palestine🕊️

mutual aid for displaced Palestinian families in Cairo

holding my second raffle for my campaign above (og post)!

to summarize; on the ground in Cairo, resources and funding are extremely scarce, displaced Palestinians are dependent on mutual aid volunteers for assistance. i will be traveling to Cairo at the end of november and will be sponsoring 2 displaced Palestinian families there. all funds will be personally delivered by me and used towards these families' rent, food, clothing, medical expenses, etc. pls help me reach my goal by participating in this raffle <3

next item up for grabs; lia kantro's 'killing the flowers will not delay the spring' tee.

✿ (1) SIZE MEDIUM (UNISEX) shirt

dimensions are as follows: width (pit to pit) - 20 inches, length - 28 inches

printed on 100% cotton tee, has a little stretch

✿ hand printed and part of a limited run of released tees by lia kantro, not currently available for purchase

to enter:

✿ make a minimum of $5 donation ($5 donation = 1 entry, $10 donation = 2 entries, and so on) to my campaign

✿ REBLOG this post for a free bonus entry!

✿ submit proof of donation either through dm on tumblr or by filling out this form (preferred!)

✿ if you win, please make sure you are comfortable with sharing a mailing address with me

this raffle will close on October 23rd at 11PM (PST) and the winner will be randomly selected and announced at the end of that same week. the winner will have 48 hours to claim prize before another winner is selected. this raffle is open to anyone, i can ship internationally. don't want this shirt? donate any amount anyway + i will have 1 more final raffle after this one but will have a higher entry donation (a designer bag), stay tuned!

please reblog so we can reach more people and donate if you can!

[harryspet]

well kept [3] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all the feedback so far :)

word count: 4.5k

In which it's your first day working from home with Rafe and you have a new lesson to learn.

well kept masterlist

The Cameron residence was fifteen minutes outside of downtown Charlotte and situated in a large neighborhood where hills and huge oak trees hid all the houses. You didn’t really see his house, only what you could tell was large pond, until the driver was at the end of the mile-long driveway.  When you did, you felt woefully underdressed. Assuming that being inside all day meant you could opt for something casual, you’d chosen a cream knit dress. 

Following Rafe’s instructions, you sent him photos of each outfit you tried on, but he hadn’t told you which ones you could return. It was another blow to your confidence. You began to doubt whether he’d even been serious, but the fear that he might mention it the next day kept you from taking any chances.

Stepping out of the black Escalade, your eyes widened as you took in the architectural masterpiece before you. The house was a striking blend of traditional and modern styles, with a light-colored exterior contrasted by dark shutters framing the windows. A stone chimney rose from the roof, and the three-car garage with wooden doors added a rustic touch.

After your car drove away, a tall and impeccably dressed staff member named Anthony guided you up the stone-paved driveway. From your cheat sheet, you recalled that he was the House Manager. Rafe required a full team: Anthony, two housekeepers, a private chef, a driver, a gardener, and now you—his personal assistant. The inside of the house was as intimidating as the exterior. The expansive foyer featured high ceilings and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. To the left, you caught a glimpse of the formal dining room. Each room you passed was more impressive than the last. Anthony informed you that there were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.

“I don’t usually work on Fridays but Mr. Cameron wanted me to give you a tour of the house and show you the ropes of house management. It’ll be important for you to be able to oversee the staff when I’m absent and understand the scheduling.”

Once again, it was all too much to take in. Today was your fifth day working for Rafe, and you’d barely survived until now. 

“I want to clarify that what happened yesterday stays between us. That includes Eleanor. Okay?”

That was all he said about his outburst. There was no apology for groping you, for pinning you down on his office couch, or for taking your virginity. If you were to tell the story, you’d have to mention how your body had betrayed you—not once, but twice. But you had said no. You didn’t want to use the word that described what happened to you. You didn’t want to think about it at all.

And it didn’t happen again—not over the next three days. He continued to be harsh, forcing you to apologize for every small mistake, even those you weren’t aware of.

As you followed Anthony through the expansive kitchen, you couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and sophistication. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with gleaming marble countertops that seemed to stretch endlessly, state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, and custom cabinetry in a rich, dark wood finish. An oversized island dominated the center of the room.

At the far end of the kitchen, massive glass-paneled doors stood, offering a glimpse of the world beyond. The porch was furnished with elegant wicker seating with plush cushions. The space was perfect for elegant parties, with enough room to accommodate at least a dozen guests.

Beyond the porch was a stunning infinity pool stretched out towards the horizon. As you walked closer, to the right, you took notice of a garden. You spotted the gardener, Tyler, who Anthony had mentioned earlier. In simple clothes, the young man blended easily into the scenery. 

“This is where Mr. Cameron will typically entertain his guests,” Anthony said, 

The beauty of the outdoor space was undeniable, but so was the control that permeated every aspect of it. You wondered what hand Rafe played in how spotless it looked. You could almost picture him, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a harsh intensity, if even the smallest detail were out of place. It was easy to imagine him demanding that every leaf, every petal, every stone be exactly where it belonged. 

Did his staff ever make mistakes? Did he make them beg him forgiveness like he did with you? 

“Shall I show you the study? It’s approaching seven-thirty.”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He was kind but part of you didn’t want him to hear your voice shake or your face contort into an uncomfortable position as you struggled to get your words out. 

There would be enough struggling today, you knew that. 

Surprisingly, Rafe’s home office was more quaint than you expected. Dark wood panneling decorated the walls as well as floor-to-celing bookshelves. As you made your way around the room, you took note of the picture frames containing images of what you believed to be his family. Here, it seemed he had a heart. The four of them stood on a dock, sun shining down, and his arms were wrapped a young girl with dark brown hair. His smile was genuine and there was darkness lingering in the blues of his eyes. 

Other than the bookshelves, the room only contained his desk, a set of leather couches and a coffee table. The smaller room still managed to exude sophistication but it was far less imposing than you expected. 

The room almost felt intimate as sunlight trickled in through light colored curtains. You were standing behind his desk, glancing out his office window which faced towards the nearby pond. Beside it, sat a gazebo, although you couldn’t imagine Rafe enjoying it. You wondered if he lived here alone as you saw no traces of the other three people in his family photo. 

“Boo,” You yelped as you heard Rafe’s deep voice. 

You placed a hand over your beating heart as you looked toward where he stood in the doorway. Having been deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door opened. He knew that much which explained the amused look in his eye.  

Everything flooded back at the sight of him. The air had already left your lungs. You felt his body pressing down on yours, warm breath against your ears, and that pain between your legs. 

The door clicked shut, making you flinch.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

It hit you then, you hadn’t greeted him like you were supposed to.

You were taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain navy t-shirt, a stark contrast to your heels and carefully applied makeup. You weren’t sure why you were expected to dress up, especially when he looked so casual.

“G-Good morning, Sir,” You crossed the room, his eyes locked on yours. You remembered where he liked you, near the door, ready to greet him and present yourself to him. You hated how your voice always betrayed you, how weak it made you sound. Your only saving grace was that you’d already memorized his schedule for the day, having spent the entire commute looking at your laptop. You recited it to him, including the midday Zoom call he had with Kelce and Topper.

Topper, you had learned, was Eleanor’s husband. Rafe hadn’t ever touched her but the way Eleanor always answered your questions with vague responses made you suspect that her relationship with Topper mirrored your own with Rafe. She hadn’t warned you but now you were suspecting that was because Rafe seemed to always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

You froze the moment his hand reached out to touch you. His fingers curled around your side, hovering just above your stomach but dangerously close to your breasts. His grip was surprisingly gentle as his thumb grazed over the fabric of your dress. You stiffened as his other hand mirrored the first, sliding across to the opposite side of your body. “Eleanor picked this,” he murmured, his brows knitting together as his gaze slowly traveled down your figure. A jolt shot through you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a wave of panic coursing through you.

“Y-You don’t like it?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He clicked his tongue, “Turn around for me.”

You did as he said, “Doesn’t do enough for your figure,” Your heart panged in your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your own shape, “Are you wearing the panties I sent you?”

All you could do was nod. Rafe never commanded you to wear the panties everyday to work but you didn’t risk it. Luckily, they were all comfortable despite the lace and cheekiness. 

“Pull up your dress,” He said next. 

You’d spent the last three days in a fog, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to understand why your body betrayed you. When you were younger, you always asked the universe why you couldn’t speak like the way all your friends at school did. Now you asked the universe why Rafe’s voice made you want to clench your thighs together. Why you had felt empty ever since he’d finished inside of you. Why you wanted to try again, to experience that intimacy again without so much fear. Your life was so simple before but now it felt like it was too late to turn back. 

Your thoughts were too jumbled. Rafe cleared his throat and you realized you were just staring back, “I’m not gonna fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Please-”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me ask again.”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m nnn-nn-not comfortable—”

“Just do it.”

You reached down to the edges of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric to your waist. It was nothing he hadn’t already seen and yet you were shaking, “Turn around. Face the other way.” Like a robot, you obeyed. You’d chosen a light pink color today. 

“Good,” You felt him against you. He pulled your hair back over your shoulder and leaned down against your ear, “Maybe I should make you walk around naked while you’re here, hmm?”

You bit down on your lip, wanting to contain the protest that was about to leave your mouth. You wanted to lean into his touch, to embrace the comfort that would accompany the torture. He brushed past you just as you tilted your head back, “Go make me a coffee,” He commanded. 

He made his way behind his desk and you reached down to move your dress, “Did I say to pull your dress down?”

“N-No, Sir,” You moved your hands quickly to your sides.

“I could make you walk around like that, couldn’t I?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

He tilted his head and you realized you needed to answer. You gave him a painful look. You could say no but what would it cost you, “I . . . I don’t know,” He wasn’t satisfied by your answer, clearly. It was torture to force the words out, “Y-Yes.”

“Right answer,” He said, “Pull down your dress, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but see the irony in the fact that despite that you upgraded to a salaried job, you were still making coffee for the rich and spoiled. The opulent kitchen had an even fancier coffee machine than his office. Your movements as you prepared his steaming mug of coffee were precise despite the turmoil in your mind. 

Searching for solutions, your mind landed on the idea of trying to assert your competence. Sure, you could make a great cup of coffee but the whole point of getting a real job was so that you could have real skills to market yourself. You could be perfect at this job, anticipate his every need, and you could more than an object to look at. 

You re-entered his office quietly after realizing he’d begun his first meeting of the day. Carefully, you set his coffee down on the edge of his desk. He was always so intense, so completely absorbed in his work, and that unwavering focus made you even more anxious. Maybe that’s how you should be, more composed, projecting an air of confidence.

Unsure of where you should settle, you made yourself comfortable on one of the leather couches. You checked your email on your laptop, finding several reminders from Eleanor. You found yourself frustrated by how she picked and chose what information to share with you but you balanced those feelings with the fact that she was often your saving grace. 

She gave you a list of tasks including arranging for a delivery of documents that needed to be signed by Rafe, confirming his dinner reservations for the night, and proofreading the notes you took from yesterday’s meetings. You told yourself by the end of the next week, you’d be able to handle things by yourself, and you wouldn’t have to lean on her so much. You’d have a day, eventually, where Rafe didn’t point out anything you did wrong. 

“I was thinking-” Rafe’s voice cut through the silence. You were so focused that you hand’t realized his meeting had ended. He folded his hands over each other, his eyes on you, “From now on, I want you to wear what I pick for you each day.”

“How …y-you’re not happy with what I’ve been choosing?”

“It’s not about not being happy. Now I have more of an idea of what I like on you,” His voice was smooth and authoritative, “You want to reflect my taste, my standards, yeah?”

You mustered the courage to ask your next question, “Can I-I dress a l-little less … formally when I work at home with you?”

“Less formally?” He tasted the words on his tongue, “You mean, like more casual?”

“Yes, Sss-sir. Like more comfortable.”

“We could experiment with that,” His tone was deceptively light, “On my terms though. Yeah?”

You nodded and were grateful that he hadn’t reacted lightly. He seemed to enjoy that you were asking him for permission.

“You’ll have to wear something different tonight though, for dinner. Eleanor is coming by towards the end of the day to bring you your outfit and take you to get your nails done.” 

“Oh,” Your eyes opened wide, “I-I thh-thhought it was more of a personal-”

“I won’t keep you out forever,” He said, “You got plans or something?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, Sir.”

Rafe worked through lunchtime, so you brought him the meal prepared by his chef, Stevie—an elegant older woman with blonde hair. She had made a pesto pasta salad that looked like it belonged in a gourmet magazine, despite your protests and insistence on eating your own packed lunch. Only after delivering the meal did Rafe grant you permission to take your break elsewhere.

You settled on the outdoor patio by the pool, enjoying the peacefulness of the space despite the distant, steady hum of a lawnmower. For a moment, you didn’t feel out of place. Your dress, though apparently unflattering to your figure, was worth a small fortune, and the gourmet lunch you were now enjoying was a far cry from the PB&J you’d packed.

Thirty minutes later, after finishing your lunch and enjoying a lengthy chat with Stevie, you reluctantly headed back upstairs. Hearing Rafe still on the phone, you decided to explore a bit more. His office was situated in the private wing of his house, and as you meandered through opulent corridors, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance into the master bedroom. It was cozier than you had anticipated, with tall gray walls that gave it a masculine feel and a plush bed draped in navy linen blanket that created a snug, cocoon-like atmosphere.

Rafe ended his call a minute later and the afternoon wore on. You settled into a rhythm, completing the various tasks that you’d added to your own to do lists and ones he’d assigned to you. You spent some time organizing files in his office. His gaze burned into you, even more when you were turned around, and surprisingly, you were starting to get used to that unnerving feeling. 

He waited for you to make a mistake but you used a hundred-percent of your effort to make sure that didn’t happen. 

The clock inched towards the evening, and the day grew even more quieter, more intimate. “I was looking over your notes from yesterday’s meeting with the board members. I highlighted some sections for you to read back to me,” He waved you over, his voice gruff after a long day of talking. You joined him behind his desk and you moved to lean over and get closer look, but he placed a hand on your hip. The gesture was firm, possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. With effortless strength, like a wolf guiding its prey, he maneuvered you onto his lap, settling you on his thigh. You felt the power in his grip, the unspoken control, and all you could do was comply.

“Rafe–” You started, an desperate attempt at a protest. 

“Start with the first section,” He commanded, his grip tightening. 

“I’ve been working on proofreading them–”

“Sweetheart,” He warned, not needing to add that you were making him angry. You could feel it, the heat coming off of him. 

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to read each sentence. Even if you didn’t have a sentence with a small typo, you still stammered over several of your words. He slid the chair closer to the desk and you yelped. 

“See right here,” He pointed to the screen but that only pressed him into you. You breathed slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, “This whole section needs more detail. I don’t want to have to ask more information.”

You were taken aback when Rafe actually began to instruct you on what you were meant to do. He spent at least ten minutes walking you through each sentence, explaining how to word your report, and deleted all the unnecessary details you added. He was surprisingly patient. 

“Now, your turn,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair. For a moment, you thought he was letting you up, but the pressure of his hand on your waist told you otherwise. “Fix it.”

You swallowed, hesitating as your fingers hovered over the keys. Ever keystroke was amplified in the quiet room. Doing your best to actually use your brain, you carefully made the changes he suggested. He watched you closely, his hands first placed on your hips but soon one wandered between your thighs. 

“Good,” He said. You could do it again, you thought, and not be so scared. His touch was teasing, a reminder of what he could do to you, all the pressure that built inside of you a spilled over. You could impress him, you could be beautiful, and not turn into a crying mess when he was inside of you. You could be more than a fragile thing to be broken.

Each word was a small victory. It was a battle you thought you could win until his fingers slipped inside your panties and his other hand grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. It was unbearable, and as he made small circles, you found your fingers slipping clumsily over the keys. 

You pressed your palms into his desk, your body tilting forward. A frustrated sigh left your lips, you couldn’t contain it, and Rafe’s chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Do you ever touch yourself like this? Be honest with me this time.”

“Y-Yes,” You whispered. 

“How do you do it?” He pulled you away from the desk, pulling your torso against his, “You use a toy?”

“J-Just my fff-fingers,” You admitted. 

“Like this? How do you like it?” Carefully, he switched between different approaches. He rubbed circles over your clit, smaller ones and then slower, bigger ones. Then he stroked you up and down, fingers slipping easily into your warm hole as he wandered lower, “You put those little fingers inside of you?”

“Rafe, please.”

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Or I’ll stop.”

"I-I don't usually put them inside… ," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I always use my pillow…”

He hummed against your ear. "See how much better this is when you cooperate? You can be such a good little assistant when you try."

You nodded, unable to speak, and let the feeling consume you. He brought you right to the edge, you were seconds away coming undone, but his movements slowed. Before you could register the feeling as disappointment, Rafe was hoisting you off of his lap. 

Moving with sudden determination, your feet were suddenly off the ground and Rafe was carrying you out of the room in his strong arms, “Rafe!” You clutched his shoulders as he carried you down the hall.

You turned your head as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, the heavy thud of the door slamming shut reverberating through the room. With a swift motion, he laid you gently on the bed. The softness beneath you was just as you had imagined, but the thought barely registered. You shot him an incredulous look, your face flushed with a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He leaned over you, grabbing a pillow from behind you and placing it in front of you, “Show me.”

You shook your head instantly and moved to crawl away. Somehow, you could let all of his other sleazy behavior slide by but this was an insane boundary for him to try to cross. He’d already been inside you and yet this was a thousand times more intimate. 

He grabbed ahold of your thigh, “You’re so close, sweetheart. I know you want it,” He challenged you, “Probably feels like you need it.”

“Please,” You tried, your voice threatening to crack. His hands found your hips again, slowly positionin you over the pillow. The soft fabric brushed against your most sensitive spot, the familiar sensation making you bite down on your bottom lip, “Rafe.”

“You saying my name like that just makes me want it more,” Balancing on his knees, he grabbed ahold of your face and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the intensity of his desire, how much he wanted this, and it left you dizzy. 

When he pulled back, he looked over you. Your hips started moving in a familiar motion despite your embarrassment. You trembled from the vulnerability, the pounding in your chest, but you chased that high he gave you. It ignited your fire again, and since you didn’t have the full force of his touch anymore, you focused your eyes on him, “Good girl,” He said again and you whimpered, “Look at me just like that.”

You rolled your hips harder, faster, imagining his kiss, his touch, as the tension coiled tighter inside you. His gaze never left yours, his words a constant stream of encouragement and control.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” 

His words all jumbled together. 

“Just let it happen.”

“I want to see your face when you cum, sweetheart.”

“You look so desperate.”

“So needy.”

“You’re gonna make yourself cum, huh?”

“Just because I told you too.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Look at you.” 

The words pushed you over the edge, finally, and you were able to let go. He watched as you rode out that wave of pleasure and his hands found your body again, his grip grounding you. “Fuck,” You heard him say but you couldn’t respond. 

You were too overwhelmed to respond, your mind unable to fully process what had just happened. All you knew was that you felt good, embarrassed, and strangely satisfied that you'd pleased him, all at once. 

When you manage to look at him again, the doorbell rang. 

Eleanor navigated through the upscale nail salon, a palace of white and silvers, with ease, like she was a regular, and this was just an extension of her universe. You imagined this place as an escape for her, from both Rafe and Topper. She secured side-by-side seats near the back of the salon and you followed her lead as she set down her purse and removed her sandals. Her movements were fluid and assured. 

“Have you thought about what color you want?”

“Oh, um, n-no,” You tried to make yourself comfortable in the pedicure chair, “What d-do you think Rafe would like?”

“Maybe something pastel. You can’t go wrong with a soft pink.”

“Is that what you’re getting?” You asked, unassured, as you glanced around the luxurious setting. It wasns’t like other nail salons you’d been to where the technicians and customers talked at whatever volume they liked. It was quiet and each technician wore matching black uniforms. 

“I’ll tell them you want ballet slipper on your nails and white on your toes.”

You nodded, grateful for her guidance, “Thank you.”

As your pedicures began, the warm lavender-scented water soaking your feet, two technicians took their places by your sides, working silently as they filed your nails. 

“How are you holding up?” Eleanor asked.

“Fff-fine,” You said, “I’m trying to . . . t-to understand him, I guess.”

“You’ll go crazy doing that,” She laughed lightly, flashing a look that said “poor you”. 

“How d-did you meet Topper?” Her face tightened at your question, “I mean, y-you didn’t say.”

“I’m from the same town as them, Rafe and Topper. Not really the same town, my parents didn’t have money growing up. But I worked at the country club they all went to. That’s how I met Topper.”

“And you started dating?”

“Something like that,” She made a small shrug, “I owe everything I have to them.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of her words despite the lack of detail. Another piece to the puzzle you were trying to put together. Maybe the two of them had an attraction to girls struggling to get by.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She asked and it made you pause.

Your instinct was to mirror her shrug, but you hesitated, wondering if you could trust her with your thoughts. If anyone could understand what you were going through, it had to be Eleanor.  “I-I just ffff-ffeel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only heard good things.”

“A-About me?” She nodded and your lips parted in shock. 

“Yes. I know you feel uncertain right now, but I think you'll be glad if you can stick it out. Topper… he’s a bastard, but he takes care of me. Rafe likes you too. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, but…” She paused, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s filthy rich. That would be enough for me.”

In that moment, her brutal honesty felt almost like reassurance. You weren’t sure if Eleanor truly grasped the extent of Rafe’s inability to show affection, that his pleasure came from humiliating you, from making you cry. Just as you couldn’t fully know what she endured with Topper. Her words weren't necessarily comforting but at least they felt real.

Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :)

[sunni-stuff]

Adira and Mama have always celebrated valentines together. And now we have Simon, who in addition to wanting to create a connection with Adira, he also wants to recreate that "love" with Mom. So, this Valentine's Day, Simon and Adira team up to give Mom a wonderful gift!

Valentine’s Day.  

The holiday where people got all sappy, handed out cards, and smothered their significant others with roses and kisses. The streets would be painted in shades of red and pink, filled with the bustling energy of couples trying to outdo each other with grand romantic gestures. 

But for you, Valentine’s Day had always been about something else. Since Adira was born, it became a tradition to celebrate the love of your life in your own way. You didn’t need a partner to make the day meaningful; you had her. Every year, you’d gift her a small box of her favorite chocolates—indulgent, sweet pieces she’d greedily munch on, leaving her cheeks smeared with chocolate and her gummy grin brighter than the sun.  

You couldn’t help but remember the memory of how Adira’s love affair with that brand of chocolate started. Godiva Gold Collection—an unnecessarily expensive, fancy brand that had somehow become her favorite. You still had the box that started it all, tucked away in the closet of keepsakes, its shiny gold lid a time capsule of an unexpected moment from your early days at the daycare.

It was your first Valentine’s Day as an assistant, back before you had your own class. You’d been trying to keep a low profile, just another cog in the machine, but one of the dads had made that impossible. For weeks, he’d been flirting with you, persistent in a way that made you roll your eyes more than blush. Day in and day out, he’d linger a little too long during drop-offs or pick-ups, throwing out compliments like confetti. It was harmless enough, but you never entertained it beyond polite smiles.  

That Valentine’s Day, though, he decided to up the ante. Strolling in with his daughter on one arm and an elaborate, glittering box of chocolates in the other, he sauntered over to you with the confidence of a man who thought he’d already won.  

“I thought you might like these,” he said, handing you the Godiva box with a grin that was probably meant to be charming but mostly came off smug. “Figured you deserved a little something for always being so amazing.”  

You took the box graciously, murmuring a polite thank-you. And that’s when the moment turned unexpectedly sweet.  

Before you could even process the interaction, a tiny figure toddled into the room—Adira, barely one year old, her chubby legs carrying her as fast as they could toward you. Her little hand stretched up, fingers opening and closing in that unmistakable signal: I want.  

You smiled at her, heart melting as it always did. “Of course, little fox,” you murmured, placing the box carefully in her hands. She hugged it to her chest with the kind of pure joy that only a child could muster, her little fingers already fumbling with the lid.

The dad’s confident grin faltered as he watched the scene unfold. His brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait… You give chocolate to all the kids here? Isn’t that, uh, bad for them?” He gestured awkwardly toward Adira, who had now plopped herself onto the floor, fully engrossed in her mission to open the box.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood back up. “No, I don’t give chocolate to all the kids,” you said, your tone gentle but firm. “Adira’s mine.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you watched as the realization dawned on him. His eyes widened, darting between you and Adira as if trying to piece together a puzzle he hadn’t even realized was in front of him.

“She’s… yours?” he asked, incredulous.

You nodded, glancing down at Adira, who had successfully pried the box open and was now holding a truffle in her tiny hands like it was a treasure. “Yep. My daughter,” you said, pride evident in your voice. “She’s the reason I started working here, actually. Thought it’d be a good way to balance work and being there for her.”

The man’s face turned an odd shade of red, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. He had assumed, just like so many others, that you were childless and ready to play along with his flirtations. But you weren’t. And that, in some small way, felt like a victory.

“Oh. Wow. I didn’t realize,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I, uh, thought you were single. And… you know, childless.”

“Nope,” you said with a small laugh. “Very much a mom.”

He began backing toward the door with an apologetic smile. “Right, well… I should get going. My daughter’s probably waiting for me. Happy Valentine’s Day!” And just like that, he was gone.

Wasn't he holding his daughter?

His swift retreat had you chuckling even as you turned your attention back to Adira, who was now blissfully munching on her stolen treasure. She looked up at you, her grin wide and sticky, chocolate clinging to her growing pearly whites.

“Yum!” she declared, holding up another piece as if offering it to you.

Now, every Valentine’s Day, when you handed her a new box, she’d squeal with glee, just like she did when she was a baby. And every time, it reminded you why you didn’t need flowers, cards, or romantic gestures to make the day special.

Adira was your Valentine. She always had been, and she always would be.

Valentine’s Day had arrived once again, painting the streets with an abundance of roses, teddy bears, and couples hand in hand. The air was charged with the energy of love—or at least, that’s how the advertisements made it seem.

For you, it was a different story. As a single parent, Valentine's Day didn’t come with the same excitement. Instead, it was a quiet reminder of the love you shared with Adira—the kind of love that didn't need gifts or fancy dinners. You had your own little celebration planned with her at home, but first, there was work.

The daycare was closing early that day, giving most of the staff the chance to spend time with their partners. But for the rest of you—those without a special someone—it was business as usual. The meeting, something about the upcoming budgets for the year, was mandatory.

As you wrapped up your workday, you felt a twinge of guilt. Adira wouldn’t have the patience to wait while you sat through the meeting. She never did, and today wasn’t going to be any different. So, in a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision, you called Simon. He was more than happy to help, even though the idea of being with Adira all afternoon seemed like a challenge. Still, he was eager to do what he could, giving you time to get through the meeting without worrying.

Unbeknownst to you, your apartment was currently in a state of complete disarray.

It all started when Simon, while rummaging through the pantry for snacks, stumbled upon a familiar gold box tucked in the corner. He didn’t know why the sight of the Godiva box stirred something in him, but it did. For a split second, his mind conjured up the idea that you had someone special—someone who’d given you the overpriced chocolate. His stomach twisted at the thought.

Why did that bother him? It wasn’t like he had any claim over you. You were just co-parenting. But still, the idea of some other guy swooping in and winning you over with fancy chocolates rubbed him the wrong way.

The thought simmered in the back of his mind until he turned to Adira, who was running around, triumphantly waving around her Barbie head like a trophy . An idea formed, one that made the edges of his frown soften into something more determined.

“How about we make your mom something special?” he proposed, crouching down to her level.

Adira’s eyes lit up, her face brightening with an enthusiastic grin. “Yeah! Special for Mommy!” She bounced to her feet, already brimming with elation.

“Alright, lass,” he said, ruffling her hair. “We’ll need a plan. Let’s get to work.”

By the time thirty minutes had passed, your apartment was barely recognizable. Flour dusted nearly every surface, glitter and scraps of colorful paper were strewn across the living room, and the faint smell of something slightly burnt wafted from the kitchen. Simon was in over his head.

He had underestimated two things: the sheer mess a three-year-old could create when left unchecked and the complexity of trying to bake cookies with said three-year-old as his assistant.

His phone laid on the counter, a lifeline to Gaz, who had graciously agreed to walk him through baking cookies. "Alright, I’ve got the dough… I think. What’s next?” he asked, glancing at the slightly lumpy mixture in the bowl.

On the other end of the line, Gaz chuckled. “Mate, it shouldn’t look like that. Did you actually measure the ingredients, or did you just eyeball it?”

Simon huffed, frustration bubbling as he wiped a streak of flour off his cheek. “I followed the recipe! Mostly. Adira added her own… interpretations.”

As if on cue, Adira, perched on a stool beside him, giggled mischievously, her tiny hands gripping the now-empty container of sprinkles. She enthusiastically dumped half of it into the bowl, sending a white puff into the air. She giggled uncontrollably as flour settled into her hair, making her look like a tiny ghost.

“Looks funny!” she declared, wiping her flour-dusted hands on his sleeve.

Simon groaned, but he couldn’t suppress the chuckle that followed. “Yeah, you look like you’ve been rolling around in snow.” Glancing at the concoction they were making, pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself, “This is a disaster.”

“Oi, it’s not a disaster,” Gaz chimed in, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “You’ve just got… a creative helper. Roll with it. Kids love messy projects.”

As they moved on to rolling out the dough, Adira decided to take charge of the cookie cutters. She pressed them into the dough with all the strength her tiny hands could muster, creating wobbly fox shapes that were more abstract than symmetrical. “For Mommy!” she declared with each press, her little voice full of pride.

Simon’s heart softened at her excitement. Despite the chaos, she was having the time of her life, and he couldn’t deny that it was… fun, in a strange, messy sort of way.

“Alright, Gaz,” Simon said, propping the phone closer to his ear as he picked up a cookie sheet. “What temperature do I need to set the oven at?”

“Preheat it to 350. And keep an eye on those cookies—you don’t want them to burn.”

“Got it,” Simon replied, sliding the tray into the oven.

While the cookies were “baking” (a generous term for the mess he’d shoved into the oven), Simon pulled out some paper, markers, and glitter he’d found in your supply cabinet. Adira jumped in eagerly, grabbing a red marker to scribble a heart on a piece of paper.

“Mommy likes red,” she informed him with absolute certainty, her tongue poking out in concentration as she drew wobbly shapes.

“Aye, red it is,” Simon agreed, his own hands now dusted with glitter as he helped her glue a few sparkly hearts onto the card. “We’ll make it the prettiest card she’s ever seen.”

By the time the cookies were done, the kitchen was a disaster zone, glitter was everywhere, and Simon had flour smeared across his cheek. Adira was thrilled, though, holding up her homemade card with pride.

Simon pulled the cookies out of the oven, sighing in relief when they actually looked halfway decent. Adira gasped in delight, clapping her flour-dusted hands together.

“They’re perfect,” she declared, though one cookie was clearly missing a chunk where she’d snuck a bite of the dough earlier.

Simon chuckled, ruffling her hair. “You’re right, they’re perfect.”

By the time you got home, the chaos was still evident—scraps of paper littered the floor, flour smudged on the counters, and a sticky trail of frosting led to the living room. But in the middle of it all were Simon and Adira, sitting at the table with the slightly wonky cookies and a handmade card, waiting for you with proud grins on their faces.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, Mommy!” Adira exclaimed, jumping up to present you with her card.

Your heart melted at the sight, the mess fading into the background as you took in the scene before you. This wasn’t what you’d expected, but it was perfect.

Your voice caught in your throat as you held up the card Adira had made. The inside was adorned with little foxes, and the words scribbled across the page were a mix of Simon’s careful handwriting and Adira’s wobbly, childlike scrawl. The sentence read: “Call me Swiper because I’ve stolen your heart.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your chest tightening at the sight of it. The card was so simple, yet so heartfelt. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered love from the two people who had, in their own way, quietly wormed their way into your heart.

"You guys did all this…?" Your voice a little shaky, as you looked from the card to Simon and Adira, who were both sitting proudly at the table. Simon had flour on his cheek, and Adira’s face was a picture of joy, her hands covered in frosting and sprinkles. It was clear they’d both put their all into this little surprise.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin on his face as he shrugged. “Well, Adira here had the idea. I just... tried not to burn the cookies.”

Adira giggled, holding up one of the cookies as if it were a trophy. It was slightly misshapen, with sprinkles all over it, but it didn’t matter. It was perfect in its imperfection. “Mommy, for you!” she exclaimed, her voice full of pride.

Your eyes softened, your heart swelling with love and something else you couldn’t quite place—appreciation, gratitude, maybe even a little awe. The moment was small, yet so significant.

“Thank you, Adira,” you whispered softly, your heart swelling as you knelt down to scoop her up into a hug. She squirmed in your arms, giggling as she wrapped her tiny arms around your neck, her little fingers gripping your hair with an uncoordinated but tender affection.

Simon stood back, watching the two of you with a quiet smile. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face was enough. He was content, knowing he’d been part of this moment.

“This is the best Valentine’s Day gift ever,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as she squished her cheek against yours, still grinning ear to ear.

Simon hesitated for a moment, a twinge of uncertainty crossing his face as he stood there watching the tender scene. He knew he wasn’t quite there yet, not in the way you and Adira had been all this time. He was a part of this moment, but he still wasn’t sure exactly where he fit in. His eyes flickered between you, your outstretched arms, and the small bundle of joy that was his daughter, so full of love and happiness—it made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t ignore.

But then, your words cut through the haze of his hesitation. "Why are you just standing there?"

You were smiling, the playful hint of a challenge in your eyes, but there was something more in your voice too—an invitation. You didn’t have to say anything else; it was in the way you held out your arms, in the way you pulled him in with your gaze.

Simon took a slow, steadying breath, his heart beating a little faster. He moved forward, tentative at first, before lowering himself to kneel beside you both. Adira giggled as he wrapped his arms around the two of you, her laughter echoing in the warm air of the apartment. He wasn’t just trying to fit into a place anymore. He carved one out for himself—right there, with you and Adira. And that, more than anything, felt like home.

It wasn’t the romantic, picture-perfect Valentine’s Day you’d imagined in the past, but it was better. It was real. It was messy, sweet, and full of love. The kind of love that came in small, beautiful moments like these.

And for the first time in a long while, you realized that maybe this was exactly how it was supposed to be.

A/N: I just wanna say rq, I appreciate the love AND to the anon who sent this, your brain needs to be kissed. I said I wasn't gonna do long fics as often but this was too juicy to pass up. Thank you!

ALSO, pls yall don't have to send me asks to be on the taglist! If you comment I'll add u!

TAGLIST: @pipedream411 @ficcharsimp009 @frogofrg @loonagabs @lunamoonbby @vixenshiftsvrs @devoetee @shorty-tolentino @aethelwyneleigh27 @ayesha-eroticax3 @julesjuminos @tacticalgirlboss @teenagellamaangel @gifted-aurora @awildewit @emilia527 @danielle143 @maniacalbooper @t3a-bag @sockertop @arrozyfrijoles23 @azaleapeachberry @terry2227 @rip-cod-brainrot @montenegroisr @sweetheartturtle2007 @hepprine @kodokunarisu-blog

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ to be dangerous and blooming, to eat of you.

ceo!paige x architect!azzi. men & minors dni.

synopsis: azzi is a sought-after architect known for her quiet intensity and near-spiritual approach to space. paige—a former wnba star turned sports tech ceo—didn’t expect much when her assistant picked her to design the house. but months pass, walls rise, and suddenly paige can’t stop thinking about her architect.

cw: mentions of parent death, fluff, slow-ish burn, strangers-to-lovers, aged-up!pazzi.

notes: this would not leave me alone, it was like a ghost against its own grave. fully inspired by @pbaz7 in general, but more specifically their beautiful, recent pazzi "finding peace in you" series which i want fed into my blood via an iv. as always i hope you enjoy. feel free to tell me what you think. i try my best to respond to everything. i love you.

the sky was still the color of ink, streaked thin with lavender and powder-blue light—a fragile morning that seemed to apologize for arriving at all. 

paige hadn’t meant to be early, but she’d barely slept. her hoodie was inside out, an old relic from her uconn days, and her sneakers were unlaced; there was the familiar tension in her jaw from clenching through dreams she couldn’t remember. she tried to lose some of it, stretching her mouth into strange shapes as her white mercedes eqs rolled over the gravel beginnings of her destination. 

the lot was quiet but not still. the wind picked at the edges of the tarps. there was the smell of fresh earth and wood dust, and something more subtle underneath—clay maybe, or sage. parked off to the side was a mercedes g-wagon, its body dipped in a deep green that pushed against the world's noise and begged it to be silent. the bottom of it was edged with a light layer of dirt. whoever drove it put it to its full use. 

good taste, paige thought to herself. she stepped out of her car, closing the door softly. her phone buzzed with every step she took toward the skeletal structure looming just out of reach and eventually, she stopped, tilting her head back in annoyance. 

she turned back, tossing her phone into the cup holder and leaving it behind. she walked again, back toward the specter of her future house, and tugged her blonde hair into a loose ponytail. her roots were dark and peeking through; she needed ingrid to book her an appointment at the salon before she flew to toronto for whatever conference she’d agreed to speak at.  

paige stepped into what would be the front room, fingers brushing the frame of the temporary doorway. the beams still looked like bones. she stood there, one sneaker slightly sunk in the soil, letting her eyes adjust.

and then she saw her.

the woman was crouched at the far end of the lot, alone, barefoot, her hand in the dirt as if communing with it. she wore a cardigan in a soft, worn orchid purple that hung open, and beneath it an off-the-shoulder top, same color, thinner from wear. the fabric clung delicately to her chest and revealed its swell—not tight, not deliberate, just honest. it wasn’t sexual; it was a mere acknowledgment of her body. her pants folded at the waist like they were meant to, easy and fluid in motion, a smokey blue that matched the sky around them.

paige didn’t speak. just watched, leaning back against the doorway with a titled head.

the woman was tracing lines into the ground with the side of her hand, slow, rhythmic, not unlike a person stirring honey into tea or braiding hair without thinking. her braids were swept back—french curls, spinning down to the waist, a bath of dark brown—and clipped in pl.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･ace with an amber claw clip engraved with a delicate gold design.

for a moment, paige forgot she’d come here to meet anyone. her keys were still in her hands, but she couldn’t remember pulling them out. there was something inside her—a little itch behind the ribs, a breath trapped hot in her chest—that bloomed forward.

the woman didn’t look up right away. when she did, it was brief—just enough to clock paige, then return to the dirt, brushing her hand flat over the lines she’d made.

paige stepped closer and cleared her throat. “didn’t know anyone would be here this early.”

the woman looked up again. her gaze landed on paige and stayed, not exactly warm, but not unkindly either. only curious. quiet.

“neither did i,” she said. “but sometimes it helps to listen to the house before it starts lying.”

paige raised a brow, folding her arms. “houses lie?”

“all the time,” the other woman said, straightening slowly. she brushed her hands against her thighs, light swipes that somehow managed to look graceful. “to clients, to inspectors, to light. you learn to read through it. even hear it.”

“mm,” paige said. it was a noncommittal sound. “i don’t think my ears are tuned for that. you must be azzi.”

azzi crossed her arms, a smile flickering around her mouth. “and you must be ingrid.”

that startled a smile out of paige, her eyes brightening at the tease. it was a slight jab, but fair. 

paige had been wielding her executive assistant like a shield when it came to this whole process. she’d be loath to part with her “bachelor pad” as her brother called it, to step further into her adulthood and put her name on a deed and a house but her family just wouldn’t leave her alone. she’d given in, mostly because she loved them, but had kept her distance until now.  

“touché,” paige said. “unfortunately, ingrid couldn’t make it because she is not one to wake up at the ass crack of dawn. so, i had to show up. hope i haven't disappointed.”

azzi took a few steps toward paige, feet bare against the gravel like it didn’t matter. paige tried not to notice how the cardigan slipped further down her shoulder as she moved, exposing more soft, brown skin. she tried not to notice a lot of things.

“you haven’t,” azzi said. 

paige could smell her, could feel the notes of her perfume begin to snake inside of her head like the smoke of a flame. gardenia, honey, hints of sticky peach, and milk. 

“didn’t think architects got their hands dirty,” paige said, teasing lightly.

azzi tilted her head. “and here i thought executives stayed in their cars.”

that got a low laugh out of paige, caught off-guard. “you always this charming?”

azzi didn’t smile, but her voice softened. she stepped back. “no,” she said. “i don’t flirt. i build.”

there was a beat of quiet. the breeze tugged at the hem of azzi’s cardigan, and paige watched the weak, watery strips of sun land along her collarbone. then azzi nodded toward the frame of the house.

“you don’t know what you want yet. that’s okay. we’ll find it.”

paige looked over at her. “how do you know i don’t know?”

“because your questionnaire was surface level at best,” azzi said simply. “you keep using the words house, building. never ‘home.’ you are unsure if you even want this, let alone what you want to be inside of it.”

azzi crouched again, touching a spot near the beams, then gestured for paige to join her. she hesitated, then stepped forward, crouching too. azzi turned, her lips plump and wet with gloss. they parted, two pink petals. this close, paige could see the dirt on the fat of her fingertips and a thin ring of it underneath her nails. 

“can i ask you a question?”

paige paused, then nodded.

“what was one thing in everyone else’s homes that you loved as a kid?” azzi asked quietly. “that you kept thinking about when you left? the thing that made you go ‘fuck, i wish we had that.’”

paige looked at her, startled for a second. she smiled wryly.“you ask everybody that?”

“only people who need it. my job is to be the nudge, not the push. given your history, you already push yourself.”

“so you looked me up?” paige asked, smiling cheekily.

azzi gave her a look, but paige saw the amusement settle across her face. “to work with you, i have to know who you are.”

“what do you know?”

“nothing,” azzi said. she smelled more like summer peaches the longer they crouched together. “i learned what your brand is. pro-athelete-turned-tech-mogul with a focus on health and mentorship. the body as a temple. the real you? that’s private. i’ll learn as we go, i think.”

something flickered behind paige’s eyes. not quite a smile, not quite defense. just something soft.

azzi didn’t press. she just touched the earth again, palm flat, grounding herself. “i don’t want to erase you. tech’s good,” she added. “you’ll most likely want it in an everyday sense based on what you sell. maybe a smart fridge, but we’ll build around it. we cover it with wood cabinets so it doesn’t reflect the flash when taking photos. or if there are kids one day, it doesn’t get cracked.”

paige blinked. “you think ahead.”

“i listen,” azzi said. “to the house. to you. sometimes to the light.”

she looked up at paige one last time, that long, quiet stare like a lighthouse beam—patient, unwavering.

then she stood. “i’m here to work with you, to give you what you want, paige. what i know of you, i like.”

paige opened her mouth, but words escaped her. azzi didn’t wait.

“i’ll see you at a normal hour,” she said, already walking off. “you, not ingrid.”

paige still didn’t say anything. just watched her disappear into the half-formed spine of the house. she was left alone with a strange fluttering in her ribs. not nerves. more of a mapping out. 

it felt like a blueprint.

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

paige didn’t hear a word of what the man across from her was saying. she only watched his mouth move, saw the whistles of air and speckles of spit leave the dark cavern of his throat. 

he was old and patronizing, his face sagging with the weight of years gone past. ingrid sat next to her, diligently taking notes. she’d seen her boss's body become more tense with every passing minute and knew paige’s focus was more on not losing her mind rather than the supposed merits of the business deal being pitched. 

the room was too warm. or maybe it was just the buzz of her body: tight at the shoulders, jaw stiff, throat dry like she’d swallowed chalk.

the man—walter? wally? fuck, she couldn’t remember—kept talking. words like incentivize and pivot floated up from his side of the table like gnats. paige thought vaguely about swatting them. maybe she could get away with a quick pop against his shoulder, a good silencing hit. 

she blinked. realized she’d been gripping the stem of her water glass so hard her knuckles had gone pale. across the table, ingrid gave her a small, practiced glance. she did it often, instructing her to breathe without actually saying it.

paige appreciated it. ignored it.

her phone buzzed once on the table. then again. and again.

group chat. family. her brother, maybe, asking if she remembered their lunch reschedule. her mom, probably weighing in on the countertop debate with the same energy usually reserved for national elections.

her fingers twitched toward the phone.

william caught it. “everything alright, miss bueckers?”

she smiled, a slow, flat thing. “peachy.”

he laughed like he was supposed to. ingrid stopped writing.

paige tuned out again. she thought of the house lot. the bones of it. the hush of early morning pressed against her skin. azzi’s voice still lingered in her ears, velvet-wrapped steel: i don’t flirt. i build. her language was sexual in a hidden way, a psycho-phantasmic layering of words that ate your body in the moments when you were alone and could think of her. 

paige looked at the window. not through it. just at it. the glass reflected her in pieces. hair up, newly blonde. blue eyes dark and tired. hoodie swapped for a navy knit blazer she didn’t remember putting on. she missed her sneakers.

missed dirt. missed quiet. missed—she barely knew the woman. still, the first impression ran deep, a little too fast to catch.

paige cracked her neck, the pop vicious. “goddamn,” she muttered.

“paige?” ingrid again, this time gentler.

the room had emptied. she hadn’t noticed. her eyes slid to ingrid, who closed the leather folio with a soft snap. she watched as the woman looped the polyester band over the body of her ipad, shutting its violet-colored case with a final, soft ‘plip.’

“you looked like you needed a minute,” ingrid said, already standing.

“thanks.” paige stayed sitting.

ingrid hesitated, then offered, “i’m unsure if you’re up to it, but azzi fudd is downstairs.”

that jolted something loose in her. not nerves. something cellular. like her blood shifted direction.

“in the lobby?” paige asked.

“in your office,” ingrid corrected, and then, almost conspiratorially, “i let her get settled. plus she had a bag of groceries. well—a vintage fox fur birkin of groceries. she brought you plums.”

paige blinked. laughed, small and confused. “like… actual plums?”

ingrid grinned. “dark purple. one already half-bitten. she said you needed fruit, not noise. i’m kind of jealous.”

paige stood without another word. on her way out, she touched ingrid’s shoulder. the younger woman turned, her auburn hair tumbling down the hill of her shoulders. 

“maybe i can convince her to give you one.”

ingrid laughed. 

paige’s office was mostly glass and light. minimalist and clinical, by design. she never liked clutter. still, sometimes her world got away from her and resulted in an impressive mess. she felt dread as she realized it was one of those times.

azzi was bent against the windowsill. she hadn’t touched a chair. she never did unless invited. her body moved like it always did—controlled, efficient, and humming with withheld energy. a saw that never needed to be against wood to prove its sharpness.

her outfit was issey miyake—a voluminous, sculptural black pleated mock-neck top that swirled around her torso with every breath. the pants, a tepid, banana yellow that warmed her skin, whispered across the floor. it appeared effortless, but was also clearly precise, carefully chosen to avoid any unnecessary fuss. her braids were tugged into one large plait, tied by a creamy, ivory bow sitting low at its end. 

the bite of her perfume was softer this time—an amber lead, gardenia sandwiched between dripping honey and that same sticky, wet peach. spiced and rounded. in her hand: a plum, bitten once. the skin split like velvet, the flesh inside red and glistening.

“did i catch you at a bad time?” she asked.

the question was innocent, devoid of the typical ingenuity it held when asked by people who didn’t care about bothering her. 

“nah,” paige said. “just in the middle of losing my shit.”

azzi offered the plum. paige waved it off. azzi shrugged. took another bite, her teeth flashing quickly.

“you’re doing too much,” she said between chews.

“you sound like my mother.”

“i sound like someone watching a client she kind of likes spiral for no reason.”

“kind of likes? there’s hope for me after all, huh?”

azzi snorted a laugh, her lips curling wide and fruit-stained. god, paige wanted to eat her. the thought was so surprising that paige choked in the middle of her next sip of water.

azzi’s eyes darted around the clutter of paige’s desk, politely ignoring the rising red of paige’s skin as the executive coughed. papers were sprawled across it in chaotic arrangements. aftermath, fragments of a brainstorm that never really took off. 

her gaze was quiet, absorbing. a beat passed before she stepped forward and nudged aside a few of the design magazines and mock-ups that paige had been staring at like they held the answers. the silence stretched between them, thick but not heavy. azzi set her plum gently in a glass dish like it mattered. her fingers skimmed a stack of fabric samples that had appeared in the last week, all neutrals and beige-on-beige.

she didn’t say anything. just swept the whole stack into the trash.

“i appreciate you redoing the questionnaire for my firm,” azzi said, staunchly ignoring paige’s open mouth, “but it still felt inauthentic. there are other people in your ear. shut them up.”

paige blinked. “that’s not—”

“you’re not getting anywhere,” azzi continued, her tone light but the words cutting through the noise, unbothered. “you’re too tangled in everyone else’s version of what you should want.”

“okay, first of all—” paige tried again.

“you don’t want any of it,” azzi cut her off again. “i can hear it in your voice every time you talk about this house. it’s all noise. white noise in a dentist’s office.”

she picked up paige’s tablet and placed it in front of her.

“you will live in this. so start easy. and alone,” azzi said. “find something you like. you called yourself an ipad kid. so, maybe look on pinterest again. tunnel vision, just yours. email me when you’re done.”

“what if it’s still not me?” paige said finally.

“i’ll tell you. i’m capable of emailing you back.”

paige didn’t speak. just stared at her. at the braid thick against her back. the faint pink smear of plum on her thumb. the steadiness of her. the kind of woman who knew how to be still, who could hold paige down.

“you drive me crazy.”

the confession slipped out, but azzi didn’t mind. it was good—something paige wanted. 

azzi looked up from beneath her lashes. paige liked that she was taller than her, that azzi would slot under her chin if they hugged. she watched as the other woman sucked in her bottom lip, rolling the skin beneath her teeth before letting it go. 

“you’ve only met me twice,” was her response. then she was gone.

paige stood there. still vibrating from the closeness. still aching with something she couldn’t name.

ingrid, the ever-astute assistant, appeared in the doorway. she glanced at paige, then at the space azzi had left behind.

“i’m glad you picked her,” ingrid said with a knowing smile, her voice light, almost teasing. she left, closing the door with a gentle click.

the plum in the dish caught the light.

paige sat. picked it up and put her mouth around it, sucking azzi into the space behind her teeth. 

it was sweet. her thighs clenched. 

she put it down.

opened pinterest.

typed slowly, as if it mattered: big windows.

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

things got easier for a while.

the next questionnaire paige filled out garnered nothing but a short email back. “good. more like you.” paige had grinned to herself, tossing her phone onto her nightstand with a little wiggle of victory. she figured she was finding a way to fit into the flow of things, by taking on this project. 

so, she called up her parents. despite them living separate lives now, she wanted both of them there. her mother was ecstatic, so much so that paige held her phone from her ear with a grimace before putting the woman on speakerphone for her health. her father was less enthusiastic but promised to show. paige let it be enough. 

but fuck if she wasn’t perfect at being self-destructive because thirty minutes in and paige wanted to slit her own throat. it was all turning into a bright blur. paige couldn’t remember half of what had been said by now, her mind swirling with the push-pull of her parents’ well-meaning but suffocating expectations. 

they’d stood there in front of the lot, her dad pointing out ideas that sounded more like demands, his voice firm and authoritative, as if he could will the house into being by sheer force of will. her mom was quieter, watching the land with an expression that was half curiosity, half concern like she was seeing something paige couldn’t.

nothing felt right, despite how much paige liked it. the house, the project, it all suddenly felt like it was slipping through her fingers, and every suggestion from her parents only piled more pressure on her chest. every detail seemed to make her feel smaller, her ability to control anything vanishing in the shadow of their expectations.

she redid her bun for the sixth time, and her dad caught sight of her fidgeting only to push harder, talking about how this was going to be her legacy. 

"you just want this to feel like you, paigey," he had said, but it sounded more like a reprimand than anything else.

“it does, dad. i like it. doesn’t that matter? why the fuck are y’all so invested anyway?”

“paige, don’t speak to your father like that,” her mother said absentmindedly, flashing her a look.

paige scoffed. her chest tightened and her breathing went shallow. the wide open space of the lot, the unfinished house—it threatened to swallow her. 

"i gotta go," she muttered, turning away.

her mom called after her, but paige was already walking. she didn’t get very far before someone was beside her. she turned slightly, blue eyes catching on brown. minutely, her body relaxed in the face of azzi’s immovable calm. the woman didn’t say anything for a moment, just reached down and grabbed paige’s hand.

“come with me.”

it wasn’t a question. where else would paige ever go?

azzi's g-wagon truly was a tank of a car, dark green and unassuming, with a subtle sheen like it was meant to be a part of the landscape rather than stand out. the inside smelled of black cherry, and a pink-capped sonny angel dangled from the neck of the mirror. 

it hummed quietly in the makeshift parking lot, parked off to the side like an afterthought. the house was in the distance, looming like a skeleton in the desert, half-birthed and still waiting for life. loomed, yes, but it had lost its monopoly on paige’s attention. what held it now was the woman sitting next to her, and the way she swayed to the soft music from the car’s stereo playing in the background. 

the sun was starting to dip lower, but the light was still warm, flooding the space between them. azzi sat self-assured and uncompromised as she drove, the side of her face warm, almost covered in flame by way of the dying daylight. her curls were out, the braids undone momentarily for the time being. paige wanted the image of her burned into her mind forever, the heat of her desire so potent that it threatened to turn her brain into a pink molten mass; a pulse of nerves and pain.

they only stopped twice: once to pick up food and again, to sit and eat.

paige leaned back into the seat, her legs stretching long across the bench, the worn denim of her patchwork jorts fraying at the edges. her hair was falling from its messy bun, stray strands falling against her forehead as she absently picked at the edge of a fry, her eyes flicking between azzi and the world around them.

the trunk had been opened to create more space, the seats put down as well, and warm summer air gently invaded the backseat. a tangle of takeout bags sat between them, food half-eaten, the quiet hum of the forest just outside the window. azzi had driven them to a park but had made no effort to get out and join the throng of people in the center of the green. 

she made it clear the car was their fortress, and everyone else must stay out. paige was grateful. she needed the boundary.

"tell me what’s holding you back," azzi said quietly, her eyes fixed on the grass ahead, though her hand was resting lazily on her thigh, fingertips drumming against it as she waited for paige to answer.

she was in stark contrast in her white scoop-neck halter top, her body leaned back a little too, like she was trying to make herself comfortable, but paige could see there was something tight in her posture. she had on low-rise jeans—old school, real low-rise that cupped the moonish curve of her hips—and they fit her perfectly, baring the cool jewel of her belly piercing every time she shifted. 

paige couldn’t help it, her gaze lingering on the way azzi’s hips moved when she shifted, the soft line of her stomach that made paige’s heart skip a little each time she saw it.

paige chewed on a fry, squinting slightly out into the world, pretending to consider the question before shrugging. “i don’t know. i guess… it’s just a lot, you know? like, what if i can’t make it mine? what if i can’t figure out how to feel about it?”

azzi nodded, her profile sharp in the half-light, and paige noticed the tension in her jaw, the way she softened her gaze when it shifted back to her. “with what i saw of your parents, i imagine it can feel like a pressure cooker. you were right to ask why they are so…invested.”

paige snorted. “i’m a brand, ma. it’s about the pictures of my house, not the living in it.”

azzi said nothing of the pet name, but her eyes flickered to paige’s face. they were so dark and wide, a deer’s gaze from the middle of the road.

"you’re slowly getting into it though,” azzi added after a moment, her voice low. "there’s been a change. you were… distant before. but now? you’re letting it in."

paige looked back at her, meeting her eyes over the cardboard box housing her boneless wings, something wry pulling at her lips. she laughed lightly.

 "mm, i’m gettin' more into something alright." she let the words hang in the air, a playful grin creeping up on her face. "but it ain’t the house."

azzi’s eyes widened just the slightest, and paige caught the moment before she could hide it. a small flush appeared on azzi’s cheeks, the softest blush of color. she tried to laugh it off, but paige felt the power in it—felt like she’d just forced a crack in the calm.

"okay, paige. do you always flirt like that?" azzi asked, voice not quite steady. she looked away, her lips tight, but there was an undertone of warmth underneath it. like she didn’t know whether to be annoyed or charmed.

paige chuckled, reaching for another fry, but keeping her gaze on azzi.

 "nah," she said casually, "but you do something to me."

azzi scoffed, shaking her head in a way that was both endearing and disarming. "you know what they say. too much confidence isn’t exactly good for you."

paige couldn’t help the grin that pulled at the corner of her mouth. “i’m good with it, trust.”

the air between them thickened, charged, in that brief second before they both turned their attention to the bags of food between them. azzi let her breath out slowly like she was trying to regain control of herself, but paige could tell—she’d gotten under her skin. 

she felt an electric wave ripple through her. this could become addictive. 

azzi shoveled a spoon of quinoa and grilled chicken into her mouth, her cheeks bulging adorably.

"so," paige said, popping a fry into her mouth, "you’re telling me you don’t sneak a little unhealthy snack every once in a while?"

azzi shot her a sideways glance, eyes flicking to paige’s takeout container with a raised brow. "i don’t know what you’re talking about," she replied, but her voice gave her away.

"you really don’t think i’m noticing how you’re eyeing my wings?" paige teased, leaning forward slightly, her chin resting on her palm. "you’re practically drooling over them, ma. and i don’t blame you because that," she pointed a fry at azzi’s chicken bowl, “looks like it hurts going down.”

azzi laughed, her eyes widening as if she were surprised by the sound of her own joy. it was a good sound—soft and easy. paige smiled and added another tally to the scorecard in her head. 

paige: 2 | the most beautiful girl in the fucking world: 0. 

"i don’t know what you mean," azzi repeated, though her eyes flickered to the box again.

without waiting for permission, she reached over and stole a wing, taking it in one fluid motion, her fingers brushing against paige’s hand. the touch was fleeting, but it landed somewhere deep in paige’s chest. she froze for a moment, and then, almost without thinking, she giggled.

"you’re sneaky," paige said, mock exasperated, though her voice softened when she said it.

azzi bit into the wing, a little too casually. she was pretending it was no big deal, but paige could see through the act. azzi was revealing herself through this act. 

"you’re not even a little mad?" azzi asked, her voice lighter as though she was testing the waters.

paige glanced at her, her eyes narrowing slightly. 

"i’m mad, but i’m also gonna let it slide," she said, leaning back again. she felt a grin tugging at her lips. "i’m just gonna remind you every time we’re together that you owe me, alright?"

azzi smiled then, a small thing that barely touched her lips but made something warm web through paige’s chest. 

"i’ll make it up to you," azzi said, voice velvety. paige could tell she meant it. 

there was a long pause, and for a second, paige was lost. the world around them felt muffled, like they were in their own bubble, floating in the warm glow of the late afternoon. paige found herself leaning in, watching as azzi wiped her mouth. she propped her elbows on her knees as she spoke, her voice quieter now, more serious.

"i think… i think i’m scared. of this whole thing. i’m scared of what happens if i let myself care about it. about the house. about the project."

“why?” azzi asked, her tone careful.

“before, when i lived on my own in my ‘bachelor pad’,” paige rolled her eyes as she said it, “i don’t know. it felt like a good barrier between the public and my life. with this house, as stupid as it sounds, i feel like it's going to open up more opportunities for people to feed on me. it’s going to be headlines about me purchasing and building, speculation about the next steps like kids and marriage, and shit. ‘why is the condo not enough? you know?”

azzi hummed, still leaving room for paige to speak. she set the finished wing down in the container, reaching for her water bottle, but not looking away from paige. she was listening—really listening.

“then there will be the interview requests. the architectural digest tours, the vogue spread. like fuck.” paige drew the curse out and azzi shifted as she did, her stomach surging with heat at the growl of it. “i hate the media, az. i hate it. i hate talking.”

"i think you’re scared of a lot of things, paige," azzi said quietly, her tone more serious than before. “but you have more control than you think. an interview request is a request, not a court order.” 

she looked at her, her gaze needling deep into paige’s skin. she could feel the puncture, but there was no pain. only release.

“you don’t owe anyone anything.” 

paige swallowed and closed her eyes. she shifted in her seat, uncomfortable at the feeling of being seen so closely. she shook her head slightly, trying to push the feeling away. 

“it’s not that easy.”

azzi made a noise of disagreement, and paige opened her eyes. “most of the time, it only feels that way.”

for a brief moment, their faces were close, too close, the air between them crackling with something unspoken. paige didn’t know when they had moved closer, but she didn’t want to move away. azzi was perfectly still, lips parted slightly, and for a moment, paige swore she could feel the weight of the entire world resting in that space between them. 

then a child’s yell tore into the silence, and the spell broke.

“you like to give me nicknames,” azzi said lightly, beginning to clean up their meal. “ma, az. i didn’t know we were so close, ms. bueckers.”

paige shot her a knowing grin as she hopped out of the trunk and stretched. 

“you’d complain if you hated it. i don’t think you’re the type to not say shit.”

azzi blinked, her face flushing with a mixture of surprise and something else. it was that familiar pull from before, the one that made paige’s heart run that race, send that thread through the needle.

"you're impossible," azzi muttered, but the softness in her voice told paige that it wasn’t an insult.

paige felt a small victory then, a little spark of something inside her. azzi liked her. and that felt like something.

“come on,” paige said, her voice thick with affection. “i’ll drive back.”

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

the sky was ink-dark when paige next turned into the driveway, her headlights sweeping across what was no longer just a skeleton. the house had skin now—walls and windows and the beginnings of a life. she killed the engine and sat for a moment, letting the silence settle around her. no elevator music. no neighbors' footsteps. no security guard nodding hello in the lobby. just… stillness. maybe this was what the whole house thing was about.

her flight from san francisco had been delayed twice. the flagship launch had gone well, honestly better than expected, but she'd spent the entire day surrounded by people wanting pieces of her: reporters with their hungry questions, investors with their anxious eyes, and fans with their phones already raised for selfies. by the time she boarded, her smile felt painted on.

but the closer she got to home, to azzi, the more settled her blood felt in her body. and now, stepping out of her car, paige felt something give and fall through her.

the house was dark except for a faint glow coming from somewhere inside—probably the temporary construction lights. she hadn't expected anyone to be here. she’d only wanted to come on her own, see it before she went to sleep. feel it, feel azzi, before she went to sleep. her key slid into the new front door lock, and the sound it made was satisfying in a way she couldn't quite name. 

inside, the smell of fresh paint and sawdust hung in the air. most of the rooms were still unfinished, but they had walls now, and the concrete floors had been poured. her footsteps echoed as she moved through the entryway, following the source of light. a trail of tiny splatters—paint, probably—led toward the kitchen.

that's where she found her.

azzi was lying flat on her back in the center of what would be the kitchen, arms extended slightly from her sides, eyes closed. she looked fowlish, a bird trapped in the act of flight. the construction light cast long shadows across her face, catching on the high points of her features. 

she wore faded jeans rolled at the ankles and a once-white tank top now streaked with gray-blue paint that matched the swatch on the adjacent wall. the same paint had somehow found its way onto her skin—a streak across her forearm, another on her stomach where the tank top had ridden up slightly. 

paige stood in the doorway, strangely afraid to break whatever spell she was under.

"i can hear you breathing," azzi said without opening her eyes.

paige smiled despite herself. "that's low-key creepy."

"the house told me you were here."

"now you're just fucking w’me."

azzi's eyes opened then, finding paige's in the dimness. "maybe a little." a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "how was the launch?"

paige sighed, dropping her bag near the doorway. "exhausting. successful. the usual."

"congratulations, paige."

paige felt her dna rearrange as azzi said her full name, as she took in the way her sweet mouth moved around it and pushed it out.

"thank you, az."

silence settled between them, comfortable rather than strained. paige moved closer, sinking until she was sitting cross-legged beside azzi's prone form. she let her hand rest lightly on the cool concrete, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from azzi's skin without actually touching her.

"what you doing?" she asked, nodding toward azzi's position on the floor.

"what you hired me to do, bueckers. working." azzi's eyes drifted closed again. "the kitchen needs a skylight."

"is that right?"

"mm-hmm. the overhead light we planned won't work. too…" azzi gestured vaguely with one hand. "artificial. morning light should come from above in a kitchen. you'll want that when you make coffee."

paige snorted. "bold of you to assume i make coffee."

"you will, here." the certainty in azzi's voice sent something warm through paige's chest.

"how do you know that?"

"the house tells me things."

"you're so fucking weird." but paige was smiling as she said it, her fingertips inching closer until they just barely grazed the side of azzi's hand.

azzi opened one eye, the brown of it piercing even on its own. "lie down."

"what?"

"lie down, paige."

paige hesitated only briefly before stretching out on the concrete beside azzi. the floor was cool and hard against her back, but not uncomfortable. above them, the ceiling was still exposed in places, wooden beams intersecting with electrical wiring. she watched it swing, never looking away as she let her arm press against azzi's, skin to skin, the contact electric even through her exhaustion. she felt azzi press back, her body shifting to apply equal pressure. 

"close your eyes," azzi instructed.

"we meditating?"

"we're listening."

paige closed her eyes with a loose grin, feeling slightly ridiculous but willing to play along. for a while, all she heard was their breathing and the occasional creak of the new structure settling. her awareness shifted to the places where their bodies connected—shoulder to shoulder, the sides of their arms, the occasional brush of azzi's pinky finger against hers. 

she breathed in deeply, letting azzi’s smell web along her bones and veins. it was borderline erotic, how the peach note wept all over azzi’s skin and clothes. how the gardenia got stuck, how the cinnamon seemed to crawl and transfer over onto paige. she felt it like ants and her mouth parted, like she would’ve let them in if they were real. she wanted azzi all over, azzi inside of her, azzi all the time. 

was this normal? she needed to read the reviews for this firm. or maybe she needed to test out that psychic ingrid was attached to. she’d know.

"what am i listening for?" she whispered finally.

"the house. how it moves. how sound travels. where the light wants to be."

paige turned her head slightly toward azzi and opened her eyes. "where did you learn to do this?"

the question hung between them for a moment. paige could sense azzi weighing her answer.

"my dad," she said finally. "tim. he took me to work with him when i was little."

"he an architect too?"

"contractor. he built things other people designed." azzi's voice softened with the memory. "we'd play hide and seek in the houses before they were finished. empty rooms, no furniture, just possibilities. he'd tell me to hide, and i'd have to listen for his footsteps to know where he was."

the image settled in paige's mind: a small azzi crouched in empty rooms, ears attuned to the subtle sounds of movement.

"i got good at it," azzi continued. "not just hearing him, but hearing the houses too. how sound bounced differently in different spaces. how light moved through the day. i saw the desire for purpose. dad noticed. started asking what i thought about the designs he was building." her lips curved into a smile. "i usually had opinions."

"nah, really?" paige murmured, and azzi's smile widened. her teeth were like pearls.

"once, when i was about nine, we were working on this huge house in greenwich. all glass and chrome, very modern. the owners wanted everything sleek, minimal. but the house didn't want that."

"the house told you that, huh?"

"it did." azzi's tone was matter-of-fact. "i told dad the living room was too cold, that it needed wood, not tile. he thought i was just being a kid, but the next week, the owners came by and said the exact same thing."

"so your dad listened to you after that?"

"he started to. said i had good instincts." azzi turned her head then, meeting paige's gaze. "he died when i was sixteen. heart attack."

"fuck, azzi. i'm so sorry," paige said softly.

"me too.” azzi's eyes glistened, wet and large. she shuddered with the weight of grief, turning her head and drifting back to the ceiling. "but by then, he'd already taught me what i needed to know. it's what made me want to be an architect. to create spaces that speak."

something about the vulnerability in azzi's voice made paige's chest ache. 

“i wish it was different. that he’d been here longer, but then again, who would i be?”

paige watched the subtle shifts of emotion across azzi's face, the way the construction light caught in her eyelashes when she blinked. slowly, deliberately, she moved her free hand to rest on azzi's forearm, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath her touch.

"this house speaks to you?" paige asked, her thumb making small circles on azzi's skin.

"all of them do. but this one…" azzi paused, seeming to search for the right words. "this one's been waiting for you, i think. even when you weren't sure about it."

"that's a nice way of saying i've been difficult."

azzi laughed, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. "you haven't been difficult. you told me yourself—you've been afraid."

the word landed with unexpected weight. paige felt stripped bare by it, exposed in a way that should have made her uncomfortable but somehow didn't.

"maybe," she admitted.

"it's okay to be afraid of how much you may want something. i spend a lot of time that way."

azzi turned onto her side then, propping herself on one elbow to face paige properly. a smudge of paint marked her cheekbone, and without thinking, paige reached out to brush it away with her thumb. the touch lingered, her hand cupping azzi's jaw.

"is that why you keep pushing me away?" paige asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "because i want you?"

azzi's eyes darkened. "i'm not pushing you away."

"you're not exactly pulling me in. been leaving me on read."

"i wasn’t aware we’d been texting.”

“you know what i mean. emotionally.” 

i'm trying to be professional."

"and how's that working out for you, ma?" paige shifted closer, the full length of her body now pressed against azzi's side, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing, the subtle tension in her muscles.

the corner of azzi's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "not great."

their faces were close now, close enough that paige could feel azzi's breath against her lips. the space between them seemed charged with possibility, with wanting. it was a raw pause, a silence that held as their bodies communicated chemically. at a primal level, they ached. they needed one another. 

paige's hand slid from azzi's jaw to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through the short curls there.

"tell me to stop," paige murmured, her nose brushing against azzi's.

“no, thank you."

that made paige laugh quietly. and it was all the permission she needed. 

she closed the distance between them, her lips finding azzi's in the dim light. the kiss was gentle at first, exploratory, but quickly deepened as months of tension dissolved into hunger. azzi's hand came up to curl around the back of paige's neck, pulling her closer.

paige thought of azzi’s plum from that day in her office, of that first split of velvet skin, the sweet flesh inside. azzi tasted like that—like something ripe and perfect finally broken open. a sound escaped her throat, half-groan, half-sigh, as azzi's tongue slid against her own.

azzi let out an odd, fractured mewl as paige rolled them over. now, azzi was on top of her. her body pressed down into paige’s grip, letting the older woman snake a hand down her back and under her tank. she shivered as paige dragged her nails across her skin, her palm coming to rest over the lace cup of azzi’s bra.

azzi loved the way she touched her: urgent, desperate to explore but restraining herself and her necessity until azzi allowed her to break. and azzi would’ve fucked her right there, would’ve let paige suck and lap at the dark peaks of her nipples as her hips bucked. 

but it wouldn’t be sanitary or comfortable.

when they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, paige rested her forehead against azzi's.

"been wanting to do that since i saw you barefoot in the dirt," she admitted, her thumb tracing the line of azzi's collarbone. "you got in my fucking blood. you’ve been driving me out of my mind."

azzi smiled, coy and sweet. "i know."

"you know? that's it? that's crazy, bruh."

"i wanted you too," azzi said, her voice soft in the space between them. her fingers traced a path down paige's cheek, leaving a blush in their wake. "but i needed to be sure you wanted the house first. not just me."

paige pulled back slightly, meeting azzi's eyes. "why?"

"because i build homes, paige." azzi's fingers found the hem of paige's shirt, slipping beneath to rest against the warm skin of her lower back. "not temporary spaces. i needed to know you were interested in any sort of permanence.”

"i am," paige said and was surprised by how much she meant it. "for real. i'm, like, really interested."

azzi laughed then, a full, unguarded burst that transformed her face. it was crystalline, an external expulsion of light. 

she leaned in, kissing paige again, slower this time but no less intense. paige felt herself melting into the touch, her body responding to every point of contact—azzi's hand on her back, their legs intertwined, the soft press of breasts against her own. 

above them, the moon was full, a white eye with no pupil or iris. it stained them silver, bled through where the skylight would eventually be.

.ೃ࿔ ⌂*:･

the house was near its end. 

the contractors appeared less and less, and the house filled more and more. paige let her mother have free reign on the quality of furniture, sending her a rather massive pinterest board alongside ingrid’s number if she had any opinion that contradicted her daughter’s. 

azzi stood by the window in what would be paige's bedroom, her silhouette outlined in late afternoon light. her burgundy sweater caught the golden glow, giving her an almost ethereal quality against the unfinished walls. the black maxi skirt she wore pooled around her feet like ink, making her seem taller than she already was. dust motes danced in the air between them as she turned toward the sound of paige's footsteps.

"i'm thinking maybe the bed should face this way," azzi said, gesturing toward the east-facing window. "so you wake up with the sunrise."

paige leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, taking in the sight of azzi in this space—her space. something about seeing her here, planning and dreaming, made paige's chest tighten in a way that wasn't altogether unpleasant.

"bold of you to assume i wake up before noon on days off," paige replied.

azzi's mouth twisted in amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "you will, here. this room wants light."

"the room wants light," paige echoed, pushing off from the doorframe and moving into the space. "what about what i want?"

azzi looked up at her from beneath dark lashes, her head slightly tilted. "what do you want, paige?"

the question hung between them, layered with meaning beyond just furniture placement. paige moved closer, stopping just shy of touching her.

"i want to know why you chose burgundy today," she said, gesturing to azzi's sweater.

azzi blinked, clearly not expecting that question. "i—what?"

"the sweater. why burgundy? do you like that color?"

a small smile played at the corner of azzi's mouth. "i don't know. i mean yes, but…it felt right."

"and the skirt?"

"are you interviewing me now?" azzi asked, her voice lilting with humor.

paige shrugged, her expression serious despite the lightness in her tone. "if you're gonna be in here with me, i need to know what you like."

"in your bedroom," azzi clarified, one eyebrow arched elegantly.

"in my life," paige countered.

azzi's smile deepened, a shy curve across her face. she turned back toward the window, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the glass. "that's rather presumptuous, isn't it? that i'll be with you forever."

paige moved behind her then, close enough that azzi could feel her warmth but not quite touching. "nah, it's not."

"no?" azzi turned her head slightly, just enough to catch paige's eye over her shoulder. “the amount of times we’ve been together, or gone on dates, still fits on two hands.”

“so? you and me?" paige said, her voice dropping lower. "that's forever."

azzi's breath caught, but she maintained her composure, that same amused twist returning to her lips. "and you know this how?"

paige closed the distance between them then, her chest pressing against azzi's back, hands coming to rest lightly on her hips. she could feel azzi's slight intake of breath, the way her body instinctively leaned back into the contact.

"god, maybe," paige murmured, her expression intense and unrelenting as azzi turned to face her fully. "i just—i just know."

the simplicity of her faith hung in the air between them, as solid and real as the walls rising around them. azzi studied her face, searching for any hint of doubt or artifice. paige gazed back, met her there. finding none, azzi slowly tilted her head back, exposing the long line of her neck in a gesture of surrender.

"my dad used to tell me that there would be times in my life when i’d get the closest that god would ever allow to what i wanted. no matter if it was good or bad. when i did, i had to reach out and hold on, or i’d be fucked over it for the rest of my life. i’d always be full of regret.” she tilted her head, and azzi watched her ponytail dip with it. “i don’t want to regret you.”

paige's lips found the sensitive skin of azzi’s neck, pressing gently at first. then the kiss grew teeth, swelled with intent. azzi's hands came up to grip paige's arms, steadying herself as her eyes fluttered closed. she knew it would leave a mark. blushing and bruising had the same internal mechanisms.

"so certain," azzi whispered, the words vibrating against paige's mouth.

paige smiled against her skin. "always have been. about the things that matter."

azzi turned in her arms then, bringing them face to face. her eyes were serious now, the playfulness replaced with something deeper, more vulnerable.

"forever is a long time," she said softly. 

paige reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind azzi's ear, her touch lingering on the curve of her jaw. "not long enough."

the late afternoon light stretched across them, painting stripes of gold and shadow on the unfinished floor. in this half-built room, with walls still waiting for color and windows still missing curtains, they stood on the threshold of something neither had fully expected to find.

"you still have more to learn about me," azzi told her, the words quiet and full. “you still might regret me.”

"i won’t,” paige said. “i won’t, azzi.”

azzi reached up with one hand, cupping paige’s chin as she pulled her down. she didn’t close the gap, just held her there. azzi’s eyes never left her. they were two dark planets, heavy with inescapable gravity.

“i won’t,” paige repeated, her voice decisive. “i know it. like i know my own name.”

and azzi trusted that she did.

© hcneymooners.

[mihii-i]

if you still write for danganronpa could i req a kokichi x afab (preferably gn) reader smut oneshot? pls n thx!!

molded

Pairings: kokichi x gn!reader

CW: nsfw, gender neutral pronouns, afab reader, breeding, no dom/sub dynamics, sort of vanilla sex but kinda rough??? kokichi being out of it? that pussy was too good

A/N: sorry I’ve been inactive for a few days I needed some time to collect myself lol also this one’s short bc I got not so creative feel free to request again if you want more detail or longer?

Heavy breathing and strained gasps echoed off the walls of the surrounding room. New sounds were wrenched out of your throat every time you felt Kokichi bottom out inside you, dragging himself in quick, yet rhythmic motions. Every thrust inside you sent euphoric waves throughout your body, your mind blanking from every time his tip hit that one sensitive spot inside you.

Kokichi knew damn well that as much as he wanted to hear your gorgeous moans, he couldn’t hold back his own voice no matter how much he wanted to. Between each fervent thrust of his hips colliding against yours, his lower lip dragged between his teeth, muffling his own grunts as his hard cock pushed into you. The sensations enveloping your bodies was too much. It drove you over the edge upon feeling Kokichi press several sloppy kisses against your flushed skin between his movements, it was honestly an adorable attempt to show his love for you.

A guttural moan escaped your throat upon feeling him push himself to the hilt into your cunt, as if he was trying to reach inside you as far as possible. The way he buried himself into you was slow, yet calculated. Stretching you out from the girth of his dick and practically molding your pussy to slip around his cock perfectly. You heaved several shallow breaths upon feeling the delicious intrusion within you, clawing into his back and raking your nails down.

“K-Kokichi…” you drawled out weakly, biting back another moan as you clenched around him. Kokichi however couldn’t even respond, nor could he tease like he usually does. He was so lost in the sensations, drool piled up near the corners of his mouth and sweat beading down his whole body. At this point, the two of you were just giving in to any raw desire you had and going along with it.

Despite being so small in terms of height, down there he certainly wasn’t based on how you were practically screaming for him. Your thighs trembled in his grasp as the muscles tightened upon feeling his steady movements in and out of you once again.

The way Kokichi’s cock was lodged inside you, mixed with the rhythmic motions of each rugged thrust only assisted by your slick submerging his cock for smoother movements, drove him insane.

“(Name)- please I can’t-“ Kokichi gasped out, his head thrown back as he was evidently biting back a string of obscene noises.

He hissed under his breath, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and quick. Skin clashed against skin as you felt his hips roughly collide with yours, with lewd squelching noises filling the air shamelessly. Kokichi shamelessly pounded into you, his own moans now slipping out of him with tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. Euphoric sensations washed over your whole body, your eyes rolling back every time you felt the veins of his cock ridge along your walls, driving you mad.

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, your eyes losing themselves in his violet gaze like you always did. You loved him so much. “M’gonna cum…can we? At the same time?”

Kokichi could only nod between his labored breathing and fervent thrusts, immediately pushing himself forward into you and filling you up completely. His head fell back, fingers digging into your supple skin and heaving out a low moan as ropes of his cum poured into you, your own orgasm washing over you not too long after.

Your chests heaved as you came down from your high, bodies stuck together as if you were both molded for each other. You pressed a kiss to the top of his nose, smiling at his flushed face and dazed expression.

“Wanna go for another?”

A/N: delaying anything in my box because I got a personal request!! Hope u don’t mind short fic

[potchi-fics]

note: no smut LOL IM SORRY, I GOT HOME AND I FELL ASLEEP ON THE COUCH CUS IM SO TIREDDDDDDD YALL THIS IS ALL I GOT, THIS IS ALL I GOT. i cannot even fathom how i managed to write this (not proofread, ill do it when i wake up pls meow meow) this is the part two of playing with fire

      the twitch of your eye portrays the frustration seeping through you, the paper in your hand greatly souring your mood. you do not know how many hours you have been hunched over your desk, but the soreness in your shoulders and the glasses slipping on the bridge of your nose tell you.

something isn’t right with what you’re seeing; the numbers, dates, even the signatures are incorrect. you straighten your posture, your weight leaning on the elbow of the hand you’re using to hold the sheet of paper, your hair falling into the frame of your face, and your other rubbing your chin in deep thought.

“arden,” you called out to your assistant beside you, “who did this sloppy of a paperwork? i thought i made myself clear about doing work proficient–”

      you’re cut off when the door to your office is suddenly opened. you mask your surprise when you see her, ambessa medarda. 

she has a scowl on her face; her stare is full of anger, the tips of her fingers turning white with how hard she’s clenching her hands.

“never learned of knocking, general? and i believe our meeting is set for next week.” you look back down to the paper, doubt still gnawing in the pits of your stomach, “i also believe that i did not summon for you. what brings you here?”

      she all but growls, but, she doesn’t know if it's due to her anger or… you—the appearance of you: your posture, your tired-looking face, the skin of your legs from the split of your dress; a goddess is what you are, she thinks.

she savours the image of you before her. however, without even sparing her a glance, you spoke.

“general, speak.”

instantly responding, she baffles you with her words, “the supposed resources that are to be delivered to me have not reached me, your majesty. what is the meaning of this?”

“pardon?” you motion to arden to leave, bowing to you, she quietly leaves, “i am afraid i do not know what you are saying, general.”

ambessa walks a step closer, “this will put a strain on our contract, your majesty, i hope you are aware of that.”

“general, i am fully aware.” a hand takes your glasses off, and you lean back on your chair, eyes closing at the feeling of your back stretching. “on the other hand, i do not know what you mean when you say the shipment has not been completed.”

“i do hope you are not playing dumb, your majes–”

“i can assure you, general, i am not.”

      how she loves riling you up. how your fingers twitch in anger, your eyes scrutinizing her, knowing how powerful she is and yet, you hold your ground. she loves all of it.

ambessa reveled in it.

“apologies for the inconvenience, general,” ignoring her smug look, you stand up, and walk around your desk to show her the papers, you beckon her over,  “come. take a look at this.”

she does, nearing you until you start to feel her figure looming over you. “sloppy paperwork, your majesty.”

“do not even get me started. that is filthy.” you spread the sheets on your desk, ignoring how the proximity is sending warmth to your abdomen, “look, something is not right, correct?”

she leans over your shoulder, and a soft exhale emits from you, “correct, your majesty.”

“what’s worse is not only did this happen once, but thrice.” you can feel your anger bubbling over, “three times. someone has been stealing from me, selling it to others. i will take care of everything, general. see to it that the shipment will be delivered soon.”

ambessa made no move to back away, “hoping to dismiss me so quickly, your majesty? here i was thinking you’re finally softening up on me.” she pressed on, her breath hitting the back of your ear, “i must say, that does hurt.”

“need i remind you of your so-called thoughts about professional entanglements, general? i am starting to think you want me to break them.” your eyes close, the heat on your abdomen traveling down, pooling between your legs. “oh, you would love that, won’t you, general?”

you let out a shaky breath when you feel her hand on your stomach, your back pressing against her front, her nose slotting it behind your ear, smelling the fragrance you sprayed, “so innocent for a bold little lamb.”

“mhmm,” the hum vibrates your chest. you raise your right arm, your fingers grazing her cheek, then burying them into the back of her head, pulling her head down slightly, and you push back against her to whisper into her ear, “you aren’t exactly subtle, as well, general.” 

      she could destroy you with the strength she has, she could tear you into pieces by pieces. you focus on her body, on her bulging muscles, her long fingers, and her firm-toned stomach.

your thoughts run wild; you would take everything. ambessa places a kiss on the side of your neck. this is wrong. both of you knew that, but why aren’t you stopping? 

you give her more access, and her kisses leave a fire in their wake, from your jaw to your pulse, pecking it over and over again, you scratch her scalp tenderly in appreciation. she grabs your hand that’s on her head, manhandling you to turn you around.

you peer up at her through your eyelashes, eyes parted and your breaths shallow. your neck and cheeks are flushed. ambessa was no better: her irises darkened, she was breathing heavily, and she looked like she was holding herself back from doing something. 

her palm gently meets your cheek, her thumb running along your bottom lip, “i am far from innocent, ambessa.”

      and she is spiraling. she nudges herself between your legs, forcing you to sit on your desk. her hand is now grasping the whole side of your neck, with her thumb now tracing along your cheekbone. she needs to hear you say her name again. she yearns for you to utter out her name once more.

“say it again.”

“ambessa.”

      she leans in. she’s a mere millimeters away when a knock stopped her. you gently push her away, hurriedly fixing your appearance. she could only grit her teeth, her gaze was fixed on the door, fury evident in her eyes.

if looks could kill, the person on the other side would be dead.

you clear your throat, you soothe out the creases on your dress, “come in.” 

“your majesty, general,” arden greets, “i dug around, asked around, too, and i found out who did those papers, your majesty.” you nod for her to keep going, “it’s holloway.”

your gaze snaps to her, a deep frown mars your expression, “lieutenant holloway? but why? where is he?”

“at the docks, your majesty.”

…

the soles of your boots slam down against the pavement, your mood beginning to turn bitter once you spot the man you’re looking for, “holloway.” he turns around and quickly meets a fist to his face. “what have you done?”

“yo-your majesty,” he crumples to the ground, holding his bleeding nose, he spots arden and the warlord behind you, “what–what’s happening?”

“you have been stealing from me,” the blade of your sword is pressed dangerously against his throat, “and the general. have you got no shame and brain? you have put my–OUR nation in danger. let me ask you again, what have you done?”

“our nation? oh please, i’ve been making much more money than you.”

“is this what it’s about? money?” your sword hovers, “you would risk an entire nation for money? you would betray me, your queen, your empress, for money? you are easily bought.”

he shouts, “and you are a whore. a whore for that slut of a gener–”

with a swift slash, you cut off the hand that’s holding his nose. blood spurts and bursts out of the now stump, “mind your mouth, holloway. if it is i you wish to speak ill of, do it. however, if you dare to insult the general, then that is simply a foolish thing for you to do.”

      ignoring the blood gathering at your feet, or some of it getting on your dress, you turn to your army of men who are watching.

your gaze cold and dead, you point at holloway using your bloody sword, “make the same mistake and i will ensure that you will hold a much worse fate.” you walk to him, grabbing him by his hair, dragging him to kneel in front of the general, relishing in his screams and whimpers, “apologize.”

“in your dreams, bitch. i’m not apologizing to this slu–” 

“holloway, you are beginning to test my patience.” grabbing his head once more, you force him to look up, “apologize.”

      she has never seen this side of you. this ruthless and unforgiving side of you sends tremors to her hands, weakens her knees, and dries her mouth and lips. 

the fire never left ambessa and it is spreading throughout her body, it’s burning and uncomfortable.

“fine. have it your way, holloway. hold him down.” you call out to your men, and they seize him by his arms, legs, shoulders, every part of him, “you brought this upon yourself. hold out his tongue.” knowing what you’re about to do, he thrashes in their holds but it’s no use. he begins to plea, escape, anything. “i have given you your chances, holloway. accept the consequences.”

      only his screams of terror and agonizing pain can be heard, his screeches making the birds flock away, his blood staining the ground, creating a puddle.

he looks at his hand and tongue in horror that is dying on the floor, and then up at you, only to be met with hollow ones—lifeless eyes of yours that are like staring into an abyss of darkness. you cover his mouth, your hand squeezing his jaw, adding more pain.

“a hand for stealing, a tongue for disparaging remarks,” you shove him away, not caring that his blood is on your hand, “run.”

      you turn around just as he takes off, clutching his hand to his chest, looking around wildly as the men he used to order around are looking at him with disgust in their eyes.

you bow your head to the general, “i must apologize for all of this mess, general. i… stay for a little while i assort your shipment. i will have my men board your resources to your ship.” you turn to look at the retreating figure in the distance. “kill him.”

     a bang ends your day at the docks.

…

“my, my, what a wonderful sight that was, your majesty.” ambessa sipped her tea, her legs spreading as she sat, “didn’t take you for a killer.”

crossing your legs, your silk dress, now having changed, riding up, “i have done worse, general. much worse things that would make yours look like a child’s play.”

      she raises a brow at you. though her stare quickly travels down to your legs, openly looking at you, from your legs to your thighs, all the way up to your chest.

absolutely no shame, you think to yourself, smirking slightly. this woman is a piece of art, her skin, her stature, her scars. and then you remember how she felt like when pressed against you. her solid frame, how her presence can engulf your being, it suffocates you.

yet you want more.

“your majesty, i doubt that. i have killed everything that stands in my way.”

you hum, your eyes raking over her form, “that, i don’t doubt.”

      you wonder how it would feel to be underneath her, holding you down from moving, to force you to take everything she will give you. unconsciously, you squeeze your thighs together.

ambessa notices. 

“it seems like we were interrupted earlier, no?” her voice drops an octave. 

      you bite your lip. your action spurring her on. she can’t help it anymore. all these playful banters, the tension, it’s too much for ambessa. you are too much for her. 

maybe it’s time you let yourself indulge.

“i believe so, yes…” you take it yourself to move and sit on her lap. in the blink of an eye, her hands are on your thighs, rubbing smooth circles and slipping under your dress, “would you like to continue, ambessa?”

[lyneylover]

A Pleasurable Reward

Synopsis: Wriothesley sees how hard his new little assistant is working to keep peace and order in the fortress of meropide even with its tiring and chaotic nature. Impressed with your hard work he wants to think of a way to thank you but he's too busy and stressed with work. Luckily for him a little melusine nurse has just the perfect plan to satisfy both of you!

Warning(s): NSFW content, Cursing, small mentions of blood

MINORS PLS DNI!

Word count: 3.6k words

Another long tantalizing day slowly goes by in the Fortress of Meropide and Wriothesley’s new assistant runs around doing her tasks. During the afternoon she goes to serve Wriothesley his afternoon tea. You knocked on the door gently. “Your grace, I'm here with your tea.” You spoke in a soft tone waiting for him to give her the ok to come in.

Wriothesley lets out a seemingly cheerful hum hearing your soft voice grace his ears once again before giving you the ok to come in. “You can come in.” Wriothesley said in his usual calm voice but with a hint of happiness in it.

You open the door and smile at him, placing the tray with the tea down on his desk. She takes the teapot and pours the tea in the cup letting it cool off before placing it on the small tea plate and placing it in front of Wriothesley.

Once cool enough Wriothesley picks up the tea cup taking a sip. He was met with a pleasant surprise of his favorite flavor of tea. With a grin he looks at you. “Wow and what's the special occasion for you to make me my favorite tea without me even requesting it?” Wriothesley spoke in a playful manner.

You place the documents he had asked for earlier on his desk neatly stacked. “Oh, I just thought you would enjoy it! You've been working hard and I thought this would be a great way to help you relax.”

After you placed the documents down you did a little stretch. “Is there anything else I could do for you this afternoon, your grace?” You asked in a sweet tone.

Wriothesley takes another sip of tea before setting the cup down back on its little plate. “Again you can just call me Wriothesley as I said days earlier I consider you more than as my assistant now you're like a friend.”

He gave you a sweet smile that melted your heart. “Alright then well is there anything else you have for me to do for you Wriothesley?”

He hums in response, pausing and making it seem like he was thinking. “No I don't believe there's anything else I need you to do so I suppose you can take an early lunch break. Call me if you need anything though.”

You nod, waving goodbye to him before turning and walking out of his office. As you're walking out you see Sigewinne walking in.

Sigewinne stops right before opening the door and turns to you. Seeing the small melusine you smile and wave at her. She smiles and waves back before speaking up. “Good afternoon! I hope you've been having a good day. If you don't mind me asking, could you get me some herbs?”

Seeing her cute smile made your heart melt so you immediately agreed. “Oh sure! I was about to go on lunch break but I don't mind, what do you need me to get?”

Sigewinne tilts her head to the side. “Oh if you were going to go on break I wouldn't want to bother you! I could just-”

You quickly cut the girl off. “No no! I insist I can go, I have nothing else to do anyway. What do you need me to get?”

Seeing that you weren't going to back down, Sigewinne doesn't try to argue further.

“Alright if you say so but please make sure to take a break and relax. Like try doing something pleasing to you! We wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you.” Sigewinne said in a sweet voice.

You nod giving her a smile waiting for her to tell you the herbs she needed. Sigewinne handed you a small list of herbs she needed and you read over the list before nodding happily. “Alright I can get you these in no time! I'll be back soon!”

With that you were off to go and get her the herbs she asked for. While you were doing Sigewinne decided to talk to Wriothesley in his office.

She sat there listening to him talk about how he wanted to reward you for all your hard work and even doing extra things you weren't asked to do and not expecting anything from it at all. Yet unfortunately Wriothesley was also so busy and stressed recently so he didn't have much time to think of anything.

This is where Sigewinne came in and gave Wriothesley the idea to do something pleasurable for both you and him to help both of you relax. She even insisted that she set up everything for the moment so he could relax more.

The first step of Sigewinne’s master plan to help Wriothesley and you relax was now in session.

She calmly walked up to one of the few guards on duty tugging on their uniform lightly. The guard looks down at Sigewinne confused and surprised to see the head nurse come and tug on their uniform so suddenly.

The guard quickly snaps out of their shocked dazed and fumbled with their words slightly before speaking. “U-uhm is there anything I can do for you today miss Sigewinne?”

Sigewinne smiles and speaks up. “No need to be worried you're not in trouble! It's just that Lord Wriothesley said that a prisoner has escaped and he wants guards out on the surface to look for them!”

The nervous guard quickly nods and asks Sigewinne for a description of the escaped prisoner which Sigewinne quickly provides a description of what you look like. As soon as Sigewinne finishes, the guard thanks her.

“Thank you for informing me. I will inform some of the other guards about this so some can be on the surface to look while others stay here and keep an eye out!”

Sigewinne giggles with a cheeky smile. “Oh it's nothing! I'm just glad I could help you to find the criminal!” Sigewinne stated in a cheerful voice.

Sigewinne hums happily while walking away from the guard. Stage one of her little plan was complete. Stage two was to make sure Wriothesley wouldn't find out about this. Which would be easy for now as he had paperwork and all she had to do was wait until they caught you.

Meanwhile you were peacefully out buying the herbs Sigewinne was asking for when suddenly you hear a loud voice shout. “FREEZE WHERE YOU ARE! YOU'RE UNDER ARREST” You looked behind you wondering what was going on.

To your surprise the one the guards were speaking to was you. “Wait wait what!? You must have the wrong person! I'm innocent and have done nothing wrong.”

The guard cuts you off. “Please do not argue! You fit the description perfectly and we know what we're doing so come with us without a fight so we can make this easy.”

Not wanting to cause a bigger scene you reluctantly agree and follow the guards. You let them cuff you and take you back to the fortress of meropide. When you get there the first person you expect to see was Wriothesley but instead it's Sigewinne. You try to speak up and find out what's going on.

“Sigewinne do you know what's happening? I didn't do anything and I was arrested. Can you please help-” A guard suddenly told you to be quiet and to not speak to the head nurse.

The guard from earlier walks up to Sigewinne. “Is this the escaped prisoner that you were talking about?”

Sigewinne nods with a big smile. “Yup that's the one!”

The guard nods, getting ready to take you to Wriothesley’s office to see what your punishment would be when Sigewinne stops them.

“That won't be necessary! I'll take this one and you all can stay here and make sure nobody else escapes.” Sigewinne says quickly, taking you away from the guards before they could say anything to her

Most of the walk was silent. You were nervous and confused about what you did and how Wriothesley would react to seeing you. Would he be upset? Disappointed? Your thoughts were swirling around in your head making you zone out. You didn't even notice that you were in front of Wriothesley's office door until Sigewinne told you to stay out for a minute.

She walked into the office and shut the door behind her. Sigewinne felt so excited as the final part of her plan was approaching that she had to remind herself to stay calm and not blurt out the whole surprise.

Wriothesley raised a brow at Sigewinne seeing her come back into his office so suddenly. Sigewinne saw Wriothesley's confusion so she spoke in a bright and cheerful tone.

“Wriothesley! I have a very special surprise for you.” She smiled, giggling slightly.

Wriothesley was intrigued by this so he decided to humor into whatever Sigewinne was doing. “Oh, I wasn't expecting a surprise today. What might this special surprise be?” He questioned with a thoughtful tone that was hinted with playfulness.

Sigewinne quickly went to the door with tiny giggles. She turns to Wriothesley happily. “Just wait right here! Your surprise will be here in just a few moments!”

You struggled to hear what was being said in the room but seeing the door start to open you quickly jumped back from trying to listen to what was going on in the room.

Sigewinnie was giggling while looking at you which confused you but before you could even say anything to her she pushed you in the office which you struggled to catch yourself causing yourself to fall on the floor because you were still handcuffed.

Before the door closed you heard Sigewinne speak. “Have fun you two!” Before she happily walked away.

While you were quietly panicking Wriothesley was busy looking you up and down. He knew it was wrong to be shamelessly looking at you like a piece of meat but he couldn’t deny that the sight of you on the floor and handcuffed turned him on tremendously.

Wriothesley felt himself slowly getting hard just from the sight of you alone. He gave you a smug smile before walking over to you tilting your head up studying you before he spoke. “Now this is really a surprising little gift. I must say Sigewinne has outdone herself this time.”

Wriothesley’s words made you feel flustered and even more confused with the situation. “What are you talking about a really ‘surprising gift’? What's going on? Why was I so suddenly arrested?”

Wriothesley sighed letting go of your chin. “Well I sure don’t know what’s going on either. Trust me if I knew I would tell you but…”

You raised a brow at his words “But what…?” You were intrigued by his words and curious by what he meant.

Wriothsley found your confusion oh so cute making him chuckle a little. “I might as well enjoy it while a perfect gift is right here in front of me.” He gives you a slight smirk. Finally it clicked for you in those moments. You were the special gift that Wriothesley was talking about.

You didn’t know what to think. There were so many thoughts going through your mind. Eventually you finally speak. “So I'm not in trouble?” You questioned.

Wriothesley only sighs and shakes his head. “Nah you're not in trouble, what just happened was you were just tricked by Sigewinne is all.”

You sighed in relief. It felt like the biggest weight was lifted off your shoulders now that you knew that you weren’t in trouble at all. “Well I'm glad to know that I didn’t do anything wrong.” You said in a cheerful voice and gave a small smile.

Just for a second you looked down seeing a tent in his pants causing a blush to coat your cheeks.

When he realizes what you're looking at the next few moments are spent in awkward silence until Wriothesley finally spoke. “Y’know… you don't have to do anything if you don't want to. I understand if you don't want to and I'll uncuff you immediately.”

You stop him from saying anything else. “I don’t mind Wriothesley... I want to.”

Wriothesley doesn’t waste another second before he smashes his lips against yours which you quickly return the kiss.

Wriothesley picks you up and puts you on his desk to which you spread your legs so he can get between them. He places hot kisses and bites on your skin starting from your jaw down to your neck before he pauses and looks you in the eyes. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

You quickly nod not wanting him to stop what he was doing.

The second Wriothesley got your consent he didn't wait a second longer he quickly tore off whatever clothing you had on discarding it to the ground. He leans in for another kiss before snaking one arm around you and unclasping your bra with one hand.

Wriothesley began placing slow hot kisses on your breasts before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your hardened bud while he used his hand to pinch and pull the other one.

You let out a small gasp quietly moaning out his name. “W-wriothesley… more please…”

Your words sounded heavenly to Wriothesley. It was like he was hearing an angel call out his name. He felt his pants feeling too tight and you of course felt just how much Wriothesley wanted you too.

You couldn't lie the feeling of Wriothesley being rock hard and pressed against your thigh made you heavily aroused. You could feel your panties dampening with slickness.

Wriothesley unlatched his mouth from your nipple with a wet pop sound. He began to strip you of the rest of your clothes. You shivered under his touch.

Wriothesley used his teeth to slowly slide down your panties while he looked you in the eyes. Finally he got to see just how wet you were for him. Your scent was just divine in his opinion. He grinned up at you. “You're soaked, and it's all for me? I'm truly flattered. Wriothesley teased with a chuckle making you blush and attempt to close your legs.

The second you try to close your legs Wriothesley stops you using a hand to keep them pushed apart. “I don't think I told you that you could close your legs did I?”

You whimpered quietly at his words. Wriothesley decides to stop teasing you and get straight to the point. He slowly slid a finger into your tight hole. Slowly he slid another in up until he finally had three fingers slowly pumping into you.

You bit your lip trying to hold back moans that attempted to escape your lips. Noticing this Wriothesley decides to take it up a notch leaning in and sucking on your clit slowly.

You threw your head back in ecstasy trying your best not to moan too loudly. Just when you were about to climax Wriothesley decided to pull away. This caused you to whimper quietly. “Wriothesley… what are you doing…?”

Wriothesley didn't say a word he only looked at you as he slowly licked his fingers clean of your slick. The sight of it made your core throb. You closed your legs rubbing your thighs together to try and get any small bit of friction.

Wriothesley only chuckled at this, finding it cute and endearing. “Just wait will you? You'll get what you want.”

Wriothesley made quick work of his clothes, discarding them somewhere in the corner with your clothes. Wriothesley picks you up off his desk before bending you over it. He positions himself behind you slowly rubbing his tip against your slicked folds. “You ready? I can stop now if you want but once I start I don't think I'll be able to stop…”

You didn't even listen to a word he said and instead only blurted out. “Wriothesley just please fuck me already!”

With those few words Wriothesley slowly pushed into your slicked pussy. He grunt at the feeling of your walls clamping around him tightly. “Fuck…” Wriothesley cursed under his breath. It was taking everything inside him not to just ram inside you right then and there and you bent across his desk hands cuffed behind your back wasn't doing him any help at all. “Mmm… just let me know when you're ready for me to move…”

The stretch of him bottoming out hurt for the first few moments but soon all you felt was pure pleasure. You lightly buck your hips back against him. “Wriothesley… you can move now…”

Wriothesley didn't wait a second longer. Although he tried to be gentle he couldn't help himself. He grabbed your hips and moved slowly at first bucking his hips into yours, gradually picking up his pace.

Your walls clamped down tightly around him making him groan. “Your so fuckin’ tight… you take me so well… like you were made just for me…” Wriothesley grunted into your ear.

All you could do was moan and cry out loudly while he had you seeing stars. His mushroom head tip kissing your cervix. “W-wriothesley! Ngh~! M- more I want more please!”

He continued pounding into you from behind as you felt your legs beginning to feel like jelly. If Wriothesley wasn't using his hands to keep you in place you were sure you would've collapsed.

The more Wriothesley tip kissed your cervix and g-spot the more the knot in your stomach felt it was going to snap.

Wriothesley reaches a hand down to rub your clit while he pounded into you. “You're doing so good f’me pretty girl… Think you could just a little longer f��me?”

The only thing you could do was whine and nod your head as he fucked you dumb on his cock.

It only takes a few more thrusts before Wriothesley has the knot in your stomach about to snap. “W-wriothesley! Wriothesley! M’gonna cum mph~ hah~! G-gonna…~” Your words were cut short as your vision went white and you clamped down hard around his cock.

Wriothesley grunts, biting down on your shoulder roughly and speaking with a muffled rough voice. “M’gonna cum inside kay?”

You were too fucked out to even care about what he was saying. Wriothesley soon felt the knot in his stomach snap as he gave one last thrust stilling his hips against yours as him hot seed spurted into you.

You could feel rope after rope of his cum painting your walls white. He stayed inside you for a few moments before he slowly pulled out. As Wriothesley pulled out some of his cum dripped out and onto the floor. Wriothesley sighed, plopping down in his desk chair and pulling you back down to sit on his lap.

Wriothesley saw the spot where he bit your shoulder was bleeding slightly so he gently licked the blood from the mark before placing a kiss to your cheek. “You did amazing… I might have to give you a raise just for that performance.” Wriothesley teased as you panted heavily, finally coming down from your high.

“You didn't do too bad yourself.” You teased back.

Wriothesley takes a key and unlocks the cuffs on your wrists. After he takes them off you rub the soreness in your wrists from having the cuffs on so long.

For a while you and Wriothesley stay snuggled up together before Wriothesley gets some towels to clean and dress both of you up.

Wriothesley lets you fall asleep in his arms while he caresses your hair.

Meanwhile somewhere in the fortress one of the staff members tried to go and speak with Wriothesley to talk about some business with him but Sigewinne stopped them. “I'm sorry I'm afraid the duke is unavailable at the moment but whatever business you have with him I can tell him as soon as he's free!” Sigewinne smiled sweetly at the staff member.

The man was getting grumpy and irritated with Sigewinne. “And why can I not see him? What's so important that the duke doesn't have time to speak to me!” The older man snapped at her.

Sigewinne just stayed calm and smiled. “Well he's enjoying his well deserved reward for the rest of the day but as I said earlier you can tell me and I'll tell him for you! But if you don't want to cooperate with that then I'm going to have to request you to leave!”

After a bit of arguing Sigewinne had shot the man with her gun, tranquilizing him for a while and asking the guards nearby to get him out of there.

The next day was pretty normal but this time Wriothesley invited you to have tea with him. As you were discussing a random topic with him something popped in your head. “Wriothesley, did you notice that nobody tried to bother us or speak to us yesterday while we were busy?” You said as you were still confused on the matter.

Wriothesley was about to speak when Sigewinne came in with some papers that Wriothesley had asked her to run and get for him earlier. She smiled at the two of you before speaking to Wriothesley. “I almost forgot to tell you! Some man wanted to speak to you yesterday but unfortunately I had to send him away as I told everyone in the building that you were busy doing something very important. The man didn't really like that response but I handled it! I hope you enjoyed your reward yesterday!”

Sigewinne said cheerfully before she skipped away going back to her office to finish check ups.

Wriothesley sighed and looked at you. “Well that gives you your answer.”

You giggled at his response. “Oh that girl is such a handful but what would we do without our perfect little Sigewinne!” You said while still giggling.

You and Wriothesley sit and laugh together enjoying the rest of your tea time as you discussed more topics.

I feel like I could've did much better with this but because it's late I'll just go ahead and post it I hope everyone enjoys it though this is my first time actually writing something for Wriothesley! I apologize if he's oc here!

Please do not plagiarize, copy, translate, or repost without asking any of my work. All work belongs to ©Lyneylover

[604to647]

Tiny Tim

A The Rockford Portfolio Christmas Special

5.2K/ Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Tim takes you to the precinct Christmas party.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, soft!Tim, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous). Semi public sex, fingering, unprotected PiV, thrill of being caught, alcohol consumption (reader is tipsy, but this is a devoted relationship with deep trust, not dubcon). Reader wears a dress. Bad 'A Christmas Carol' jokes.

A/N: This is a holiday love letter to all you lovelies who read The Rockford Portfolio 🥹🥹 Thank you thank you for all the love you’ve shown these two - they are one of my favourites to write, I'm always so encouraged by the sweet response I receive on their stories 🥹 This instalment is probably the only one I’ve written that makes more sense if you’ve read some of the others - there are a few callbacks, little winks for those of you who enjoy their stories 🤭 Thank you thank you again and happy holidays! 🎄

Now available: Fic companion Christmas carol 🎵 Detective, It’s Cold Outside 🎵

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

Tim watches the scene from across the bar.

It’s like a Renaissance fresco come to life, a modern-day depiction of royal court with you as the monarch at its centre - sitting up high, you’re perched on a barstool looking radiant and gorgeous in a pretty holiday dress that drapes off your curves and cascades over your legs; your feet dangle off the ground, swinging to and fro without a care.  You’re surrounded by a crowd of cops who have arranged themselves in a semi-circle with you at their epicentre - those on your left and right stand or sit on their own stools, while the officers in front of you fan across a stretch of tables.  Every person is angled towards you like a moth trying to fly closer to their flame, all eyes are trained, adoring and fawning, on your pretty face as you laugh and finish up what you were saying.  They hang on your every word, and when you make eye contact or touch your hand to an arm in order to emphasize a point in your story, Tim swears the lucky recipient literally lights up a little.

Tim wonders if he should have told you that you’re kind of a celebrity at the precinct.  No, not because he’s yours.  Yes, it tickled his colleagues to no end that the gruff grizzly bear detective that was Timothy Rockford had been tamed by your gentle hand; they had seen evidence of his previously thought nonexistent softness and docility whenever you would visit.  But he could never claim credit for the esteem in which you were beheld – your renown was all your own.

Even before tonight’s party, there had been a tittering among the various law enforcement departments that you would be in attendance.  Those who had only seen you in passing or heard tales of how Detective Rockford’s lady love had provided much direct or indirect assistance to their cases, were eager to meet you.  No sooner had the two of you entered the bar where tonight’s party was being held than you were swept out of Tim’s arms to make the acquaintance of what seemed like a never-ending queue of his colleagues.  It’s been a while now since Tim lost track of you, sulking solitarily until his partner, Detective Arnold Calloway, came over with a conciliatory beer and pointed to where you’re currently holding court.

The team from Cipher, who had used your Graffiti Alley photos to decrypt the Pie Distribution playbook, are at your feet - ignoring the now lukewarm drinks on their tabletops in favour of trading quippy witticisms with you in between their rounds of raucous laughter at your jokes.

O’Brien and his team who had made up Surveillance Teams Alpha and Bravo the night you obtained information from Buchanan’s girlfriend in the restaurant bathroom that would lead to the apprehension of The Accountant, flank your left.  Whenever you tilt your radiant face towards them, they take full advantage - commanding your attention so they can regale you with more detailed stories about the busts and raids that resulted from your intel.

Tech guys that used the meta data from your aquarium photos to track the movements of Grandma Ursula’s henchman, resulting in the retrieval of the missing briefcase that broke open the case, gather to your right – keeping a watchful eye on the cocktail glass you hold in your hand, prepared to replace it with a ready refill at a moment’s notice should you desire.

The head of Financial Crimes and a few of her analysts who run what has affectionately been named “Operation Spring Roll” (per your request), an intricate and far-reaching money laundering investigation kicked off by your keen observations at The Midnight Palace, slip in to occupy the empty seats next to their colleagues in Cipher, bringing appetizers and bowls of bar snacks as offerings.

Every single one of your admirers appears entranced by your charm and the warmth of your bright aura; convinced that you’re the wittiest, most intriguing person in this bar, they loathe to be torn away from your sweet face and the way it’s alight with genuine joy and holiday mirth.  Tim is all too familiar with how they feel.  He starts to make his way across the bar – individually or collectively, his coworkers have bogarted your attention all night and he’s had enough.  He misses you.

Tim barely makes his presence known, arriving and stopping at the periphery of your audience where your eyes find him immediately, as if drawn to him.

Almost impossibly, your entire face lights up even more and you hold your arm out in his direction; with a hypnotic dance of your hand that’s part flirty wave, part sprinkling of fairy dust over your devotees, you beckon him, “Timmy!!!”

He sees a few cops mouth, smirking, “Timmy?!” and Chen from Cipher actually puts her hands together in prayer and says Thank You to a deity above for this gift with which Tim is sure he will be mercilessly teased later.  But Tim doesn’t care.  No matter how you call, he will always come.

Threading through the maze of chairs and bodies, he reaches you just as you step off the bottom rung of your stool – catching you easily right before you throw your arms around his neck.

“Hi Detective,” you coo, melodic voice a whisper against his lips.

“Hi Shutterbug,” Tim radiates a happiness that you feel as much as you can see - you’re finally back in his arms.

“Timmy.  They all want to talk to me about police stuff, and I’m running out of things I know,” your silly tipsy face conveys some unwarranted trepidation, as if there was any chance in hell you could ever disappoint this group of smitten cops.

“You want to know how to make a bunch of cops scatter?” the twinkle of mischief in Tim’s eyes is mirrored back to him in yours as you nod, nuzzling your nose against his in conspiratorial agreement.

He kisses you. 

And not in a tempered and chaste way one might expect at a work event, where superiors are in attendance and professionalism might be monitored even while off the clock. 

But a full out, no holds barred, deep and passionate kiss that leaves Tim’s colleagues slack-jawed in shock, some even avert their gaze, embarrassed – as if they know they will have to staunchly deny having witnessed this side of their co-worker should they ever be interrogated about its existence.  Tim’s mouth opens and wordlessly demands entry – you happily obey your detective’s directive.  It’s truly beyond your understanding how anyone (you, these cops, anyone breathing) could ever deny Tim anything - his very being so commanding and reassuring that it only feels natural for you to surrender to him every time.  Smoothing your tongue over Tim’s, you let him chase you to the furthest corners of your mouth; sighing when he catches you and licks behind your teeth in victory.

Though most of the onlookers have now left the two of you to your reunion, a few of Tim’s cheekier squad members remain. “Woooooooooooo!” the cheers from the surronding crowd are playful and jovial; there are a couple of whoop, whoops and arm pumps from some of the older detectives who were clearly Arsenio Hall fans.

“Alright, break it up, break it up,” Tim gruffs as you bury yourself into his chest, giggling.  The remaining cops swiftly do as Tim says, going off in different directions – to order more drinks, out for a smoke, all eager to spread the lore about Detective Rockford’s kryptonite to their fellow jolly drunks, leaving you and Tim to stare dreamily into each other’s eyes in the middle of the bar.

Now that the two of you have a moment to yourselves, you can once again hear the bar’s music system that’s been blasting Christmas carols all night.  Bing Crosby’s White Christmas comes over the speakers and you and Tim, still lost in one another, begin to slow dance – Tim presses his forehead to yours as he holds you close, finally letting himself relax now that his broad frame can once again melt and mold to the softness of your body.

Sighing in contentment, you lift your hands to run your gentle fingers through Tim’s rough facial scruff – a gesture that’s as soothing for him as it for you; it’s been great getting to know Tim’s colleagues and super entertaining listening to their stories and jokes, but this is where you’ll choose to be every time, “This has been so fun, Detective.  I don’t know why you don’t like the precinct holiday parties.”

Tim closes his eyes and gives a little snort, “You try being named Tim at Christmas time around a bunch of drunk cops.  The ‘Tiny Tim’ references usually start after the third round.”

You giggle, face now impish and eyes dancing with merriment, “Well, they just don’t know what Tiny Tim is capable of.”

Tim growls, grasp tightening around your waist, “…not that tiny.”  Squealing, you crash your lips to Tim’s, delighting in your detective’s playful touch that’s now amorously roaming your backside.  The two of you, lips never parting, sway over to a darker, less populated area of the bar – leaving Tim’s colleagues to their reveries.

“Ah, well, Detective Rockford, here’s the thing: I know for a fact that there is absolutely nothing tiny about Tiny Tim,” your hand trails down your boyfriend’s hard chest, smoothing over the front of his fancy dress pants to cup his bulge.

Tim jerks sharply to the sensation of your delicate fingers massaging his balls through the fabric; his voice lowers to a rumbled warning, “Shutterbug…”

“Mhhmmm?” you hum cheekily against Detective Rockford’s plush mouth.

“If you keep this up, I’m going to have to arrest myself for public indecency.”

Still drinking in the harmonious ring of your resulting laugh, Tim doesn’t see you subtly look around to see if there are any prying eyes trained on the two of you.  When you find none, you hurriedly tug Tim down the hallway that leads to the restrooms; the bar has individual bathrooms instead of gendered ones, and you quickly find one that’s vacant, dragging Tim inside.

Tim looks surprised to find himself in the relatively well-lit bathroom, “Baby, what are…?”

His adorably naïve question is cut off when you push him up against the wall with surprising force from your soft hands.  The party has been fun, but you were away from Tim for entirely too much of it. 

Though you’re sure it wasn’t by design, nearly every captivating story you heard tonight has heralded your Tim as brave, clever, tough – never backing down in the face of particularly dangerous or puzzling elements of his cases; intimidating scumbag perps that deserved to get a little decency scared into them; displaying incredible feats of intelligence that left his colleagues amazed.  Most of these stories you’ve actually heard before, but you learned tonight that Tim’s version often downplayed his own contributions and prowess – seeing your detective through the lens of his fellow law enforcement officers, hearing their accolades and seeing just how clearly they admire and respect your brilliant boyfriend has made you beam with pride. 

And warm with arousal.  Tim’s competency and humbleness are a one-two punch combination that never fails to turn you on, and by this point of the evening, you’ve heard a lot of stories evidencing both.  You can’t wait any longer to have him.

“There, Detective.  We’re not in public anymore,” you purr, scraping your kitten claws over the black cashmere of the sweater you gifted him, your hands meet in the middle of Tim’s expansive chest to give his smart, silk tie a sharp and quick tug; your cheeky move has absolutely no effect on the mountainous stance of man before you, and instead tips you into his space.  Detective Rockford catches you with little effort, and when you see the smirk he throws your way, you drunkenly chuckle and allow to Tim descend on your lips once more.  Sighing, completely enamoured with the handsome man before you, you throw your arms around his thick neck and give yourself over to Tim’s hungry kisses, matching his tongue stroke for stroke - whimpering as he nibbles and tugs on your plush bottom lip. 

“Feeling needy, gorgeous?” Tim murmurs against your pout, hands gripping your ass in his heavy palms through the luxurious fabric of the dress that he’s been admiring on you all evening.  You lean back and nod, giving him a coquettish, doe-eyed look, “Needed you all night, Timmy.  Felt like I haven’t seen you at all, but I love how everyone’s been telling me stories about how brilliant and vital you are.  All I’ve wanted to do is show you that I feel the same way.”

“Oh, baby, I’ve missed you too,” groans Tim as you claw your nails down his sweater, pressing hard through to the crisp dress shirt underneath – the way both garments stretched taut across his broad frame has you licking your lips; you start lowering to your knees, eyes already trailing to where Tim’s impressive cock is straining valiantly against his dress pants.

To your surprise, Tim’s hands slip under your arms and lift you back up – you whine at being denied his cock in your mouth, but the sweetness of his expression makes it impossible to be mad, “Don’t want you to get that pretty dress dirty on the floor, gorgeous.”  Tim’s thoughtfulness combined with the firm way he maneuvers your body towards the bathroom sink has you positively gushing, any disappointment disappearing.

Standing behind you so that you’re both watching Tim’s bear paw hands snake up your chest, your detective gropes your breasts over the front of your dress and listens as you sigh and whinny; you slump back against your tank of a man, perfectly content to let him have his way with your body. 

Still palming full fistfuls of your boobs, Tim’s long fingers reach up to pull down the neckline of your dress so that your tits come spilling out, eager to greet his hands.  His mouth finds the sweet spot of your neck that he claimed as his long ago, and you watch him continue to paw and knead your breasts, finding your already peaked nipples with ease.  Rolling, pinching, teasing your hardened buds between the rough pads of his fingers, Tim murmurs against your skin, “We gotta be quick and quiet - can you do that for me, Shutterbug?”

You meet the dark gaze of your boyfriend in the mirror and nod feebly; the reminder that you’re at a party full of cops, cops that work day in and day out with the fromidable man behind you who looks like he wants nothing more than to devour you, has you clenching pathetically around nothing.

Nothing escapes the eagle eyes of your detective – he responds to your desperation with a final squeeze of your tits before raking his monster hands, hard and gripping, down your willing body; frantically rucking up the skirt of your dress and bunching the festive fabric above your ass. 

The sound of Tim’s belt buckle clicking open has you arching your back, ass wiggling and eyes closing in giddy anticipation. 

Smack.

You yelp in delight at the bright sting blooming on your ass cheek from Tim’s open palm.  He chuckles as he pulls your lace panties to the side, “Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby.”

The goofily grinning and sassy-eyed you in the mirror chirps, “Yes, Detective!” about to give him a cheeky salute when you’re rendered witless, dissolving into a puddle of lust at the feel of Tim’s thick fingers gliding through your folds.

He doesn’t tease you for long - finding you already wet and willing, Tim easily slides two of his fingers into your sopping hole; he bites down at the base of your neck and you keen as your boyfriend’s long reaching touch grazes your softest, most intimate parts.

Your reflection unravels and whimpers, “Pl-, please, Tim!”

Detective Rockford’s obsidian gaze meets yours in the glass and he acquiesces to the request you can’t quite vocalize with a quickening of his thrusts; the slap, slap, slap of his palm meeting your desire drenched pussy echoes off the walls of the small bar bathroom like the beat of a naughty Christmas carol.

Spurred on by the buzz of tonight’s alcohol and the titillating knowledge that Tim’s colleagues are only a short hallway away on the other side of the bathroom door, and that any or all of them could hear you or even come knocking the next moment, you start to crest shamefully quick.  His knowledge of your body’s pleasure so familiar and intimate, Tim recognizes the fluttering of your walls and swiftly adds a third finger.  You cry out, one hand flying up to muffle the sound as you press back against your detective’s hard chest; the other Tim cradles in his free paw and slips up your skirt and down the front of your panties, big hand over yours - using your lithe fingers like a quill to scrawl his command to your clit.

“Come for me.”  Tim’s baritone growl is the last thing you hear before the air in the room rushes past your ears and you shudder at the silence that seemingly rings; biting down on your own hand, tears spring to your eyes at the sting of pain and the force of the orgasm that hits you.

You barely register as Tim’s fingers slow through your come down, withdrawing and finding their way to his mouth.  The you in the mirror hazily watches as he sucks his fingers clean with a wicked grin, winking at you before nibbling playfully at your earlobe, “Taste so sweet, Shutterbug.”

Giggling, you pull your detective’s face down to yours for a tender but desperate kiss, your cunt already feeling empty and needy.  Tim returns your affections ten-fold, hands frantically pushing down his pants and boxers, releasing his hard and thrumming cock with a slap against the smooth dip of your lower back.  You whine pitifully, shimmying in Tim’s tight hold and pushing back to try and angle his dick down to where you need him; he chuckles darkly in your ear and grumbles, “Brace yourself, baby.”  You place both hands firmly on the ledge of the sink counter and exhale shakily when you feel Tim wick the head of his cock through your slick, gripping hard as he firmly pushes in.

Tim’s eyes never leave your lust blown ones in the mirror.  He sets a purposeful and delicious rhythm - pulling out nearly all the way so that you pout, letting you yearn for the loss of his stretch for a moment too long before slamming back in with a heavy drive of his hips and bottoming out each time with an aggressive snarl.  He does this over and over and over, his punishing pace never wavering; your eyes start to roll and your bottom lip starts to smart from how hard you’re biting down to keep from screaming.

“Maybe we should let them hear, baby.”

“Let everyone in this bar know who you belong to.”

“They kept you all to themselves tonight – need to remind them that you’re mine.”

Tim punctuates each of his possessive words with a particularly harsh thrust, jolting you hard against the counter. 

“Tim!” Your arms fly up to wrap behind his neck, and the reflected vision of you being bounced on Detective Tim Rockford’s hard cock with your supple tits tumbling whorishly out of your party dress, sends the both of you rocketing towards a dual high.

“You’re fucking perfect, Shutterbug.”

“No wonder they all want a piece of you.”

“But they can’t have you.”

“You’re mine, baby.”

“Mine.”

“Yours, yours, yours,” your breathy declaration sung to the chorus of your orgasm, Tim comes shortly after to the tight squeeze of your warm walls claiming him as yours.

“I love you, Detective.”

“I love you more, Shutterbug.”

The two of you stay at the party for just one more round of drinks; Tim’s arm never leaves your waist, tucking your body securely against his.  As far as he’s concerned, his colleagues have monopolized enough of your time this evening, you’re all his now; you can’t help but enjoy Tim’s harmless display of possessiveness when his fellow officers swarm and try to engage you as they did before. 

Perhaps in retaliation, the Tiny Tim jokes start coming in rapid succession:

“Tim, are you feeling tired? Is it hard to stand?  Do we to find you a wittle crutch?”

“Isn’t it past Tiny Tim’s bedtime?  He’s just a little guy.”

“Leaving already?  Bah humbug!”

“Should we be calling Bob Cratchit?  Does Tiny Tim need a lift?”

“No, don’t go, Rockford!  Who’s going have god bless us, every one??!”

You can’t help but laugh at that last one as you and Tim sweep out of the bar; Tim raising his hand and flipping the bird to his friends without ever looking back.

The December air outside feels crisp and pleasant against your skin, still warm from tonight’s drinks and the crowded party.  By some coincidence, the bar is in the same neighbourhood as the restaurant where Tim took you on your third first date, and much like that night, you and Tim opt to take the twenty-or-so minute walk home.  Though the fresh air sobers you, you remain cheerful and giddy from tonight’s festivities and a general sense of seasonal merriment – his hand never leaving yours, an amused Tim lets you happily swing your arms as you walk, occasionally giving you a twirl on the sidewalk and smiling widely as you duck under his beefy arm and spin so that the skirt of your dress fans out with a dancer like grace.  Chirping cheerfully, you fill Tim in on all the courageous and funny stories his colleagues shared with you tonight and delight in the way his face reddens in embarrassment.

“I’m so lucky, Tim! I get to call the biggest, baddest, smartest detective on the squad as my own.  And I also know him to be so sweet, and kind, and funny.  I’m truly the luckiest girl in the world,” your words and eyes are genuine, all adoring.

Tim can’t help but grin dopily back.  He takes off his tan trench coat to drape over your shoulders and accepts your quick, sweet peck of gratitude before countering, “I’m the lucky one, Shutterbug.  It was clear to every single person in the bar tonight that you’re a star, everyone’s dream – and you choose me.  I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

Your chest swells with affection for your tender-hearted boyfriend – Tim never fails to make you feel cherished, supported and loved, and of course, always so very safe and protected.  You’re sure that if the people of the city knew even half of what you know about how deeply Tim cares and takes seriously his charge of their protection, they would all be as in love with him as you are.  It’s no wonder that you had felt that initial spark with him when he was just diligently doing his duty all those many moons ago at the aquarium – he had been so earnest and dedicated to the job, you’re convinced you fell in love with him on the spot, “We’re both so lucky that you’re who I ended up interviewing with at the aquarium during the Grandma Ursula case.”

“It wasn’t all luck, Shutterbug,” Tim flashes a shit eating grin.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that day at the aquarium, MacMillan and I were both interviewing potential witnesses.  And when we got down to the final few interviews, I bribed him to let me question you.”

You’re absolutely shocked and delighted by this revelation, “Detective Rockford!! You’re diabolical!  What did the favour of my company cost you?”

“I had to transcribe all of MacMillan’s interview notes from that day… and for the following month.  Plus, he made me drive all the way to a deli across town to pick up his favourite sandwich.”

“Omigod,” you giggle, “And?”

“Hmmm?”

“Was it worth it?”

“The sandwich? I did get myself one - it was pretty delicious.”

You swat playfully at Tim’s chest, “No, silly.  Not the sandwich – what you transcribed all those notes for.”

“Absolutely.  Changed my life for the better. You're priceless, baby.”

“Oh Tim,” you sigh at your detective’s romantic words.  The truth is you’re absolutely gobsmacked that Tim went through all that effort for you when he didn’t even know you; knowing what you do now about Tim’s instinct and how often the success of his cases rest on its sharp edge, it makes your heart sing that he had had a feeling, saw something in you worth pursuing.  You tell him as much.

“I’ve been grateful for you since the moment I saw you, Shutterbug,” says Tim sincerely, “When you were in that waiting area, patiently letting the families and field trips go ahead of you, I knew I was in the presence of genuine grace and kindness.  I- I don’t run across that very often in my line of work – you’re so special, baby.  I was having such a shit day and you were an unexpected beacon of light.  I think, selfishly, I couldn’t let you go without basking a little longer in your warmth.”

Tears spring to your eyes so quickly that you have to turn away from Tim to hide how emotional his confession has made you.  You had felt such a strong connection to him that day as well – Tim had been so sweet and patient, encouraging in his words for your photography when he had no reason to be; your gratitude had only been compounded when you bore witness to the enthusiasm and commitment Tim held for his policework.  And since the day of the Grandma Ursula case verdict, your feelings of admiration and awe for this strong, honourable man have only grown.

You tug Tim along the twinkle lights illuminated path, still unable to look at him while admitting these sentiments, “When we didn’t talk at all during those seven months of the Grandma Ursula case, I thought maybe I had made you up – it didn’t seem possible to have properly gauged the measure of a man so smart, kind, and honourable from just the few times we interacted.  But Tim, you exceed even my wildest fantasies with how steadfast, loving, respectful, caring you are to me everyday.  You’re the man of my dreams.”

If you were hoping to avoid getting overwhelmed by your feelings, thinking about how much you love your detective and all the reasons you can’t live without him has certainly not been the way to do it.  Swimming in your own happiness, you brush away your tears with the sleeve of Tim’s jacket and quicken your pace, your footsteps timed to the thundering beat of your very full heart.

You walk so quickly that your hand slips from Tim’s and in your surprise at the loss of his warm, comforting grip, you turn around – the sight that greets you leaves you stunned.  Both hands flying up to cover your mouth, now dropped opened in a placid ‘o’ shape, you’re unable to contain the loud gasp that escapes.

Tim is still where he was when you inadvertently let go of his hand, but now down on one knee – in his upturned palm he holds an open ring box, his rich brown eyes swirling with a storm of deep emotion, love.

You walk the few steps back to Tim in silence, teary eyes crinkling from a smile that you can’t quite hide behind your hands.  Your barely concealed joy makes Tim’s heart soar and calms his nerves somewhat.

When you finally stand before him, Timothy Rockford, first line attack dog of the LAPD Detective Squad, scourge of the city’s hardened criminals, and certified grump who hates all holidays and holiday parties, melts in front of the woman he loves.  He looks up into the eyes of his personal goddess, the one who makes it safe for him to reveal his soft underbelly, nourishes him and has his back in every way that matters on this mortal plane he had long resigned to walking alone before meeting her, and asks the most important question he’s ever had to pose, inside or outside of an interrogation room.

“Shutterbug, when we met, I couldn’t have fathomed how much better my life was going to get with you in it.  You’re the embodiment of all the goodness that for a very long time I was convinced existed in too short supply in this world.  But not with you, baby – you’re generous and open, and the sweetness and compassion you extend to me and everyone around you feels never-ending.  You give me so much, but the most important is something I didn’t even know I was missing: a home.  You’re my home, Shutterbug.  A home full of love and softness.  I- I never knew that could be in the cards for me, or that anyone like you existed, never mind that you would choose me.  I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, but if you allow me, I want to spend the rest of our lives coming home and loving you.”

You’re nodding now, happy tears overflowing.

Tears now rolling down his own face, Tim chokes out, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, Tim!  I’ll marry you!!” You cry, launching yourself into Detective Rockford’s arms, practically knocking him and the ring box to the ground.

Wrapping his arms tight around his little slice of heaven, Tim helps you both stand; pulling back only so he can slip the diamond ring that he had so long ago bought and hid in the back of his sock drawer, waiting for the right time (a time that wouldn’t be too soon), on your ring finger.  You admire the beauty of this bright flawless thing, an actual physical embodiment of Tim’s love – still in shock that something, someone, could be so exquisite and yours.  Thankful and humbled before its, his, grace, you place your hands on both sides of your fiancé’s handsome face as he brings his careful paws up to yours and you meet for a long, perfect kiss.

Still feeling like you’re in a dream, you start heading home - alternating between walking while holding out your left hand and admiring it in a daze, and looking back at Tim’s blinding smile, stopping to kiss him again when you see the look of devotion and awe that he radiates back at you.  This continues for several blocks until, giddy and blissful, you suddenly notice the slow licking flames of want that have been keeping you warm on this chilly December walk – immediately, you start pulling Tim towards your shared destination with renewed urgency.

“What’s the hurry, Shutterbug?” laughs Tim.

“Want to get home, Detective,” you giggle, “so I can ride my new fiancé until we both come so loud the neighbours complain."

At this, Tim quickens his pace, long legs taking strong purposeful strides - one for every two of yours; his eagerness and boyish grin making you laugh, “Then tomorrow, after we celebrate some more on every surface of the apartment, I want you to take me to that deli across town and I’m going to buy MacMillan a ‘thank you’ sandwich myself.”

You squeal in laughter as Detective Tim Rockford breaks into a full out jog, practically carrying you, his Shutterbug, love of his life, raison d’etre – fiancé, wife-to-be, the future Mrs. Rockford (Oh, he likes the sound of that!), all the way home.

A/N 2: We time hop a lot in this series, a lot of the stories not necessarily happening in the order they're written/posted and I don't think it matters much - but for those that are wondering, a little note on timing. This story can be considered the most recent in the timeline of Timmy and Shutterbug's relationship; I consider it to take place a good while after Sniffles (when they move in together). Sniffles I imagine to take place 3-4 months after Husband Material, and before the Sleepy Trilogy. I'm not terribly committed to when the others slot in, but I always think of Dance for Me as also taking place when they're already living together.

Thank you again for reading and happy holidays - god (nondenominational) bless you, every one 🥹🥹😘

[brynn-lear]

When The Cypress Tree Wilts [Yandere!Kamisato Ayato x Reader]

Prompt: Kamisato Ayato, the sole survivor of Teyvat, struggles to cope with grief. He finds solace in the company of a fellow survivor, (Y/n), on the Astral Express. Although the two came from different universes, with him being a fictional character on (Y/n)'s end, he had grown fond of them. Perhaps too fond for Mister Yang's liking. He has seen this story played out once already. [Dedicated to @jessamine-rose]

Content Tags: (light?) yandere themes, major character death, we ain't trusting getting roses again after this one boys

For twenty-seven years, the cypress tree stood alone. Its branches, exhibiting complete fortitude to withstand erosion, have been a home for many animals. A guardian of many and a home for herons. It's no stretch to say its artistic seriousness made the Cypress tree the Warden of the Forest. 

What happens, though, if the forest catches fire? What happens when everything it held dear—all the pillars ingrained in the firmest soil—is reduced to ashes in a single glance? When the forest's life-loving temperament disappears, just what is left of the guardian tree? 

There's only one answer: the Cypress loses its Inazuman function. Harmony, balance, and peace wither away from the tree's symbolism. All that's left is the alternative Enkanomiyan myth: cypress trees must only be planted as a mourning tradition. 

The Warden of Death...

Kamisato Ayato closed his eyes, making his umpteenth attempt to breathe steadily. 

He sat upright on one of the Astral Express's couches. It's been more than eight months since he had found himself as the sole survivor of his world. So far, everything that had been told to him had been unreal. 

Gone were the clan, his retainers, and his dearest sister. None were left as he watched their remains swept by the wind. Memories of Ayaka's burnt hair and cheeks crumbling refused to leave his every waking moment. He tried desperately to hold on, but the ashes kept slipping through his fingers until his family's white heron was reduced to a lifeless husk. Her feathers were plucked too soon.  

He cannot have her back. He cannot have his clan back. His world was forever unsalvageable.

That was his fate as the Remembrance's souvenir. He can carry the weight of survival while the memokeepers preserve Teyvat's memories.  

But at least he has someone in a similar position as himself. 

"Mister Yang," you called over the older man hushedly. Welt glanced at the mopping mess and knew just what you were hinting at. Better to alert someone who can assist him better.

"Are you alright, Mister Kamisato?" Welt asked, sitting beside Ayato. He passed his cane onto his other hand so he could pat his shoulder. Ayato only laughed stiffly. 

Thankfully, it's not an entirely hopeless cause. There was, at least, a silver lining to make up for it. No matter how dim the glimmer was, he at least had the Express's understanding. 

And yours as well. 

Ab███████, h█ed his pl█as.

"—to, you can still think this through!"

"Stand back, Himeko."

Just like him, you lost your world, too. You came from a fabric of existence wherein he was deemed fictional. A video game called "Genshin Impact", as you called it. You were terrified when you discovered your universe crumbled because of some time-travel paradox. But in spite of your enormous losses, curiosity triumphed over fear. You would prefer exploring the galaxy than thinking about how much work you still need to do for your college classes.

But today? You rest. After all, the express is landing in Penacony.

While Welt did his best to provide consolation, you handed them warm drinks. Ayato gave you a gentle nod. 

He gave it a quick sip. Unlike Himeko's, your brew was more tame. Not at all professionally made— it's everyday coffee— but that adds more to its appeal. Ayato politely wiped possible stains near his lips. You can't help but notice how his mole was placed below it. 

He's definitely a video game character, that's for sure. They don't make people this attractive in your old world. 

Just holding the coffee you made… feeling its warmth in his hands… It gave him strength to speak. 

Ayato sighed. "Apologies, I simply… will take longer to recover my mental composure. I am not usually this easy to rattle or ramble often. I deeply apologize for the trouble I caused the express thus far."  

"I do wonder if I had wronged the Gods. I committed plenty of misdeeds in the eyes of the Shogun, yet they were pardoned. But perhaps the Heavenly Principles…" He muttered, thinking he was inaudible. More than half a year without his retainers and constant troubles had dulled his vigilance.

Welt shook his head. "Do not be harsh on yourself by culminating these harmful… ideals, Mister Kamisato."

"I agree." You said. "At any rate, you'll end up miserable for the entire month if you keep overthinking what that Silver Wolf said."

His mood had been visibly dampened since Silver Wolf's last visit. She claims that he was "destined for ruin based on Elio's script" and that it was better he knew about it now rather than later. 

Ayato looked away. "I suppose so… This wishful thinking brings me nothing but thoughts such as to save my one and only sister, with this pitiable strength— how can I recreate the past?"

Welt grew cold with mild horror. Then, he cleared his throat after a suspiciously long pause. 

The past Welt knows is not the past he wants a repeat of.

"Why focus on that when the future awaits you?" He said, but with how the older man refused to meet his lilac eyes, there must be more he won't let on. 

"Your reluctance… Does this have something to do with what the memokeeper previously stated?"

"...What Black Swan said?" You tilted your head. 

Welt sighed. "So many things must be runnin' around your head... I don't usually encourage drinking, but maybe you should have a few shots later."

"I shall consider it, but I must know now, Mister Yang." He looked at him. "What did she mean when she said I was an alternate version of your acquaintance, Otto Apocalypse?"

Welt coughed up his coffee. 

Re██y his angu█████ c███s.

"-to, don't do this. You can't bring ██████ back—"

“Your farcical tangents will distract me no more. Do not play parlor tricks with that cane of yours. My mind is sound, and my decision is final."

"..."

"..." 

"..." 

Ever since Ayato was dubbed as a new Nameless alongside you, he's been bombarded with both blunt and subliminal messages of his supposed "true" nature. One faction agrees he's an existence not meant to be trifled, while the other wants to cultivate him into a villain. 

You don't know much about that. Unlike whatever hero's journey he had been experiencing— you're detached from trouble. Your new life was spent writing, dressing up with March, eating with Stelle, and reading through Dan Heng's data banks about constellations & other aesthetically pleasing biological entries. You were a quiet existence. Black Swan remarked you're amicable for someone who cannot return to normalcy. You embrace change far better than others.

But you think that's because there's enough grieving for the Express to carry; they don't have room to acknowledge yours… 

"You're Kamisato Ayato, not Otto." You told him firmly. "Don't overthink what she said."

"It is not as if I do not know that, how—"

"No, there are no buts or howevers; that's final."

Ayato laughed softly, no longer tense. 

"Understood. I'm your Kamisato Ayato, right?" He tilted his head like a dog. 

"Yes, yes, you're our Ayato." You sighed. 

He's a lot cuter when relaxed. 

You shook your head. 

No, better not let this develop into something else. You don't want to have a crush on a guy that's essentially no different from a flatmate. 

Furthermore, you exclusively confide in him. You'd rather your relationship as each other's anchor remains the same in the future. After all, you're not the type to let everyone in the room know your baggage. So was Ayato, but... His trauma lends itself to the extremes.

While you were lost in thought, adorable footsteps strutted closer. 

Angry, adorable footsteps. 

"What are you guys doing drinking coffee?! The train is about to jump soon!!!"

Pompom huffed. They put their little paws on their hips, scoffing at you three. You apologized profusely, forgetting that your trip to Penacony was in ten minutes. 

"Sorry, Pompom." Welt sheepishly said. 

Ayato looked at Pompom earnestly. "So am I."

"Whatever, okay, but you better change later! You can't join a wedding wearing those clothes!!!"

You frowned. You were already dressed, though. You thought you already looked perfect for the evening. Maybe you should've tried harder... Perhaps you were too relaxed about this...

"Oh, but I'm sorry…" You told them, frowning.

Pompom shook their head, panicking. "Not you, (Y/n), you're always so harsh on yourself— you always know how to dress pretty. I'm talking about these two boys!"

They stared at each other before laughing awkwardly, provoking the conductor further. 

Pompom growled, grabbing the broom. 

"You know what?! Get off the sofa! Change! NOW!!!"

Abu████ce, stir this b███ft ████e, 

"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM?!? HE WAS LIKE A BROTHER TO US!!!"

It's clear that someone isn't having the best time.

Penacony weddings are too lively for Ayato's tastes. But much like shadows, nobody can evade the bright lights. 

He nearly tumbled when he saw you. By the looks of his pale face, the lively atmosphere had been draining him senseless. While he maintained his elegant demeanor when talking to Aventurine (and failing), you were refilling your cup at the food aisle. Once Ayato reached you, he desperately wanted to place his head on your shoulder. 

“Please… lend me… Five…”

You smiled and opened your arms.

"Don't speak, I got you."

He leaned on your shoulder.

The five seconds you assumed were startlingly morphing into five minutes. You can't feign as a warm statue for that long. While you worry about your willpower, Ayato sank deeper into his thoughts to meditate. 

From this angle, he looked like a resting cat.

"You okay, Ayato?"

"The SoulGlad, it's so…"

Ah, right. You figured he might've drunk.

"Not once had it been a passing thought that excessive alcohol and fire displays would be a common wedding practice. The culture shock is astounding." Ayato leered quietly. "Thankfully, I no longer care about putting on a social mask. I cannot stomach participating in copious amounts of… festivities."

You laughed. Is it bad you find his suffering entertaining? 

"Is it so different from how they conduct weddings in Inazuma?"

"Hard to say… The Clan may be focused on cultural ceremonies, but I purposely avoided weddings. It helps steer clear talks of arranged marriages. I can only name Chisato's as an exception on top of my head." Ayato placed a hand on his chin. 

He continued. "Extravagant weddings such as this had a decline for two years. The dismal lives of vision wielders immensely affected how much pyrotechnics and other displays were available. Any commonplace joy could be marked as vulgarity by the Shogun at any second... All those charges just for an insincere ceremony."

"I… See." You assumed the answer was a resounding no. "Sounds like you're against marriages of convenience."

Ayato pulled away, looking at you. 

"Not entirely. I understand why it's a necessary evil, given our politics." He said. "But I still firmly believe that when there's true love, nothing should stand in its way."

His eyes reveal that he's starting to sober up. In Penacony, it was probably a beneficial phenomenon. Might as well give away hangover relief if you market alcohol as the icon of your dreamscape. 

"(Y/n), this may sound peculiar, but I glimpsed at an apparel store nearby."

You nodded slightly. He knew you had an affinity for fashion. When you visited the Xianzhou Luofu, he mapped out stores that might interest you. Ayato likes the way you dress. Sometimes, he would even approach you for a consult. 

"And? What did you see? Did you take a picture?"

He groggily nodded and pulled out his phone. 

"Please, take a look."

…

You blinked, turning red. 

"Ayato, these are wedding dresses…"

"I do know that, yes, but don't you believe some of these would suit you? Oh— this one is a particular favorite of mine."

…

He said it so casually that you were beginning to doubt if you were insane. Do friends casually daydream about another friend in a wedding dress? Is that a norm for platonic relationships? You looked away and gently pushed his phone away. 

… You hate how you liked what he picked out.

And you know he noticed it, too. Cheeky bastard. 

"Let's hold that thought for now."

"May I ask why?" He tilted his head, slightly pouting. "I think a traditional white wedding dress would compliment you. Are you, perhaps, seeing flaws I have missed?"

"Y-You're really not getting it, huh…"

Whatever was troubling you, he wasn't about to dissect it. His thoughts were reduced to simplicity that evening, just down to you look gorgeous tonight. The two of you should extend your visit to Penacony for much longer. It is always night here… 

How unfair that you dressed so prettily; he wished it was for his eyes alone. The delicately lace-adorned pastel pink dress suits you well. It felt like a grave sin for him to keep staring at the delicate sapphire necklace resting atop your neck. Not to add, a few strands of your hair framed your face, and your hair was tastefully swept into a neat (h/c) bun. What completes the look is the strappy heels. 

When will it be your wedding, (Y/n)?

Your face contorted. "How drunk are you?"

Ayato smirked curtly and shrugged back to what March calls his "nobleman smile", gazing at you intently. You weren't sure if he was listening to you anymore. 

"Enough."

That was his reply, short and simple. 

As long as your eyes mirror his, it's enough for him. 

“LAAADDIEESSS AND GENTLEEEMEEENNN AND OTHER LIVING CREAAATURREEESSS!!!!”

A rather shrill voice shouted through a microphone. It's the wedding's host. From the volume, anyone can discern that it came from the event room. You placed your cup down. It's that time— noises from excited guests, lonesome people, in particular, were shared around. No one can miss their hands, which tremble with excitement. 

You jolted.

Shit, that's Sparkle. You promised Stelle and March that you four would take BFF pictures in the costume photo booth before the final farewells. Something about silly masks and hats. Miss it, and you're guaranteed to enter the next fight without a shield. Worse, you might wake up with a bat-shaped wound on your head. 

You grabbed Ayato and swerved past the crowd.

“(Y-(Y/n)?!”

Ayato's mind went blank. 

You voluntarily held his hand. Gloved hands. Still, he thanked March that she gave him a pair for the occasion. His hands were sweating, and his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. 

Public displays of affection are generally subdued in his old world. Handholding raises questions regarding those reared into nobility like he was. His upbringing was far from liberal, so he did his best to give his sister more freedom, yet he is not accustomed to this skinship.

He gripped yours back weakly. Ayato can't stop staring at your determined expression. He gulped. Can you sense it? Are you secretly enjoying this? Do you know what you're doing? 

Can you feel your effect on him?

He's not just drunk. 

He might be hopelessly in love with you.

Ayato grew hotter by the second. His breath was stripping away bit by bit. This epiphany was consuming him. He's been trying to deny it for as long as possible, but how laughable is it to do so when he had often pictured himself in peaceful household situations beside you? Can such desires be kept in the shadows, much like his Shuumatsuban work?

He wants you.

Kamisato Ayato wants you as his sole partner.

Wherever you're taking him, he'll follow you to the end, down to the last seconds of this script.

"THE BRIDE IS ABOUT TO THROW THE BOUQUET!!!"

Many lonely guests packed together like penguins. When the bride spun the bouquet around her palm, their reactions ranged from hopeful and cheerful to downright competitive and miserable. They thought a few flowers would ensure marriage, which is a little absurd, but who are you to spoil their fun? Simply because they obstruct your path does not warrant your discreet resentment—

Ayato stopped, halting you as well in the process.

"Ngh…?!"

You looked back, and such an act almost felt as forbidden as Orpheus' most egregious mistake.

If there was a semblance of variety in those women's faces, they were unified in one fell swoop. Their faces soured when the bouquet was passed down to its next owner. Worse, the flowers sat so beautifully in his arms.

That's right. His.

Those red roses…

"AALLLLRIIIIGHTTT! IT SEEMS MISTER KAMISATO GOT IT!!!" Sparkle cheered on. She had a crooked smile on her face. It didn't ring as malicious; instead, she was conflicted before she donned a playful mask. "And sheesh, while holding (Y/n) 's hand too— CONGRATS TO THE SOON-TO-BE-S!!!"

Ah, damn it. Instead of this, you wish people had applauded when you presented your thesis. No matter how crestfallen some were, they were at least good sports. They clapped and teased; you even spotted Himeko raising you a glass at your shared table, laughing. Beside her, Welt did you the courtesy of reminding you that you're hands were linked together. You gawked, pulling away as though Ayato's hand burned. Immediately, he cleared his throat and looked away. 

To Ayato, this was the only sign he needed.

With enough time and effort, a leafless tree could still be saved, new birds could still migrate, and an abandoned forest could still be restored. Gradually, he was discovering a fresh cause for optimism instead of a substitute for the people he had lost. There he was, Kamisato Ayato, a hidden custodian of Inazuman traditions, with his feet rooted in a foreign land. Though not very stable, his groundwork keeps him on course.

If he could revive the Kamisato Clan on its brink, how can he not do the same for his life? It's just like what his late father said:

Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

As long as a hand still reaches out for him, he'll do anything to grasp it. 

Unfortunately for you, it was yours that held his so tightly.

Hence, whether you like it or not, amidst the guests' congratulatory remarks and the bride's laughs, he had made up his mind.

Ayato will pursue you until you wear the gown of his dreams. 

More people trailed behind Sparkle and the bride as they went down the stage and to Ayato. You made an effort to get in touch with him to return to your starting point. However, it was challenging, given the number of people around. To hear what bashful comments he said was an even taller order.

That was until the bride dragged her new husband towards you.

"Here, dearie, the garter!"

You blinked.

"What?"

"You know the tradition, bouquet, and garter— I know it ain't as exciting as a bouquet, but ya can't be a pair without it." The husband grinned. "C'mon, take it!"

Your eyes widened.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly—"

"Aww, please, do you think we'll get in the way of love when we just got married?" The bride joked. Even though you don't know her well—you just know she's Stelle's friend—you didn't like how this sounded. "C'mon, take it! Don't make poor Mister Kamisato sad."

Did Ayato request this?

You looked back at him. He was smiling at his fellow guests.

He must've made a drunken joke.

"Alright, I'll have it." You'll be a team player, too.

Unbeknownst to you, Ayato's heart was brimming with joy as soon as you accepted it. You twisted the garter around your hand and tied it into a bracelet, and his eyes wrinkled. His face was beaming, and the guests warmly pointed out that it was definitely NOT the drink.

You laughed softly.

Maybe Stelle wouldn't get too angry after she sees these "loots".

Unfortunately, unlike the worlds you once immersed yourself in, your life was not a game. This second try was no exception.

There's a stark difference between the people he loves and himself, Ayato later found. The latter cannot sustain a better life for those he warded, while the former cannot attain the luxury of a peaceful death.

Readers would have gone crazy over how the author mercilessly punished and blamed the main character's dreams if his life had been a work of fiction. If it were genuinely one, he would venture to say that the systematic fate that everyone else was subjected to is the primary criticism.

His mother, his father, his sister, his clan.

And then you?

Ayato had already lost everything twice. 

There's no restraint left for him to hold on to. 

So…

"Mister Kamisato, please hear us out!" March begged, the shrill of her voice becoming hauntingly akin to a dull knife— repeatedly cutting through ears in prolonged agony. 

Ayato scoffed. His blue locks framed his face as he gazed down.

He's heard enough. 

Why shouldn't he challenge his fate?

Why shouldn't he challenge Elio's script?

"Whether I permit you or not, there won't be an intelligent word out of you." 

No other voice came to disparage him. This silence was loud. As if a voice was missing. Ayato looked at the ground.

He had almost forgotten he had used his former "brother" as a sacrifice. Silently, he thanked Dan Heng- or perhaps Dan Feng- for all that he had done for him and his "bride".

This act angered the rest. His temporary family brandished theirs in unison, with Stelle moving to the front. His response greatly saddened March. But Mister Yang? He was frozen. He didn't seem to move an inch. The older man looked deep into his lilac eyes. There must be more he won't let on. 

The past Welt knows is not the past he wants a repeat of.

But unfortunately, history is a vicious cycle— and it repeats itself.

He materialized his haran geppaku futsu, letting Dan Heng's blood drip while its azure glow shine bright. But what shone brighter was the cryogenic "coffin" behind him.

You may have lost your battle with this curse, but you have helped him not lose his. 

You were looking out at a night with a full moon in your last moments. The pitch-black moon seemed to loom life itself. As you strolled alone, every step wet your feet, but there's a persistent sense that you might have been staring at your reflection the entire time despite the void's lack of offerings.

It's always night in Penacony. You have heard that innumerable times. Night never sleeps. The chitchat never stops. The tango doesn't halt. But time stands still for you as the rest of the world rejoices. 

But Penacony was not your resting place. It was the Xianzhou. 

How unfortunate that you forget that in your last moments. Mara has a knack for erasing the memory of its victims. The only solace that your admirer gets is that your previous recollections are of him, of you, and of the bouquet and garter you received. 

At least before you closed your eyes, you thought of him. 

Ayato gazed at your mara-struck face once more.

Beauty is eternal. Despite the chill seeping into your bones, your clothes were nothing short of ethereal. A traditional white wedding dress, floor-length with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt, would've been given more justice if the wearer was not frozen in time. The laces and beadwork detailing were reminiscent of sakura petals, with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves.

You're holding a bouquet of roses mixed with sakura...

Just like you, Kamisato Ayato always had a good eye for aesthetics. 

It's a shame the little life left in his eyes was wilting away.

It's a shame that this wedding never happened.

It's a shame you told him you needed more time to think.

It's a shame you're frozen in time.

However...

As long as a hand still reaches out for him, he'll do anything to grasp it. And Yaoshi has plenty to reach for.

With that, using the blood of the Vidyadhara he had slain, he summoned his new Aeon.

One that he does not particularly believe in. And if he had never placed his blind faith in the Shogun, he doubts he would do the same in Yaoshi.

So, Aeon of Abundance, with the former High Elder's blood on his hands...

Prove him wrong.

"Abundance, heed my pleas,

Repay my anguished cries.

Abundance, stir this bereft peace,

Awaken love from death's disguise."

Bring his soon-to-be Kamisato (Y/n) back to him.

[narcissarina]

•Lost, Acceptance, and Love again•

Before reading, please take note that:

This is a work of fiction, events that have happened here are entirely fictional and it's all in the authors imagination.

You may or may not agree with what the characters say since it's only for the sake of the plot to continue the story.

May or may not contain spoilers from the actual Silent Hill 2 remake game.

The author would like to apologize for her shit ass writing because she's rusty as hell.

Words used: 17,965

This story contains, slow burn, single mother reader, grieving James, trauma and smut.

Please beware that this may be ass, but the author had to post and edit this at 4:08 in the morning in her country. (Save yourself pls)

The author hasn't finished the game, and may have flaws while she researches something on the internet rather than playing the game itself (waiting for her fav ytuber to upload)

Tumblr is being ass for the 10 picture limit that the author couldn't use her Lost, Acceptance, and Love again divider. So please bear with the ~~~~~ lmao.

Lost, Acceptance and Love again...

It was morning, the sunlight creeps in and the cheers of your kids blessed your ears—their little feet carried themselves and pushed the door of your room open, “mommy, mommy!” They said, helping one another to set foot in your bed and tackle you.

You smiled at their tactics, finally opening your eyes as you were greeted with the biggest smile you ever witness. The four of them steps on your bed, Veronica on your lap, Kenan clings to your arm and Junior messing your hair. Since they’re only two years old, they are loud and more energetic than you are.

“Alright, alright.” You sat up and tried to get Junior’s hand off of your hair, untangling his super grip and tried to find their other brother: Leo. Leo seems busy watching what the others are doing, “you four go play in the living room, mommy has to make her bed and make you devils some breakfast, okay?” You said, putting Veronica down the ground as Kenan and Junior followed, then Leo.

“Mommy, somwone move in next dwor.” Leo informed you, “and where did you heard that, baby Leo?” you asked, standing up to stretch your arms and legs—throwing question at Leo, “the other neighbwors, mommy.” Pouts Leo.

After making you bed, you told them to run along the living room while you make them breakfast but since you’re now informed that someone moved in next door, you thought about giving the new neighbor some warm welcoming like how you first moved in. Gifts and homemade foods is what greeted you on the first day, you wanted to welcome the new neighbor just the same.

Someone deserve to feel welcome, right?

Setting down your utensils, facing your kids, “you kids want to help me make something to give next door?” silence as the four little blonde kids looks at one another as they nod to agree to assist you.

“What do you kids want to give to our new neighbor?” You asked, rummaging through your kitchens top drawer snd the pantry closet, “cookies!” suggest Veronica, “muffins?” said Kenan in a timid, shy tone, “Can I eat wone?” asked Junior, his mind drooling about eating cookies and muffins.

You smiled at them with a nod, “cookies and muffin then.”

The four little blonde kids helped you knead the cookie dough, this also helps them find entertainment for cooking—one of the fun activities that they never knew they’d enjoy, after making a mess on the table, with the flour and chocolate chips spread through the table.

Letting them experience to clean and help you with basic house chores while waiting for the cookies and muffin to bake.

Sitting with the kids in the living room, they’re drawing on their papers, Leo is taking a nap on your lap while the others draw. “Ms. Lay fwom next door says that the new guy nexts dwor is a bit gwumpy looking, but I think he’s just sad.” What Junior said struck you, the new guy next door is… sad? Why is that your kids say that the man was sad?

You thought, maybe having a little chat with him and try to befriend him would make a difference. Maybe he’s lonely or could use a friend, it’s totally all right to rely on someone when they needed it most, right?

You asked yourself, losing yourself in thought as Kenan bit your knees to snap you out of it, “Ow—” you wince, almost kicking your knee up as Kenan backs away, “cookie and muffin owlready done mowm.” He pats and continues to draw with Veronica and Junior as you settle down Leo to nap on the couch.

Thinking back again as you took two trays out of the oven, you can’t help but wonder what must that guy be going through, why he moved alone next door. You sigh and took each one of the cookies and muffin out of the tray, calling your kids to let them decorate it to whatever they pleases.

Junior put a blue icing and put don’t be sad, have a muffin.

While Veronica draw hearts and flowers, Leo on the other hand just put a frown and smile together. Kenan just wants it to be a simple swirl.

They help pick a box to put in to give it to the man next door, a pink with white stripes box as you neatly put a ribbon around it, then taking a box out to give the man a few cookies to enjoy while the rest are for yours and the kids to enjoy.

You smiled at the masterpiece that your kids made, and of course, an A for your effort too.

“Let’s hope that he likes it.” You smiled at the four eating their own muffin, stuffing their face with icing.

Still wearing your apron on, kids were on your side. Veronica holding the muffin box with both of her hands, smiling from ear to ear as if she’s delighted to share the masterpiece that she and her brothers made, Kenan clings to your pants while Leo walks in front of you. You rang the door bell and looks down at Leo—who’s expression is uninterested to be here right now and holding the box filled with cookies.

It took a few minutes and two doorbells before the man opens the door, before you, you saw a tall dark blonde man with tired eyes in a slightly ajar door. Is he not sleeping well? It’s quite worrying to see him at such a state, but Veronica’s voice filled the silence with her usual loud and cheery voice, “HELLO!” she beams, startling the man, “me, my mowmi and my bwothers made these for chu!” She started walking towards him, taking his hand and giving the box to him.

Leo goes up next, didn’t say anything and shoves the box to the mans knee—making him kneel down to pick up the box, “Leo!” You called out with a slight frown, “I-I’m so sorry for my son, sir.” You flash him with a soft smile, “we were informed you had just moved in, we thought we might give you something to welcome you.” You added, Veronica is clapping with a giggle while Kenan on the other hand, is hiding from the man.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Grunts the dark blonde man, taking box filled with cookies in his hands and set it to the nearby table in his home, you told him your name while he told his, “I’m James…” he said, “James Sunderland.”

You nod, looking down at Junior that’s in front of you, “mister awre you high?” asked Junior, your eyes wide and knelt down quickly to cover Juniors mouth, “I am SO sorry.” You apologize for your kids behavior, earning a small chuckle from James, “just kidding, mommy.” Junior giggled at his own words, “Junior that’s not nice.” You tut and got to your feet again.

The kid walks towards James and pushed the door to open more, giving the man a hug to his knees, “don’t be sad, miwster.” Junior tries comforting the man, looking at James with his baby blue eyes, “just eat a mufwin.” He grins and quickly got back to you. James eyed your kids one by one, nodding at Juniors words, “I will, kid.” James smiled, his day a bit better because of your little devils.

You had a long and friendly conversation with James, the kids asking him questions and urging him to take a bite of what they made, asking him who’s muffin is better—giving James the pressure of answering the so called ‘winner’.

Finally got back inside, your kids bursting with energy and zoomies around the living room. They’re playing tag while you watch them play and turn on your television to watch something, turning channels to see if there’s something interesting to watch but since there’s none, you just read a book while Leo decided to take a nap on top of you while you read.

James smiled today, amused by the kids and made his day a little better. You smiled to yourself and look back at your children, they sure are a bundle of joy—bringing a smile to someone’s face with their unique personality and odd choice of words talking to a stranger… that now strangely turned into a friend.

You are thankful that you have them to bring joy to someone’s day… even if it’s just for today.

It’s now nighttime, you look to the window and see that James never set foot outside for once today, he might have something a lot to worry in his mind. The bags under his eyes… You’re worried, but not to worry! You have set a goal to yourself that you’ll break down James’ walls little by little until he shares his worries with you. That he’ll see that he’s not alone, that he’s free to share his burden with you.

You asked your kids to take a bath (you dried them one by one with a towel of course), brush their teeth and waste their energy to their last playtime for today and set off to bed.

Tucking Veronica first in her own separate room from the boys, she giggles as you kissed her forehead. Pulling the blanket up to her neck and setting Mr. Bunny to her side.

The boys are chatting and Junior being the clown to their group is making a joke to make them laugh, “okay, boys. Off to bed now.” You smiled, leaning against the doorframe then walking to their beds as they scatter to their own.

Tucking Kenan and Leo in their own, giving them a goodnight kiss on their forehead, setting their comfort animal stuff toys to their side. You also tucked in Junior last, he’s sitting on his bed, smoothing out his blanket with a smile then finally lying down.

“Mowmmy,” he called, “yes, baby?”

“I wayk James.” He stated with a giggle, “why is that?” you asked, interested that he had taken a liking to James, “he seems to be a nice guy.” You nodded, agreeing to him.

“He is.”

“But chi seems sad and lonely..” Juniors tone became hush and blue, he shoot you a pity look, “c-can we bwe chis fwend?”

His question stunned you a little, but seeing that James seems to be feeling blue and lonely, why not try right? You nodded and kisses Juniors forehead goodnight, “we’ll try, baby. Let’s invite him to every plans we have. Ease his mind a bit yeah?” you smiled at him.

Junior yawned and leans towards you touch, “I like that vewi much, mowmmy,” he yawns mid sentence, “I wuv you vewi much…”

Your heart swells with so much love, adding more fuel to your determination and make James be part of the family so he would never be alone. Not when they’re here with him.

“Mr. Sunderland?” knocking on his door then ringing his doorbell, calling him out while your kids were chatting among themselves, you waited for James to come out.

“Mr. Sun—” the door open, you almost hit James by the chest when you’re suppose to knock, “yeah?” he responded to your call, eyes still tired as ever then he pinch the bridge of his nose—finally looking down at your kids that’s dressed up. For what? A party or play?

His mouth open, but couldn’t pin point the words he wanted to say, “is—is everything all right?” he asked, looking down at Veronica who’s giggling at James, “yes, everything is fine. About yesterday, uhm…” taking a sharp breath, you gather your courage to invite him out, “you see, my kids had taking a liking to you and—”

“No, I dwon’t” pouts Leo.

You shush Leo and gave him the stare, “that’s not nice.” You quickly warned Leo, “bwut I like James.” Said Junior with a smile and Veronica steps up to James giving him a big hug to his knee, “wiw you pwease come with chas mister?” Veronica asked with a pleading tone, not letting go of James because well… she doesn’t take a no for an answer.

Waiting for his response, James kneels down to Veronica’s level and pats her head, “I can’t.” he said, trying to untangle her grip to his leg, “whys?” She asked with a pout, not letting go of James, “I uhm…” he cough and start looking around his house, “a bit busy.”

“wayer.”

He sigh and smiled, “I’m… not.” He pauses and took his gaze off Veronica’s pleading look, puppy eyes and all. “Pwease?” plead Veronica, stomping her little legs, “pwease, pwease, pwease.” She repeatedly plead, hugging James’ leg tightly.

Taking Veronica off of him and cradling her in your arms, you just faintly smiled at James’ polite refusal, “it’s okay, Mr. Sunderland,” you said, patting your daughters back as you two could hear her sob. You pamper her with kisses on her cheek to cheer her up, but she hugged you tightly around your neck and silently sob.

“We’ll just go,” taking Leo’s hand, taking Leo away because he’s giving James the glare. Junior waved his hand bye-bye and took Kenan with him.

Seeing the tears that the girl shed, it made him feel bad—a guilty feeling that he hates to feel because he refused a little girls request, “wait!” he yelled, stopping the five of you in your tracks, “w-wait… I’ll just get uh… ready.” He awkwardly stated and shut the door first, probably going to have a quick wash to his face.

You could hear him tripping inside his own home and almost loud banging in there, is he all right? You asked yourself, then turn to the crying Veronica, “look, baby. He’s now coming with us.” You coo her, bouncing her on your arms as Veronica smiled and nodded, wiping her tears with her little hands.

His door open and locked it, walking down to his porch steps and pocketing his keys. First time seeing him in the light as he walks over to you, he sigh—knowing that he accepted defeat when he witness Veronica cry.

“All right…” he sigh, “where to?”

“Up.. up..” Veronica lift her arms and tried to get to James to carry her, “all right.” Accepting her request, he cradle her in his arms then felt like the heavy stare faded from him, Leo was glaring at him but not anymore—now that he sees his sister content and happy being carried by James.

“Just the playground.”

Arriving at the park, the kids dashes off to either the swing or slides, you sit beside James on the bench and watch over them. “So.” You start, glancing over him while he’s leaning forward.

“any kids?” you question, he slowly shakes his head, “no.”

Awkward…

You start again while watching the kids from the distance, Veronica pushing Kenan on the swing while Leo helped Junior to slide down the slides, “any particular reason why you moved in to town?” you asked, there was an silence that gap between you. As if, James’ is reflecting on to his own thoughts.

“Well, it’s—… it’s not that it’s wrong to move in.” you almost eat and stutter your words, pursing your lips and looking down to your knees. He’s refusing to answer doesn’t he? Better not push it, maybe it’s quite personal to him.

You heard a tuning song from the distance, oh look. An ice cream truck! Better buy some to make him and the kids better.

Standing up from your seat and taking your purse, target locked to the truck from the street as James’ mutter in his breath, “just… to run away from something.” He said. You catch what he said and nodded, brows furrowing to what? Pity or worry?

“watch the kids for me, can you?” asking a small favor for him, he nods and lean back to his seat, taking a closer eye on four of your kids while you run along with your heels clicking and across the street buying ice cream.

James’ eyed on Veronica closely… There seems to be a stranger talking and coming closer to her, giving her what? Candy? His eyes squinted and stood up from his seat, walking closer to your daughter. He could hear what they’re saying, “oh you want more candy?” the stranger asked.

“ches, more pwease.” Veronica demanded, gesturing on her hand to give her more, “excuse me?” James’ voice cuts their little idle chat, making the stranger flinch and look at the man before him, he leans down to Veronica (who is licking her candy) tapping her shoulder and nod to the stranger before her, “you know this person, sweetheart?” James asked, she chin up to meet James’ gaze—she shakes her head to a no, not knowing who might this stranger be.

The unknown person stood up and backed away, “so.” James warned as he stood and took Veronica in his arms, cradling her. “It’s either you scram or I’ll take you out myself.” His voice might be calm and collected, but it hints a warning and threat.

The unknown person backs away and out the park that’s filled with children, James’ decided to warn the parents that’s present on the park—warning about the guy who is suspicious and could possibly kidnap the children out of sight.

James took the children to the bench and waited for your return.

When you came back, plastic bag on your wrist filled with cup ice creams and two big ice cones for you and James’—witnessing them look gloomy sitting on the bench while Veronica is happily chewing on her candy.

“I’m back, what happened?” you asked, walking in front ofhim and giving James his cone, then gave the four children their own small cupped ice creams, “someone tried to bribe your daughter with candies.” He looks at his own cone and took a big bite on top, “he looks suspicious so I warned the other parents that are present.” He added, looking worried as she snap your gaze to Veronica.

“Baby, what did I told you when strangers that looks sketchy offered you candy huh?” your voice firm but with worry.

“Bwut mowmmy, I intwend to take a few then rwun away. It’s buswiness.” Proud and smug as Veronica gesture a ‘pay me’ gesture, letting out a scoff and put your free hand to your face as you gaze back to James’ “thank you so much, James. I don’t know what could’ve happened to her without you watching.” You let out a huge sigh and looks down at Veronica, “you do understand that I’ll give a good scolding for later, right Nica?”

Veronica pouted but made no objections but instead, nodded—she knee that she made you worried and got in a little bit of struggle, since she didn’t want to left out her three brothers by not having a candy, she took the risk in mind.

You couldn’t believe that one of your kids already made some trouble for James, you sat down with them and you glance at James’ ice cream cone… It’s already gone? Huh?

Eyes wide that James already ate his at a split second, he looks at you with those same tired green eyes, “what?” he asked, “n.. no-no no, it’s nothing.” Licking your own cone and minding your own business, eating ice cream a little too quiet.

“you might want to have your daughter check, you know… incase that the candy was drugged.” Almost choking on your own cone, coughing and hitting your chest—your face went pale as the thought of the possibility that the candy might be drugged is your worst nightmare.

Your turn your head to Veronica and asked her, “baby, do you feel weird or sleepy?” Veronica shook her head, still eating her ice cream cup, “we’ll go to the hospital first before we go to you and your brothers favorite diner, all right?” you let out a small chuckle and took the kids empty ice cream cup to the trash.

You nod your head to James’ with a smile, “Lets go.”

“I’m still invited?” he asked, getting up to his feet.

“Of course, plus. I think you’d do that for the kids right?” you said with a grin, Veronica with pleading eyes as she now demands to be picked up.

“to the hospital?”

“to the hospital.” You nod.

“Well, the test result came quick and good news.” Says the doctor as he smiled and pats Veronicas head, “there are no drugs from your daughters system, miss.” The doctor added and gave Veronica candy—which Veronica is reluctant to take, asking you for silent permission using her eyes.

You smiled and kisses her head, “you can take the doctors candy, sweetie.” The doctor let out a chuckle at the cuteness and cautious Veronica, “it’s all right, you can trust me.” Said the doctor with a proud tone, “you know, I have a daughter that has the same name as you.” He winks playfully and left the room.

“Do you hear that baby? It means your name is special.” You coo as she devours the candy, Leo is sleepy on the other hand and had been itching to go home, “so I suppose we’re going to a diner next?” James asked, raising a brow—seeing that Leo is nodding off, he picked Leo up to his arms and cradle him, letting him nap to his shoulder.

Nodding to his words, finally leaving the hospital as the sun is almost setting and entering the diner. Taking your seats as Leo is still gripping on to James’ shoulder, not wanting to let go and disturb his nap.

“What would you like to have?” you asked, flipping over to the menu’s.

“Anything that you’re going to order.” Answered James as he tried to gently tug off Leo and reposition him to a comfortable position to nap.

You nod to his words and after a while, finally calling a waiter to order. Well, you ordered a few stuff that what you think he might like and your kid’s favorite, “you can wake him up when the food is here.” You told James, smiling from ear to ear from the sight and knowing Leo? He gets grumpy and loud when he gets his nap disturbed, you might want to consider working on your kid with that one.

“he gets better when the food is here.” You added with a smile to James, Veronica patting on his shoulder and leans in, trying to engage a friendly conversation with him with her own curiosity to James.

Time passed and when the food arrived, James almost got his hand chewed by Leo for waking him up, but since the food arrived—the boys demeanor changed and turned slightly happy that he gets to eat his dinner now. The dark blonde man was thankful that he didn’t woke the little man up before the food arrive or else he’ll get teeth marks on his hands.

Exchanging friendly chat and opinion on several things with him is fun, having a few deep talks with James is something you never expected.

“do you think that when a person die, they’ll wake up again in their next life?”

“What do you think ones purpose in life when they were brought to this world?”

You threw various question to James and he didn’t refuse to share his own thought and feelings, even some cultural reference, happy to say that… James is the man you never thought would be your friend that you could talk things like this about.

The kids were so confused and worried about each and every answer and question, Veronica throwing you a look to stop asking James about something like Life and Death.

Well, there are a few things James learned; one is that your family is fun to hang around, two is that his burdens were shared even for a little bit and that he feels safe and secure to be having those kind of conversation with you. And three, the kids made him smile as if he couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy…

It had soon became dark, the kids knew they had to go home now and that they’ll be separated from James for today… But knowing a kid, they get attached a little too quickly when they had taken a liking to someone, James just happened to be a lovable man to them. He makes them feel safe and laugh, even though he, himself is a little miserable in life.

He just lost someone…

He’s afraid…

To what?

To get attached and lose that person again…

“Mary…” he mutter.

“Did you say something?” you asked, snapping him back to reality and see that he’s already back home, well—at your home to be precise, he probably daydream along the way and never noticed that he accepted your invite to stay inside your home for a while.

You saw that he’s at it again, after drying the dishes with clean cloth, you sat down beside him on the couch—your hand on his shoulder as you lean to see his face, “hey…” you called, tilting your head to the side, “you don’t look fine, mind sharing what’s on your mind?” you asked, soothing his back in case he needed it.

Hearing a sigh from him, he leans back (which you quickly took your hand off because it’ll get squish by his back), “i-it,’s nothing… just…” he paused, “just.. thinking about my wife.” He murmur, brows furrow and his feeling sink into longing and regret.

Your eyes wide at the news of hearing that he has a wife, “oh, really?” you gasp, not reading him quite well, “you have a wife? Where is she then? I would love to make friends with her.” You chuckle but stop, the look on his face is what would you see in a grieving person.

You stop and scoots to him closer, patting his hand, “what.. what happened to her?” you asked, seeing a nice guy that’s depress like James hurts you… You hate the look on his face when he had done so much for you and you, well, couldn’t do much for him.

Just company and talks.

James already thinks that just hearing you laugh, talk, or even coo your children and bring him company is already enough for him.

“Mary?” he uttered his wife’s name to you, “is Mary her name?” you smiled, “you know, people who tends to have a name Mary is usually the most nicest and beautiful people you’d ever met.” You told him, maybe it’ll cheer him better and… it did.

He lets out a soft chuckle and nodded, agreeing with you, “yeah… Mary is kind, beautiful and the most sweetest woman I have ever met…” he opens up, you listen intently—not wanting to break this moment for him, “she likes to play the piano, though she claims that she’s not very good at it. I’ve always love to hear her play again.”

You smiled at his words and nodded, “well, where is she now?” you asked, his smile slowly fading—regret and longing kicking in, “Mary’s dead.” He said.

As if your breath had caught to your throat, words won’t come out as your heart drops from the news—sharing the same mournful feeling with him and soothing him by his shoulder, “do you know the cause of her death?” you asked.

James sigh and rest his elbows to his knees, covering and wiping his face with both of his hands, “she was sick, the doctors told us that she only has three years maximum to live, it became a problem to both of us… She would’ve still love to visit our special place.” You smiled at the mention of them having a special place, “but then, the disease she made her almost unrecognizable, sever mood swings where she would attack you.” His breath hitches, recalling the painful memories he had with her.

You wanted to ask if the illness she had was curable, but I guess James already read your mind, “no, they couldn’t find a cure for it.” He said, his tone low and mournful. “so, she died from a disease..?” You asked, resting your elbows to your knees like his, “and where is this special place she loved?”

“Silent Hill.”

You nod, smiling, also recalling some childhood memories from that place—but now is not the time being about you, isn’t it?

“So, Mary had three years maximum to live, meaning that she died three years ago?” you summarized in question on what he had told you so far, “am I right?” searching for reassurance.

But instead, he shakes his head and bow low, “no…” he murmur, “what do you mean?” you asked, brows slightly frowning, heart beating rapidly and almost holding your breath back.

“I killed her.”

As if your ears had gone deaf, ringing and your mind swirl with a lot of questions. Snapping out of it, you just let out a nervous chuckle, “you’re joking… right?” breath hitches, heart pounding rapidly as he didn’t react, he turn his head away and didn’t fill the silence.

Quickly getting up to your feet, finding something to do to busy yourself and distract your mind—it’s impossible, right? How could someone as kind like James kill someone? He spoke about Mary full of love and sincerity yet… he killed her.

Why..?

“I uhm…” you start, James stood and called your name, calm and gentle yet—those are the same lips that loved Mary and what killed her, “… could you please..” James hums, walking up to you, your back facing him as he tried to reach for your hand.

Flinching to his touch, you turn and cover then wipe your face with your whole palm. You couldn’t even look at him in the eye, “y.. you should go,” you remark, his lips parts but no words fell from it, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow…” you added, “I just… uhm… need some time.” James, of course, understood. If someone he wanted to be closed to told him that they had killed someone that the person really loves, he’d react the same too.

He'd doubt, isolate himself or even just cut ties with them.

Probably.

If he has the heart to.

Why now? He would asked himself, why now did he have to open up so soon? He just ruined another relationship that he thought he finally could keep. He just need time, just another time and chance to explain himself. But he couldn’t redeem himself to the crime he had done with the same hands that held your kids…

His hand stop reaching out to you, seeing how terrified you were with the information he just laid out to you, it’s terrifying and he knows that… He just… didn’t want Mary to suffer, if he could just say those words, will you understand why he had taken the life of his late-wife?

No. No you won’t, you won’t forgive him nor would he forgive himself, his mouth were open but no words were uttered out, “James…” he snaps back to reality, out of his mind yet again, “please, you and I need uhm… some rest.” You voice out, whispering as the kids were already fast asleep.

He nodded, understanding that it’s already night and… You need sleep and to avoid him for this night, “all right, I understand…” he mutter, slowly backing away and turn to face the door, he called out to you before walking out, “… good night.”

You hum in respond, “yeah… Goodnight too, James.”

Toss and turning in bed after an hour has passed, his words keeps haunting your mind, you could only ask yourself why? Why did he do it? Is it because Mary is too ill and that her illness isn’t curable, does that mean he just didn’t want her to suffer and ended her life with his own hands?

How could he? You thought, can’t sleep properly. James is a nice person, calm and collected when around your kids, even protected them from possible kidnap of Veronica, warned other parents about that suspicious person.

It's just, maybe, hard go believe. He couldn’t possibly, right? You don’t want go believe it, he’s starting to grow in you—letting your heart open ajar for him, just one more push and you’re attached.

Maybe he just said it to push you away? He said horrible things to himself just to distance people away from him, you can’t just ignore his existence and continue with your daily life when your own kids got attached to him.

You’ll go talk to him tomorrow, just need some good night sleep.

But how? When James himself is convinced that he’s a monster.

This all stresses you out, your mind is already tired of thinking and before you knew it, your eyes were closed as slowly your consciousness had taken a deep slumber, while your heartaches for James, a single tear shed from one corner of your eye.

You woke up a little too early, drinking coffee and reading a book on the kitchen table. Surprised that Leo was the first one to wake up, “mowmmy?” he called, putting your mug down and picked him up to your arms, “yes, baby?”

“Whwere’s James?” he asked, yawning and nuzzling his head to the crook of your neck, you hum him in your embrace, trying to put him back to sleep. Leo is smart from his siblings, he understands things that should’ve been terrifying to kids, you wanted to ask him about something, “Leo?”

Leo hums, pulling himself together and rubs his eyes with the back of his palm, “I want to ask you something baby.” You coo, “what would you do if someone you love is suffering in an incurable illness, what would you do?”

It takes time for the question to fully register in Leo’s mind, he blinks at you with his sleepy lidded eyes and huffs out his answer, “I uhm..” he almost mumble, “If its incwurable, I would wike them to stwop suffewing.” He hums, still sleepy yet he could answer your question.

“bwecause, i-if.. mhm.. if they cwontinue to swuffer, it’ll ownly pain them but fwor as long as thwey are stwill alive, I would want to cweate lots of memories with thwem.” He added, you nod. You know this to yourself that you shouldn’t be asking the child such dark question, but you did it anyway.

“But, baby, what if the person was the one who ended that persons suffering, what then?”

He squints at you hard, judging you badly.

Silence filled in as Leo was now fully awake and aware, “did swomeone killed swomeone mwommy?” he asked, rubbing his eyes, shaking your head as an answer with a smile, “just curious what would your answer be, Leo.”

He tilts his head, “lawfuwwy, it’s illegal and cwould be set in jail to swerve sentence fwor attempt murder.” He huffs, kicking his legs to be put down and sit on your lap, you sat back down to your chair and made him sit on your lap. He continues, “bwut, if—IF,” he almost yelled, “itw’s not like I’m dwefending a mwurderer or something.” He coughs and clasp his tiny hands together, “if thwat person feels guilty abwout it, and that thwey wish they dwidn’t done it and wanted to gwow back that thwey didn’t kwilled them. Thwen it means thwat thwey still have a gwood heart, bwecause they regwet.” He finishes and yawns, “mwurders are sometwine put to trial and serve swentence to jail, why is that mwommy?” he asked you.

You thought about it, “because they believe in being sober and second chances, and that they give them months or years in prison to reflect.” Leo nodded at your words in agreement, “exwactly. Now, if ywou will excuse me, I’m still eepy.” He huffs, stomping down to his feet hitting the ground, he looks back at you, “and mwommy, I bwelieve in secwond chances. Maybwe that pwerson thinks its fwor the best or that the pwerson with the illness mwakes it their wish.”

After that, he storms off back to his room, taking another nap with his brothers, it’s still eight in the morning, probably eight and thirty-five, what Leo just said left you speechless and in awe. He really is smart and gifted.

Making up your mind, Leo is right. Maybe… Maybe Mary really had requested it to James to kill herself. Give her life up because she doesn’t want to suffer anymore? Who knows, you’re not there when they’re story happened. You will have a talk with James’ later…

Oops, you need to prepare breakfast first, or else the house will be loud with complaining children about breakfast and having zoomies.

10:30AM.

Kids awake, Veronica somehow knew James’ phone number and invited him over without your knowledge, you only knew that when James told you, “huh? Veronica said you invited me over to come eat breakfast with you guys.”

Spacing out on the table, mind is full of thoughts and question while Veronica is standing on James’ chair while he sits, being also fed by the little girl when James could feed himself, but since knowing Veronica for being a little overdramatic. James couldn’t help but to play along to Veronica’s antics.

James would steal a glance at you every minute while letting Veronica yap and Kenan asking him question about stuff that curious the little boy, though you still refuse to speak the things that are on your mind yesterday—about what he had told you, maybe… just maybe…

Cradling Leo into your arms, looking at him taking a nap on your embrace—thinking about what he had told you earlier when he got his sleep disturb, is it by the lights or perhaps he had nightmares that he never told you about?

You were in the park with James, watching the kids play while Leo takes a nap in your embrace. Silence was deafening between the two of you, for James—it’s like you were out of reach to talk to because of yesterday’s conversation. He thought about explaining, but what is to explain when in the end, he still took an innocent life?

“You know, I have thought about it…” you start, filling the silence and giving James hope to finally talk to you again, “yeah?” he respond, taking his eyes off from the kids playing and searching something in your eyes, “w... Why did you killed Mary?” you asked, covering Leo’s ear incase he’ll hear.

James just shook his head, opening his mouth then closing it again, finding the right words to say, “I… I just didn’t want her to suffer.” He sighs, covering his face with both of his hands, “I-I know she still has three years to live and yet, I.. I killed her, I…” he starts to stutter and slur his words, his heart racing and his ears ringing—getting a bit dizzy when he speaks his situation, it’s too much for him.

Why? Is all he could ask himself.

Why did he do it?

Someone’s calling out to him… “h… ey…” it said, his breathing became shallow and making it hard to him to breathe.

“James!” you yelled, hand grasping his shoulder while the other is still cradling Leo asleep, you frown in worry— how his face went pale and starts sweating cold sweats, “are you okay?” You asked, voice shaking because it looks like he’s going to collapse any time soon.

He shakes his head and finally snaps out of it, “I-I’m fine.” He assures, blinking a few times as he leans back to the bench, “memories are probably getting to me… Even that place.” He murmur, leaning his head back and letting out a big sigh.

“Silent hill?” you curiously raised a brow, Leo steer awake and sat up to your lap, “mwommy…” Leo whines, hands clenched to your shoulder while he used the other to rub his eye, blinking at James, “Jwames?” he murmur, “yeah buddy?” James smiled, unexpectedly—Leo lift his arms to James, silently asking for James to pick him up to his grasp.

Silence filled in yet again, you two just sit on the bench while Kenan, Junior and Veronica still plays on the slides and swings. Leo eyed on the two of you, as if trying to crack an unsolved case, “awre you in love with my mwommy, James?” Leo squint his eyes to him, brows frowning at James—the man could also let out a small chuckle, “I like your mom as my friend, bud. Why do you ask?” he says, Leo shook his head that says ‘nothing!’

Leo could only play with James calloused hands, tracing his small finger tips to James’ fingers, your conversation with James was just interrupted by your son—but it doesn’t matter. You already heard James’ reason for killing Mary, but it still isn’t justified why he took her life…

But now that you think about it…

Three years to live with the disease that really made a huge impact in your life… Slashing out to your cherished ones without a reason, no complete control of your temper and mood, almost completely losing your mind because of the sudden change of your mood swings… Then drugs are fed to you just to have a complete grasp of your actual self.

Wouldn’t you wish to just die too?

Letting out a sigh as you finally come to a conclusion in mind, “James… was Mary been fed some type of drugs just to have… you know, to have a complete control of herself?” you asked, it takes a few minutes before he answer, nodding faintly, “yeah.. yeah, probably…” he hums, Leo is tracing the indent or trace of a ring to James’ ring finger.

Leo lifts James hand up and asked him, “you has ring?” the boy asked, “is Jwames has wife?” he added, James nodded to his question and Leo shot you a look, “mwommy, James has wife which mweans you cwan’t shoot youwr shot.” Said Leo, making you gasp and speechless at what your son just said, you? Hit on James? As if, right?

“but,” start James, looking down at Leo’s baby blues, “bit, my wife is gone… to a happy place, you know?” he pats his head and smiles, “oooh…” Leo’s lips form in a shape of an O then said, “she’s died.” With a straight innocent face and nodded with understanding.

James doesn’t know whether he would laugh at him or just be concern how Leo knew that, you almost snicker but cough and cleared your throat—neither of you spoke such things with Leo again.

The kids finally got tired and asked to go home.

What a day, right?

Walking back home with James helping you with the kids, again. In his arms are holding two of your kids that took a nap on each of his shoulders; Veronica and Kenan got very tired, Junior on the other hand, had some energy left to just walk home by foot.

Since they’ve already eaten dinner (went out to eat dinner), James helped you change your kids into their pajamas and put them to sleep in their rooms, leaving Junior last because he isn’t sleepy for now, “Junior, you’ve already change into your jammies,” you raise your brows at him, “c’mon now, let’s get you tucked in bed.” Gesturing your hand to him to come to you.

Junior waved his hand to James then off to bed, “bye-bye James.” Junior murmur, you could tell he still likes to have a dew more minutes with the man but he needs his sleep, tucking him in bed and kissing his forehead goodnight.

Which leaves you and James alone in your own home, silence and gap between you as you reluctantly sat down beside James, and knowing you’re still bothered. He created some distance between the two of you, you glanced at him, he’s still as miserable as ever but he’s trying to have a positive look—especially when the kids were around.

You let out a sigh, leaning your back to the soft cushion of your couch, “d-.. do you think Mary would forgive you?” you asked, finally looking over him at the other end of your couch, large distance he made to make you comfortable, it takes him a few courage to look and meet your gaze, “I.. I don’t know… But the most thing she’ll ask is… why did I killed her.” He murmur.

You just nod and let silence sit between you, heart heavy and the atmosphere gloomy.

“But she did want the pain to end soon right?” you asked, slowly scooting over to him, “James, knowing you these past few days—” you cut yourself off, bluffing your words, “I mean, three entire days to be exact. It feels like I’ve known a friend for a long time, you became a familiar feeling so… I wanted to say that…” you took a sharp breath and takes his hand to yours.

“You have many things left unsaid, don’t you?” caressing his hand and tracing the indent mark of his ring finger, “doesn’t it feel heavy, to just bottle it all up?” You asked, your tone soft and understanding—just like Mary he thought. But he couldn’t compare you to her, you’re you. And Mary is herself. Yet he finds solace to your comforting words and tone, your presence too.

He misses this feeling, how his heart pounds out as he lets out his cries—you see tears finally running down to his cheeks. You let out a soft sigh and soothes his back, letting him weep and cry his heart out, “there are still some things you want to say to Mary, right?” you asked, “ask her… If she could forgive you for what you’ve done, and that she may understand why you had done it.” You hum.

But it still doesn’t change the fact she’s gone…

A minute passed and he finally calmed down, his breath hitches as he just stared off to your floor, “tea?” you offered a mug to him which he happily takes it and sips, “how about we visit Mary tomorrow?” you suggested, sipping on your tea while staring blankly at the wall too.

He thought about it, maybe it’s time to finally say the things he left unsaid… His regrets, his happiest time with her and the life that they had, though in just a blink of an eye, it was all gone… She’s gone.

James nod at your suggestion, caressing the mug that he’s holding, “yeah… I think I would love that…” a small smile tug from the corner of his lips, you smiled back but you don’t know whether to judge his character or not… But it’s up to Mary to decide that.

“Great, I’ll call my friends and father to come babysit my kids tomorrow morning,” she hums, “well, since it’s scheduled that my father will take them anyway for some bonding time for a whole week.” She chuckles, taking the mug from your hands to wash it on the sink.

He stood up and nod to your words, “well, I better get going then.” He voice out, although a bit trouble to turn his back and leave, “goodnight.” He said, you nod and said your goodnight to him too, but something caught his eye. Something was covered with a white floral fabric, it looks like a piano of some sort?

His brows furrow with curiosity, looking back at you washing the remaining dishes and back at the covered piano, “h-hey..” he called, “what’s this?” he points, you turn to look at him but what he’s pointing at is being covered by the wall, “wait,” you dry your hands with a clean cloth and walk towards him.

You turn to see what he’s pointing at… Your piano, “oh.. I-it’s uhm.. a piano,” you nervously chuckle, “why’d you cover it?” James took the white floral fabric off and revealing a black upright piano that goes against the wall, you thin your lips because you covered the piano because of Mary.

“You play?” James asked, lifting the cover to reveal the keys, “you still haven’t answer my first question though.” He added and sat on the piano stool, just to feel the keys. You sigh and just tell him why you covered your piano up, “yes I play and I covered it because well… It reminds you of Mary, you said that Mary plays right?” you smiled and pressed one key down, hoping that your kids wouldn’t hear it.

“I just.. don’t want you to remember a painful memory when you’re with us…” you admitted, looking down at the keys, “I play for my kids whenever they want to hear me play, then sometimes they will play the piano badly to the point where your ears would bleed.” You chuckle, sharing one precious memory with him, opening up just like how he did to you.

He smiled and let out a small laugh with you, “well uhm… Play one for me then?” he requested, you raise a brow and nodded, “uhm, yeah sure…” preparing your fingers up to the keys and asked him, “what song?”

“something that resonate with you most.”

You nodded and fulfill his request, it was slow and melodic… It suddenly became fast and your fingers easily pressed the right keys swiftly, quick and smoothly taking one finger off to pressed another key…

You played river flows in you by Yiruma.

It’s something about that song that hits home, how it describes ones person love, representing how love grows on two different people with two different worlds and yet… Love always make things hurt or work, it’s a representation of feeling in love… But for you, the song also makes you cry and how you dedicate this song to the person you also lost.

James stayed silent to the whole song until it ended, “wow” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. You’re not Mary, and never will. You played it like a pro and James now knew the difference and accepted that, he wanted to clap but was outdone by someone else.

“wow mwommy!” claps Veronica, beaming despite being sleepy, you snap your head to look at the kids being awake, how long were they standing there to watch you play?

You suddenly stood up and looks down at them, “how long were you guys watching huh?” you asked with a sweet soft smile, kneeling to their level to give them an individual kiss on their cheeks, “mwommy, play us again pwease…” plead Kenan while sitting on the floor with his stuffed plush on his arms, Leo had his arms fold… here we go again.

Raising a brow at Leo while James pulled down the cover of the piano keys, still sitting on the piano stool, “mwommy are you confwessing ywour wove to Jwames or somethwing?” Leo asked with suspicion, you snicker at his words and shake your head, “James asked me to play a song that resonate with me most, baby. Why do you asked?”

“bwecause mwommy, wivers fwows in you repwesent the feeling of bweing in wove.” He smartly answers and tuts at you, “so, it’s nwormal fwor me to assume thwat you’re confwessing mwommy.” He added, you just gently flick his forehead for his smartass answer and picked him up.

Junior comes and hugs your legs, gripping tightly with his sleepy eyes looking up at you, what Junior asked shocked you most.

“is Jwames now our daddy?”

“…”

Silence…

Junior blinks at you with his sleepy eyes, yawning and waiting for your answers—he just doesn’t know what he said wrong, always jumping to conclusions when given the opportunity, you open your mouth to answer but no words were uttered out but Junior speaks again, “bwecause mwommy, I vewy like Jwames…” he yawns, admitting his likeness to James.

James on the other hand, is smiling from the piano stool. It feels like, he’s wanted—belonged even, his heart swells when an innocent kid thinks high regard of him, even though in his mind. He’s just a normal guy doing nothing special, “well, hate to break it to you buddy,” said James, getting to his feet and meeting his level, “I-.. I’m not.” He thin his lips as he breaks it to Junior, shaking his head—meeting the kids innocent gaze.

“…oh.” Juniors late reaction, he’s still sleepy but you can tell he’s a bit upset about it, clasping your hands together and breaking the news to everybody that it’s bed time and a little late and that everyone needs sleep for tonight.

Taking the kids back to bed again, Junior frowning when he finally sleeps. It took a little while for Leo to comfort his brother that got really attached to James, you couldn’t blame him. James may see himself nothing special, but to the kids—he is special. To them, and to you (as a friend)

Tomorrow, your father would take the kids for a whole week to bond and some alone time for yourself, and tomorrow… You’ll accompany James to Mary’s grave… Help him say his goodbye and support him along his healing journey along the way, it’s time to say goodbye and start anew right?

James bid goodbye for the last time to get himself some sleep and prepare himself for tomorrow, recite what he wants to say probably? Recall the memories he want to share and his burdens and regret. But what about the letter..?

What letter..?

Woke up early, needing to pack the clothes of your kids, make them breakfast, give them shower and let them choose what kind of stuff plush they’d bring with them. They were excited and Junior probably forgot yesterday’s conversation, he thinks it’s just a silly little dream… But he did share his thoughts with you when he woke up feeling good.

“Jwames became our daddy!” he said that when he woke up first thing in the morning, the kids loved that guy to the point that one by one—they’ll think James is now their daddy.

After packing a one suitcase since the kids also have clothes at your fathers place (gifted and bought by friends too), so you and your kids waited a few minutes outside to be picked up by car by one of your closed friends, when they arrived—they chill for a few minutes, engaged conversation with you and catch up for the times that you had missed with them.

Then they left to with your kids, they’ll be arriving at your fathers place to take care of them and of course, your friends too. And now… You’re alone.

Not entirely… You have James, and today is the day you’ll be accompanying him, getting ready and had your breakfast. You need at least to look good and give Mary a good impression to meet her, befriend even the dead, right?

You heard a knock on your door, you put on your beret hat and smooth out your dress. Heels clicking that even James could hear from outside, the door open and revealed James before you, “hi.” You smiled, “good morning, how’re you?” you asked, taking your purse with you as you step outside.

He tilts his head, eyes squint a little as he points slowly at your attire, “what… uhm… are you wearing?” he asked slowly, not wanting to sound offensive, you huff and put your hand on your hip, “well, if I’m meeting your late-wife, I at least need to look presentable so that she’ll like me as your friend.” He just nodded and whispered, “okay.”

Stepping down to your porch step, turning back and look at him, “what? Come on now, let’s move.” You tut, he shakes his head with a small smile—walking down towards you, guiding you to his car as you sat down on the passenger seat of his car.

“It’ll be a long ride though.” He advised you, buckling his belt as you did yours, pulling out your mirror to tidy your hair, “yeah, that’s fine.” You assure, he looks over to you—finally starting the car and drove off, “yeah? What about your kids?” he asked out of concern, looking at the road and back at the rearview mirror.

You hum, repositioning yourself in your seat—still looking at yourself in the mirror not until you heard some paper crunch or something, “oh, shit. I think I just sat on to something.” You curse softly, completely caught off guard when you heard.

“Yeah, you don’t have to worry about the kids, my friend picked them up.” You assured, looking down at your seat and finding the paper that you just sat on, “my father and possibly some friends will help to take care of them.” You added, “ah—ha!” you finally caught the paper you sat on under your seat, “you have a letter, James. Don’t you want to read it?”

He's assured that your kids are safe and sound with your father and friends that’ll love them and take care of them with all of their hearts, “a letter?” he asked, taking a quick glance of it on your hands, “oh…” his face turned gloomy again, the same first look you saw from him when you two first met.

“Are you all right?”

“Nothing… I still haven’t read that letter.” He stop at the red light, a light traffic jam, “oh, you want to read it now?” you asked, “and who is it from?” it piqued your interest, but you wouldn’t open to snoop around and find out, right? James finally drove the car again, letting out a small sigh.

“Mary.”

“sorry what?” you asked yet again, busy inspecting the envelope of the letter, “it’s from Mary.” He repeated, steering the wheel to the right, as he continue, “the nurse gave it to me when… Mary passed.” He cleared his throat, clearly a sign that he doesn’t want to talk about it—you just nod and caress the letter on your fingertips.

A few minutes in the ride, atmosphere a little heavy as silence carried on. You could only watch from the car window—tress, houses nor clouds pass, James could only steal a glance at you from time to time until he finally spoke about the letter, “could you… uhm…” he cough.

You almost nod off, but quickly gathered yourself together, “yeah?” you sleepily respond, yawning a bit and rubbing your temple, “what’s up?”

“could you read the letter for me, so.. you know, I know what Mary wrote before I face her.” He hums, turning left and straight ahead of the road, you nod at his request and open the glove compartment and took the letter to your hands. Letting out a sharp breath because opening a letter that meant to him made you nervous.

Slowly opening the envelope and taking out the folded paper inside—unfold it and cleared your throat as you began to read what Mary had wrote to James, “are you ready?” you asked, you could hear his breath shake as he nod, “ready.”

You finally start from the very beginning…

“Well, this letter has gone on too long, so I’ll say goodbye. I told the nurse to give this to you after I’m gone.”

You stopped for a moment and looked over to James, his knuckles almost turning white from gripping the steering wheel too hard, his eyes quickly glanced at you and assured you silently that he’s fine.

“Which means that, as you’re reading this, I’m already dead.”

Your lips thinned, brows furrow as your heart aches from Mary’s letter, and as if James’ ears had gone deaf and that it’s Mary’s voice is all he could hear.

“But that’s okay. I’m not afraid of it anymore, I just hope that the pain will end soon so that you remember me for who I was…”

Pause…

“and not what the disease made me… I want you to go on, I want you to live… For yourself and for the others, like you did for me.”

Your voiced cracked and held back a tear to shed, you look at James in silence before continuing on—his eyes were full of tears, silently sobbing and trying to focus on the road.

“You’ve given me so much and I haven’t been able to return a single thing. That’s why I want you to live for yourself now. Do what’s best for you James.”

Can’t help but share his burden as tears fell from the corner of your eyes, burning your cheeks as you read the last line.

But you also called his name…

“James… You made me happy.” It said when the letter ended, but even when the letter ended, you also called out to James who seems to park to stop for a while—you reached out and soothe him to his shoulder, his breathing hitches as he inhale sharply.

Scooting a bit close so you could lean close to him, “it’s okay, we can stop for now…” you mutter, stopping your own tears from falling, cooing him and soothing him down as he waves his hand to dismiss it, “n-no.. no…” he cleared his throat, leaning his head back to his seat, “we’re already here…”

You stayed with the car, getting some fresh air after reading Mary’s letter to James, you’ve witness it—how deeply hurt he is and how he regretted everything… But it seems to you that in the letter, no matter what—Mary would always forgive and wait for James.

He walked towards Mary’s grave, he didn’t brought anything with him except some flowers to give her. He knelt in her tombstone and wipe a dust off of it as you watch him from your distance. Since it’s for the best that James do his thing first before introducing yourself as his friend to her.

“Hey..” James called as he knelt down, he looks down at Mary’s craved name on the tombstone as he look for the right words to say, “Mary… I’m here, sorry to keep you waiting.” He smiles as he continues, placing a single flower on her stone.

He searches for something, but she’s not here with him—she couldn’t look at him and meet his gaze, she’s dead. He knew that but his eyes still searched and longed for her presence, how he could tell her that he loved her for the last time, share one… just one more moment with her.

But he never knew that the last moment he would share with his deceased lover would be her tombstone staring right back at him with her named craved on it.

“you know…” he starts, “I was convinced that… I..” he takes a deep breath and continue, “I just… can’t go on without you…” he huffs, touching the stone in front of him in his thumb, “I couldn’t forgive myself for what I’ve done… And… I miss you so, so much.” He sob, sharply inhaling and gathering his thoughts and putting it into words.

As if his mind was playing with him, he could hear her reply to him—engaging a conversation with him for the last time, maybe he’s in denial but it’ll be their last…

“shh, it’s okay, James…” the spirit smiles as he let out a chuckle, he thinks he’s out of his mind but he continues, “I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me for what I did… I should’ve made more memories with you, Mary…”

“yet you’ve already given me so much.”

He smiles faintly, tears burning his face as he sniffle, “I’m so, so sorry… I know this isn’t what you’d want.” He scoff to himself, “seeing me like this, but it doesn’t matter anymore… right?” he asked the wind.

Chinning up to the sky as the clouds covered the blue sky, “you’re not here… are you?”

No answer… Maybe his mind is playing tricks with him, maybe he’s just mad and crazy or maybe too depressed than he thought, he looks down at her tombstone again, “you don’t have to keep waiting for me, Mary… Just as you wish, I will try to go on and live…” he murmur, taking out a photograph of Mary and setting it down with the flower.

“for myself.. and maybe for the others too,” he smiled at the smiling photo of her, “I found another home… that made me happy, like how I did for you too..”

He stayed silent for a little while, turning his head around to quickly glance at you, “Mary.” He called, closing his eyes and as if to feel the wind hugging him.

“thank you.”

From the distance, it feels like James is giving his all—doing his best to word it all his burdens out and the problems off of his shoulder, you could only wait for him to call you to introduce you to her.

He’s having the time of his life chatting with her, you could really see that… he really did love her. Oh, how you wished to find a man that would also love you like how James loved Mary…

You’re alone with your own thoughts as you watch the clouds move pass and cover the blue sky, you seem to be nodding off when James came over to you—his hand grasp on your shoulder and snap you back from reality, “woah!” You let out a yelp, got startled a little as you look over and saw James in front of you.

“yeah? Already good?” you asked, brows furrowing with worry but you could tell that his heart feels a little lighter than it is in the past few days. He nod, taking your hands to his as he gently tug you away from his car, “c’mon…” his voice soft when he whispers, urging you to walk with him to her grave.

You knelt down after James did and met with Mary’s photograph with the flowers on top, your heart swells with so much pleasure and honor to finally meet her—even if it’s just her tombstone…

You introduced yourself with four kids that are quadruplets and shared a story that your little devils had taken a liking to James, even joking about how one of them even asked if James is now their daddy. He chuckles at your story and how enthusiastic you are to share this with Mary, he also share some memories with you when he’s still with Mary and that the two met by a mutual friend. He shares the piece of memory that Mary plays the piano and how bad she is.

But even so, James’ told Mary that, “I would still love to hear her play.” With the sweetest smile that you’ve ever seen, it took almost hours just to tell and share a story nor a memory with a friend, you and James bid a final farewell as James asked you to be the first one to get in the car and that’ll he’ll follow.

He took something from inside his jacket… His wedding ring, he kneels down and buried it with her, “I know you wanted me to be happy… And yet.” He turns back and looks over to you inside his car, “I think I’ve found my happiness, Mary… Another reason for me to continue living on with my life, but this time it’s not with you, but them.” He emphasize and thought about the kids and obviously… you.

Maybe it was Mary’s wish to have a family and he granted that wish, she’s still alive in his mind and in his heart—he carried on to her wish for a family and… James found that family, he smiled at her tombstone for the last time, leaving the ring buried with her.

Thank you, Mary… Thank you…

James finally got inside and start the car, you smiled over to him as he backs and drove off, “already accepted it?” you asked as he gave you a smile and nod, “I’ve finally learned to accept it.” He said, now aiming for the two of you to go home…

Where is home to James?

Home is where he’s needed most, which means home is where you and your kids will be…

It’s now time for him to start a new book, new pages and chapters in his life without Mary, but with you and your four devils… And he couldn’t wait what’s in store for him and his fate…

It gone dark, and James parked his car to his garage. He looks over to you and see that you had gone asleep while he drives the two of you back home. Didn’t think that the visit will get you this tired, wouldn’t you?

Still in his car and thinking what will he do… carry you inside and let you sleep in his bed while he takes the couch or… look for your keys on your purse and carry you inside your own home and leave?

But, you know what? He had gone to the first option and carried you inside his home—you only just live next door so it’ll be no problem, right? Carefully setting you down to his own bed, smoothing your dress down so it won’t cripple up and think of him as a pervert. He then takes the blanket and tuck you in while he takes your purse and hat, setting it to the bedside table and taking your heels off too.

His hands on his hips as he let out a huge sigh, you’re not that heavy to carry—it’s just, he got tired too easily and he’s having trouble opening the door with one hand, trying to not wake you up while he’s at it.

You stir and turn to your side, tasting the air as you peacefully have your slumber. He kneels down beside you, brushing off a strand of hair from your face and stared at you for a while…

Maybe… Just maybe…

He had already fallen for you.

But not because you share the same similarities of Mary’s personality, it’s because you’re you… you’re on your own person, why does he have to compare you to another? You’re unique and different.

Maybe that’s why, he has finally gave in to the feeling and sensation of butterflies.

“that’s it… I admit,” he says, smiling at your sleeping face, “you don’t know how far I’ve finally fallen for you.” He murmur.

You heard someone murmur so close to you, but you didn’t heard it quite right, a mumble perhaps and just get your goodnight rest and James on the other hand was true to his word and sleeps on the couch, making himself comfortable.

Shit, maybe this new chapter of his life will be the death of him.

You were at peace, your surroundings are a little too quiet for your surroundings—where are the kids? They usually jump on your bed and shake you awake, a smile spread from your face when you remember that Junior asked if James is now their daddy… It was ridiculous, but what if it’s possible that you two dated..? You didn’t think James would actually agree to it, since well… Being a father is a big commitment for you and for the kids.

Then you remembered, you were suppose to accompany James’ visit to Mary yet you fell asleep. What if he needed your support? What then..?

You stir in your sleep, heart pounding and awake in cold sweat as you heard someone fumble right on the living room, “ow—” the voice said, eyes fluttering as you rub your eyes and temple, sitting up in bed and look around—this isn’t your home.

Well, where were you then?

You groan, feeling a bit heavy as you focus your vision, “James..?” you called, the rearing of something like a vacuum turned off—hearing footsteps come closer and louder as the bedroom door opened, “yeah?” it was James. He’s just cleaning his living room, “oh yeah, sorry. You were uhm…” he looks around and set the vacuum down then came closer and sat on the edge of the bed, he sat in silence as he meets your gaze. You smiled at him, seeing how the spark in his eyes were back.

“Did I fell asleep?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. He then helps you sit down next to him, “I’m sorry, I know I’m supposed to be there with you while we visit Mary.” He hushes you and nod, “hey, hey…” he called, looking down at your tired state, “it’s okay,” he softly smiles, “we were supposed to get home anyway, and uh… I don’t know that if I should wake you up so you could go home and rest but—” he pauses, thinning his lips—feeling a little ounce of shame, “I just carried you inside my house and let you rest on my bed.”

You smiled and let out a big yawn, you mind finally at ease as you meet his eyes, “I hope I didn’t wake you up though,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I was cleaning while you were asleep, didn’t want a guest to see my home in such a messy state.” He added, his white teeth almost showing.

You let out a sigh and pat his shoulder, “it’s okay, big guy.” You snicker, “I get you.” You added, then sat in silence. You two could only have a stare off and the tension is odd, clearing your throat as you get up to your feet and hands on your hips, “I should be going… Sorry for uhm…” awkward, he stands up after you and waves his hand, “no, no. It’s okay, you were exhausted and we both cried our eyes out… so yeah.”

And there it is, the awkward tension between the two like it’s the first time they have met, but why does it feel that James is more of a changed man? As if he’s finally at peace with his own mind now that he’s smiling more often, his eyes even shone a little if you weren’t mistaking it.

Maybe because of Mary, he just needed to let those feelings out and talk to her—she was the reason that makes him what he is now, you smiled and grab both of his shoulder and utter the words you’re meaning to say, “I’m so proud of you.”

Tilting your head to the side, he froze and smiled at your words, “yeah… I’m proud of myself too, you know?” grinning from ear to ear as you look at the time, “wanna get breakfast?” James spoke, cutting you off before you could even speak and suggest that you two should eat breakfast, looking at him—feeling a bit smug as you squint, “all… right, sure I would love that.” Accepting his invitation, you first will take a shower and change into a new set of clothes.

Gathering your shower thoughts and thinking back at Mary’s grave, when you were watching him from the distance—he was pouring his all and heart out, you don’t know whether there was a fog on their or the wind was picking up, but as if you saw someone responding to him… or your mind is just playing tricks?

Nonetheless, it made him at peace finally, learning to finally accept things the way it were—he regret and renew for the better, for himself and as Mary said—and for the others.

Finally got yourself ready to meet James outside, waiting on your front porch, “James?” you called, closing your front door and locking it with your keys, coming down your porch steps as you brush off strands of hair from your face, “yeah? Ready to go?” he asked, eyeing you from your feet up to your face, “so, do I look all right?” you asked him with a small smile, he nod slowly—taking it all in, heart pounding, letting out a sharp breath, “y-.. yeah, you look fine..?” he almost slurs his words from stuttering, his words almost coming out as a question than validation.

You let out a snicker, finding his sudden shyness cute, like how any other guy felt when they had a crush or some type of feels that gives them butterflies, you just nod at him with a grin on your face, “all right,” ignoring the way he talks, he’ll be self-conscious about it, “where to?” you asked, nudging his shoulder.

“you wanna get some breakfast, right?” he asked, raising a brow, you shrug in response, “I mean, yeah, surprise me.” You remark, blinking at him with a cheeky smile—you reach out and grab his arm and tug him towards the town.

For James, it feels like it was meant to be a date—he’s a coward; how would you know he’s taking you out for a date? He’s scared to ask; if he did, then he might chicken out and ditch. But he wouldn’t do that; it’s not like in the past few days that it meant nothing—it means everything to him. How every passing day, he is slowly accepting and falling deeper into the feeling that he had once lost.

A home.

He’s also quite thankful that your kids wouldn’t be here for a week. Then he will try and make you fall for him within a week, not that he hasn’t fallen for you yet. Little did you know… He’s falling very, very hard. As if he’d be willing to drown and swim deep into the ocean for you.

How come you didn’t question that in every shop that you point at, he’ll encourage you to come inside yet when you didn’t find what interested you; he will keep asking you question like; “are you sure?” “how about this one?” “don’t you think this suits you?”

It's like he’s convincing you to take at least one then you two could leave the shop, he pays for everything and even takes the ones you had touch to the counter, and pays for it. You glare and tried to stop him but his response is always the same; “it’s fine, think of it as my repayment.,”

Repayment for what exactly? You asked yourself, as you finally find yourself sitting on a café and he orders lunch for the two of you. You sit in silence, gathering you own thoughts and confront James about it and these… 10 paper bags that’s sitting on the side of his chair, you pinch the bridge of your nose and think about repaying him with all the stuff he bought for you.

He came back with a number plate to have the waiters serve the order to your table, “what’s up?” he asked, taking his seat as he rest his elbows on top of the table, he frowns when he finds you looking troubled, “hey… you okay?” he reached out to brush a strand of hair off from your face.

You shake your head slowly in response with a faint smile, “it’s nothing… It’s just, you bought so much stuff.” You point out, finger-pointing at the paper bags from different stores in town, he looks down from each of it and nodded, “yeah, they’re for you, though.” He utter, tilting his head to the side, “don’t you like it?” he question, his tone a little down and sad—did he go too far and crossed the line?

“No, no… I love it, you’re so thoughtful and generous… I’m just worried about uhm… how much you just spent on every bag…” you murmur, voicing it down so other people wouldn’t hear and assume that you two are arguing. You think about the offer you’re about to give him, and you know what?

Fuck it. You clasp your hands, startling him and making him almost jump up from his seat, “you scared me.” He smiled, the waiter finally had gone to your table and set down the drinks and slices of cakes down. You two muttered thank yous to the waiter with a smile then back at meeting each other’s gaze.

“So.” You start, “how about I repay you?” you hush him before he could protest, “a-upupupup!” you squint, “I’m not finish, like. How about half the price of all these bags?” you asked, “you just spent too much, James. I feel bad.” You frown, taking one of the bags and looking at what’s inside, a plush that you wanted to get but couldn’t and yet James bought it for you.

“No, you d—”

“James, please.”

You plead, his eyes fixated to yours—even your eyes seems to be pleading at him. He finds it so… adorable? Cute, pretty, stunning, and all of the above. His heart racing just hearing your plea. He cough and took his eyes away from you, picking up his fork and slicing his own cake to shove it down his throat.

It feels like he just ignored you and kept eating his slice. You cleared your throat to get a reaction, you sigh when there’s none, reaching out and put your hand on top of his, he flinched and looked back at you—drinking his frappe. You frown at him, pulling his hand to his surprise, pinning it down with your elbow as you took your purse and started to count your paper bucks.

You gave a hundred bucks and closed his fingers around it, as he finally had his hand back, he sucks in his cheeks and counted it in silence—you’re content and start to eat your own slice and sip the drink he had bought you, not until he slides back a few bucks back at you.

Taking it quickly to your hands and counted the money, he only took ten and gave you the rest, you frown and anger rising, “James!” you yelled, he chuckles and put his index finger to his lips and pointed at the people behind him, knowing you wouldn’t cause a scene, though they got startled too and looked back as you shot them with an apologetic look. Widening your eyes at James, finally eating lunch in silence.

After the day ends (which James considered a “date”), he walks you back home with the ten paper bags that he’s carrying, attracting attention from the other neighbors, you open your door and pulled him inside so they wouldn’t be questioned, “you can just leave the bags on the couch.” You advised and gone to your kitchen to wash your hands, “yeah, sure.” He hums, you could hear him gently rummage off the bag from his hand one by one, carefully placing each one down.

You admit, it was fun being alone with James. Being showered with gifts that he voluntarily bought you, buy you lunch and the simple gesture that made you happy. You smiled while you dry your hands, James came towards you and tap your shoulder, “hey.” He called, you turn with a big smile on your face, “hey… uhm… You know, today uhm..”

“No, it’s okay, I know I went overboard but I couldn’t help it.” He sighs and took your hands to his, spreading his own warmth to your own hands, “no it’s okay, it’s just— James, I feel really, really bad that you had spend so much money and not give me a chance to spend my own.��� You frown, not liking that one person is spending too much on another.

James smiled and nodded, “yeah.. uh… fine, I’ll calm it down.” You heard him chuckle, it was soft and gentle—you feel your own stomach do the thing but it’s just friendly gesture towards friend, right? Thinning your lips as you nod, you gave him a hug, letting out a sigh, “I’m glad to have you as my friend, James. You made my day… I badly needed it.” You chuckle, pulling yourself from him and pat his shoulders.

Friend..? He’s still considered as your friend… He knew he got to try harder, but not get overboard or it’ll throw you off. He sighs and nodded, “yeah, I figured…” he pauses as you turned around to check your fridge, “oh, I gotta get some groceries.” Mutter to yourself, he caught that and maybe… Grocery date?

“oh, uhm…” James reached out, “Are you free uh—” he cough, shaking his legs and shift his weight, “like uhm..”

“free this week? Yeah, I am but I gotta get some groceries, my fridge is almost empty…” you mutter, scratching your chin with your index finger, “yeah, it’s fine. I could help with that.” James spoke quickly in response, clearing his throat as if its itchy. You closed the fridge and squint your eyes at him, smiling, “okay, I expect some company tomorrow just for buying groceries, huh?”

He pursed his lips and nod, “yeah, I could help you carry them.” He smiles with his eyes, longing and touch starved. He wants to hold your hand for a bit longer, but he resisted; you might see him as a freak if he did.

“All right, it’s set then?” you asked and he nodded, “you should head home, getting a bit dark now.” You added as you escort him to your door, “oh, and James?” stopping him for a second, holding his wrist and looked at him in the eyes, “thank you.” Then let go.

James paused and nodded, his finger brushing a strand of hair from your face and set it behind your ear, “you’re welcome.” He says softly and left.

The next day came and he really did helped you with your groceries, pushing the cart and sort them out when you just throw it in and don’t sort it out so he’s doing the job for you. So that when you’re going to check out, it’ll be easy for the packer to pack and separate the snacks, detergents, raw food, and some cooking essentials—all the hygiene materials you need are on the basket beneath the cart.

He insist paying on the half but fought him for it, smacking his hand from giving the cashier his money—he winces and just laughs about and let it slide, don’t want to cause a scene and for him. The date was slightly at success, his goal was to make you smile and laugh… Enjoy your day and surprised you with a single flower that he picked up from a bush that grew some daisies.

After grocery, he invited you to have a stroll around town and be familiar with it—asking you directions and taking your hand to have a stroll around. Chatting and telling stories of your past as he asked you questions about your favorites along the way, like; “what’s your favorite color?” “roses or tulips? No?” “okay, so. Dresses or..?”

Some common questions that you wouldn’t notice that he’s hitting on you and taking notes of what you love and dislikes, what you’d do on your spare time and favorite thing to do. He’s making an effort—he really is. He just… felt a connection, he really fell hard—too hard that he’ll probably let you suffocate him (with a pillow or with love?)

It took, two days… three to a whole week of spending time with him everyday without the kids, he’s grateful for that but what the fuck—he’s stressing because you always dismiss his romantic gestures to a friendly one, assuming that he’s just being kind and a caring friend.

“Aw, aren’t you such a good friend?”

“why thank you, my good friend.”

“we are friends, right?”

And… he would be lying if it isn’t stressing him out and a week had already passed, the kids would be back home in a few hours, he sighs and waits outside in case that a car would park in front and take the kids per your request to James, you said to him that you two would wait for them outside but you’re taking so long inside your home.

Worried, he steps inside and couldn’t see you on the living room to the kitchen, he saw the door of your room ajar—he pushed it wide and saw you looking at your nose on your body length mirror, “hey.” He called, leaning on the doorframe, hands on the pockets of his jacket, “you good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine…” you turn to him, trying to fix your nose contour and adventuring with it, but to him; it looks like you broke your nose from the distance as panic sets in his eyes. You didn’t even get to blink when he dashed towards you, grabbed your cheeks with two of his hands—squishing your cheeks as he inspects your nose, “what the hell happened to your nose?” his tone raised with concern and curiosity.

You groan, having your head tilt with the direction he wants, tilting your head to the side, “ow— James..!” You mumble, lips pouting as his eyes were still wide with horror, it just look like you had broken your nose in such way that’s not possible, “its just my nose contour!” you muffle out, taking his wrist to your hand and trying to pull his grip down, “no, my nose isn’t broken. I’m just having fun with it.” You added, letting out a small snort and laugh.

He rest his forehead to yours and let out a sigh of relief, “not going to lie, that scared me.” He murmur, his breath close to yours as you snicker at him, “I’ll wipe it off and I will do what I usually do on my nose contour.”

“okay, I’ll be right outside okay?” his thumb caress both of your cheeks, tracing circles in a longing and loving way as his eyes bores into yours… the look of being in love, you hum in respond and to him, time and the world stopped just by looking at your eyes.

You two stayed in the same pose for a little while as you notice that he’s been sleeping and eating well, taking good care of himself while he’s admiring you, but before you could touch his face—you heard a small pitch voice coming from your door, “oooh!” you looked as James quickly retreat his hands and put it back to his pocket, and you saw a grinning Veronica from the door of your room.

The kids were already here and witness something that’ll make them go crazy and assume things, “OMG!” yelled Junior, running towards James and hugged the back of his legs, “Jwames is now daddy!” he says, giggling and rubbing his face to James’ jeans.

“Wow.” Says Leo, Kenan on the other hand is sitting on the floor with his stuff plush in his hands—watching his other sibling make a ruckus about the two of you, Veronica giggling and getting butterflies, Junior keeps repeating that James is now their ‘daddy.’

Being a father (well, step-father) is a big commitment, he knew that but… he couldn’t help but fell in love with these kids too, how he feels needed and would look for, they would look for James if he had gone missing, he can take that especially Junior and Veronica would cry if he disappeared.

He welcomed them with open arms, you got down to their level and greeted them with big hugs—running at you with their little arms flying to your neck and giggles and their little aggression roar. Trying to out best you with your tight hug, but they couldn’t, and love your big tight hugs.

You and James did indoor games for the kids, bake them the snacks that they want (and helped in the kitchen too, making a mess on the process), for James—it’s like the family that Mary would want, he’ll carry her wish and fulfilled it with you. Just with you.

~~~~~

Still as dense and oblivious as ever, Leo could even see that James is literally FLIRTING with you with simple yet romantic gestures; flowers, opening the door for you, tying your shoe laces for you, carrying the heavy stuff for you.

But he convinced himself to just wait yet; days, weeks and even a month has passed, flowers bouquet of your favorite type of flowers is almost overflowing to your kitchen, vases and even in your bedroom. He is stressing badly, and yet—he’s babysitting the kids while you were out, Leo’s reading a kids book and the three kids were playing dolls and houses and tea parties.

Leo stared at him, eyes squinting as the boy tilts his head to his side, “ywour in love wit mwommy, aren’t wu?” he asked, asking the question with obvious answer, yet it seems like that Veronica is as nosy as ever and heard it, “I’M TELLING MWOMMY!” she yelled with the most mischievous grin he’d never ever seen to someone.

“shh!” James return her playfulness and picked her up to his arms as James got to his feet, “you’re not telling, mommy aren’t you?” he asked, pinching her nose, making Veronica giggle and pinch him back, “mhmm!” she thinks, pointing her index to her chin and quickly shakes her head, “no!” she said, “but, pay fwirst.” She added with a grin, making the pay me gesture again.

He sets her down, rolling his eyes as he took his wallet out and takes out a dollar, “is this enough?” he asked, giving Veronica the dollar—she grins and nodded, shrieking with excitement, “now, you’ll keep your lips sealed right?”

She nodded and off to play with Kenan and Junior again, as he watches the three kids from the distance, Leo patted your clasp hands and got under and give him a hug, “ywou don’t have to wowwy,” he assured, “I know mwommy likes you too, she pwobably just feels a wiwwle gwuilty about something.” He added, the boys eyes bore into his. Guilty about what?

Guilty for stealing him from Mary if you did.

But Mary’s gone, yet it feels wrong if you answered his silent confession, doesn’t it?

James breath hitches and nodded, knowing what it is—he planned to have an indoor movie date for today, he called the kids and share his plan with them being his wingman’s, they help him with decorating and scattering few petal flowers to the floor and Leo puts the big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table (Veronica took a few and Junior took two snacks along with the popcorn.)

He's making it more obvious, no more low-key hints and just full on saying that he likes you with the petals and romantic shits he could ever think off, the kids then called their uncle to take them away for tonight (James will probably pay for Veronica’s efforts other than just a single dollar).

A few minutes later and the kids were with their uncle, bidding farewell, Leo and Veronica eyed him with a proud glint in their eyes saying ‘good luck’ and that he’ll need it.

“ywous gives us baby?” asked Kenan before being pulled away and his mouth covered by his sister, the question echoes through his head and turned crimson from the thought. A baby is too soon, don’t it? He waits anxiously since the living room literally screams his obvious feelings towards you.

Tapping his feet, holding the bouquet in one hand. Focusing on his breathing as he dims the light, making it more intimate and more obvious since he knew you’re literally avoiding the hints or oblivious about it, and it’s starting to piss him off a little.

He didn’t check the time and it feels like almost twenty-four hours had passed when he could finally hear your keys rattle and the knob turning. He got to his feet and open the door before you, looking down at your purse as you were surprised that James opens the door so suddenly, you smiled and show him the plastic bag you’re carrying, “I bought some fried shrimp to eat for dinner.” You beam.

Noticing that inside was dim, “is the kids already asleep?” you asked, not knowing that their uncle took them out for a while to give James some alone time with you, he needed more time.

“oh yeah, put them to sleep.” He lied, stuttering as he finally opens the door wide enough for you to enter, “is this for me again?” you asked as he handed you a big bouquet of red roses, “uhm…” James took your hand and guided you to sit on the living room couch, “wanna watch a movie?” he asked, taking the remote to his hand and trying to find something that you would love.

Letting out a sigh while you inhale the scent of the roses, you knew where this was going and yet, you’ve always been afraid to answer his silent hints of confession—he is trying hard and you should give him an A for his effort, but in the back of your mind… It just feels so, so wrong.

“James, I know where this is going…” you murmur, placing your hand on top of his, giving him that same longing look that he shows you (he didn’t knew he was so obvious about his expression and couldn’t control it when it’s his feelings), you sight, taking his right hand on two of your hands—giving him warmth since his hands were so cold from his nervousness.

James’ looks over to you, opening his mouth and closing it till he finds the right words to respond, “y-you do?” he stutter, you nod in response and bring his knuckles to your lips, “yeah, but I can’t… it’s just… wrong, you know?” your brows frowned as you utter out, “what do you mean?” asked James, setting down the TV remote.

“is this about Mary?” he asked, cutting you off first before you could answer, you nod faintly as you feel bad about it, he shakes his head and scoots closer to you, “hey, it’s all right. I get it, it feels wrong for you but…” his lips thin, his hand reach out and grabs your chin to look at him, “this.. this is what Mary would want, to move on and continue living my life, to live for myself.”

Silence sets in as you couldn’t find the right words to answer him, “just…” he sighs, hands slowly wrapping around your waist and his forehead resting on top of yours, “give me a chance… please…” he whispers, his tone sincere and loving. Making you melt once you gaze into his green eyes that’s been longing to you, he wished to touch you and have you even be part of your family.

He'll beg and plead for you…

Just, give him a chance.

Please…

The tension was heavy, you let go of the breath you didn’t knew you’re holding back—he’s caging you in his arms while sitting in silence, it feels so wrong to have fallen for a man like him. Yeah, you really did fell for him. Hard.

It’s as if he’s weighting you down to your couch, his right hand around your waist while the other support the two of you sitting up, not wanting to fall and lie down completely. But that didn’t matter did it? Just in a flash, you couldn’t tell who leaned in and finally got each others lips.

Your lips was softer than he thought, his left hand quickly cup your cheek and pull you close—your lips parted as he finds his tongue devouring your lips and mouth, his hands roaming around your curves and thighs, pushing you down completely on to the couch as he’ll lose his mind completely if you keep groaning, letting out soft moans against his lips.

His hands going down to your rear and squeeze your ass, making you shudder and yelp from surprise while his lips were kissing your neck—he pulls back and looks down at you, messy yet beautiful. God, you’re going to be a death of him as he snaps from his thoughts, “sorry, I..” he swallows, “I got carried away I…”

“James.”

“yeah?”

“it’s okay.” You smiled, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him to a fierce kiss, he groans and support the back of your head with his hand while his other roams around your thigh—pulling it close to his hip. He pulls his lips away and inhale your scent, spoiling kisses to your jaw and neck as he nibbled against your flesh.

“Let’s take this to bed.” You just knew that this man will give his all to please you in bed, and that thought made you clench your legs.

He carried you to bed, gently lying you down to your back as he handles everything, taking your hand to his as he slowly kissed each one of your fingertips—muttering how much he waited for this, how you captured his heart and like an arrow shot right through his chest. How beautiful and messy you’d be when he finds his way to your heart… and to your core.

“James…” you moaned softly, he hushes you while slowly kissing his way down from your chest and to your abdomen as he slowly strips your bottom clothes away. Pants and panties, gone. He lifts your legs up to his shoulder as he strips you from your shirt and cardigan.

He chuckles and buried his face to the crook of your neck, “look at you, so pretty f’me..” he mumbled, his fingers circling around you inner thigh; slowly making his thumb to your slit, drawing circles gently to your aching numb, making you twitch and mewl, “J-James..” he loves how his name fell from your lips, drawing pressure from your numb as he lowers himself and faces your wetness.

You could feel your heart pounding but it races more when he blew air over to your core and quickly laps on your pussy without a warning, making you shriek and tense up, hips jerking as you mewl almost loudly, “a-at least w-warn me next t.. time!” your thighs squeezes his face as you felt a vibration while he apologize, “sorry.” Then chuckling, licking your slit hard, his thumb drawing circle again on your sensitive numb.

Your muscle began to tighten up as you could feel your growing release, yet he pulled away to strip himself off of his clothes—jacket then shirt, his belt and unzipping his pants.

He then pulls out a condom from his pants pocket, you squint and asked him in heavy breath, “w-where the fuck did you get that?” he grins and chuckle, “well, I uh… been saving it, just you know… in case something like this happens.” He points down to your naked body, full of sweat and his kisses.

Face turning crimson as you could definitely see that he came prepared.

He pulls down his pangs just eight around his hips, setting his hardness spring free—tearing the condoms packaging and put it on him, you watch him do his job, pulling down the condom to his length and spit on his finger to prepare you.

You hiss as he entered one of his finger, slowly maneuvering hos finger inside you—pressing and stretching you out as you hiss and mewl in response, then putting two fingers in to loosen you more, he wants to shove it inside and fucks you into oblivion but he knew you don’t deserve that, you deserve a slow and careful sex—showing his love for you and make you feel good, not pain.

“I think that should be good.” He mutter to himself, tasting his fingers knowing that you came, he grins and leans down towards you—spoiling kisses to your cheeks and neck, “take a deep breath for me, baby…” he lines himself between your thighs, slowly pushing the tip of his length to your core, stretching you real good.

“J-James!” you mewl out, letting out a sharp moan as he pushes himself deeper till he bottoms himself out. He groans and muffle himself to your neck, letting you adjust and tighten around him, “fuck baby, fuck..” he hisses, wanting to move but he’s waiting for your signal, waiting if it’s okay for him to finally move.

It took a while for you to adjust to him and tap on his broad back, “you can move..” you moan against his ear, he groans in respond as he slowly pulls out and pushes back in—ravaging you deep and slow, taking his own sweet time; hearing you moan his name right beside his ear, your tone pitchy and high, pleading and calling out to him.

What once was slow started to move with desperation and urgency, his thrust became more pressing—he mutter praises right beside your ear while you were already screaming and moaning out loud, “that’s it, baby. Scream it all out…” he mutter, his fingers dig to your hips—pressing you down as he almost pulled out all the way till he slammed it all inside again, making you shriek and tear up.

He hugs you, kissing your shoulders as you desperately clung to him, his hips snapping harshly at your core—the condom feels too tight and yet he wouldn’t remove it, and if it breaks… It breaks, doesn’t matter—he’ll take good care of you, treat you like a queen and do all the chores if he accidentally rip and shoots his load in.

“James!” you whine, a tight coil feeling on your stomach as you have your eyes close, your walls tighten as you scar his back with your nails, he snaps and gives you a few harsh thrust before exploding his load and you get to feel your own peak, and good news. The condom didn’t break.

He grinds his hips, still spilling his load—letting out a small whimper from your lips as he does so, he collapse on top of you while he held you by the waist. He pulls out and skillfully tied the condom and shoots it to the trash bin, “you all right?” he asked, seeing that he tired you out.

He sighs, cupping your cheek and brushing a tear off from the corner of your eye, “did I…” he stops as you shake your head, “n-no… it’s okay…” you assured, nuzzling close to him. Your tired tear shed eyes bore into him, giving him a kiss to his eyelid as you lovingly confessed.

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you so, so much.”

He smiles, covering the two of your bodies under the sheet—holding you close and tight as if afraid to lose you, “I won’t be going anywhere,” you assured him, kissing his forehead goodnight. He tired you out and sex makes it easy for you to close your eyes and fall asleep.

Watching you sleep so vulnerable beside him, he snuggles (trying to be the little spoon), as he buried his face to your neck and let out a sigh, “I love you too.” He murmur, a tear fell from the corner of his eye as he finally let his consciousness fade into a deep slumber.

Maybe it was all thanks to her, he gets to have another chance and another love.

Ones once lost and finds acceptance, yet not only did one found acceptance, he also found a home and love.

Lost… Acceptance… And he found love again.

[gallivantingheart]

pillar of warmth

who?: assistant!seungcheol x CEO/management!(f)reader

word count: 1424

genre/s: non-idol!au, hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: stalker, invasion of privacy (mentions under the cut), swearing, inaccurate corporate and construction industry mentions (pls I'm sick of food corps.)

synopsis: you finally find evidence of your stalker and call your assistant seungcheol in for back-up.

a/n: trying to stretch those angsty muscles. Also cheol's muscles in a plain black tee.

The way the controller flies out of your hand has you screaming, scrambling in thin air. You cringe when the decoration your downstairs neighbour got you as a housewarming gift teeters dangerously on the shelf and tips to shatter on the wood floor. Well there goes your Just Dance session. Carefully you stoop down to collect the pieces, going still when you find more than ceramic and a lightbulb. A device with a lens, now shattered as well. Some kind of other accessory as well, still softly beeping. Electrical tape keeping it all neatly twined together. Your mouth dries up and your stomach goes through your feet.

Your stalker. Has been beneath you this whole time. Tracking your comings and goings so easily - that was how he knew about the company drinks. You feel as if you’ve been doused in slime. The notes and packages of outfits just when you complained you had none.

I can’t wait for you to try it on. Please wear it when you leave.

You scoot back on your butt away from the shards, a choked sob breaking free. It’s been here for months. You let them right in!

You let yourself cry, the pause music in the background, feeling as if the rug has been yanked out from under you.

Then the sun went down and the switch turned itself off after being idle for so long and the silence returned you to yourself. You had evidence now to prosecute. Quietly you put the device on the coffee table and gathered the shards into a plastic bag, then a paper one from your last shopping trip. You grabbed your phone and changed as quietly as you could in your bathroom, nothing out of the question. Then you sat outside your flat in the safety of a bug-free zone and called Seungcheol.

He picked up in two rings. “Miss, it’s your day off. Are you okay?”

His voice is so soft and attentive your chin wobbles. “I- no I’m not. Can you please come to my building? We need to go to the police.”

You can hear rustling and banging. “Why! What happened!”

“I have evidence of my stalker and I want to take it to the police but I…I can’t go alone.”

Then still again. “What? You stay right there - I’ll be less than 10 minutes.”

“I-I’ll meet you out front.” You murmur.

He grunts agreement and his voice gets closer as he tucks his phone to his shoulder.

“Okay. Do you need me to stay on the phone?”

“Oh no, no. I’ll be okay. Please don’t tell anyone though.”

A huff. “Of course not. See you soon, Miss.”

He hangs up and you wade back inside, picking up the bag. You'd put a sweater and scarf over top to hide your shame.

The elevator trip down felt tense and you wished you weren’t lazy and took the stairs. So was waiting in the lobby. Just as the white lights of Seungcheol’s car flashed over the top of the hill -

“Hey, I’ve been calling you. Are you hiding from me?”

A shiver rockets up your spine. A wafer thin smile on your lips as you turn.

“Huh? Have you? I’m sorry I’ve been super busy.” You mumble.

“Too busy for me, your best neighbour?” His easy smile sits funny on his mouth and makes your skin crawl, as does the way his eyes dance.

He’s seen far too much of you and your stomach twists.

“Yes.” You’re a little firmer, sight moving to Cheol’s car starting up the lane.

He peers into your bag and your heart lodges in your throat. “What’s that? Where are you going at this time of night?”

Then his hand is on your shoulder, too heavy. Oh God, oh no!

“I-I a friend’s place. She has a thing and…she likes my scarf. I said - well, I said that…”

The car breaks yanks to a stop and Seungcheol comes out flying, brow creased. You surge for him.

“Hey, hey, are you alright?”

You make a negative noise, mouth pressed shut. His arm curls around your shoulder but you lead him to the boot of the car. Yunho, chases after.

“Hey, did you just lie to me?” His voice is stern but shrill.

“Back off. We’re busy.” Is all Seungcheol says over your shoulder.

“No, no I’m not finished. You avoid me and now you’re lying. Where is our friendship, huh? Was it all shit to you?”

You drop the bag in the boot, eyes screwed shut. But you can hear his breath and see the beep of the recording light in your mind and you see red. You break free of Seungcheol and spin around.

“YES! Yes it is! Because you’re my stalker and you lied to me! You-you’ve been listening and recording me and creeping me the hell out ever since I moved in. Leave me alone!” You scream.

“He’s your stalker.” Seungcheol’s voice is a deep growl.

Yunho goes white then red and you’ve never seen a face so grotesque.

“You’re a lying, stuck up bitch! Some CEO bullshit when really you could have had it easy with me. I gave you so much and you gave me nothing! Didn’t you want me so bad you’d crawl? I heard you!”

A bucket of cold water. That wasn’t about him at all. That was about…

“Fuck off. Get out of here before you lose an eye.”

Seungcheol’s hand is splayed out behind him to protect you and you can barely see over his shoulders, a black cotton wall. Your eyes prickle and you tip up your head to stem the tears.

Seungcheol surrounds you with his body and that soft spiced pine scent you would sink into. He murmurs and hums, gently swaying the two of you. Your face is buried so deeply in his chest you can’t see any light.

“Shhh, it’s okay. He’s gone. You’re safe.” He says, lips in your hair.

You twist your fists into the fabric of his shirt. “God, it’s been horrible.”

“I’m sorry. Come on, let’s get this to the station.” He murmurs.

Seungcheol shuts the trunk and guides you to the passenger side, even going as far as buckling you in, smoothing your pants over your knee. He gets in next and it’s a quiet trip to the police station, seeing as he doesn’t want to push you and you’re not up for giving any info.

He’s such a gentleman and a pillar in your figurative storm, sticking with you the whole time you give the broken ornament and your statement. He only moves twice - once for the toilet and another to get you a crappy hot chocolate from their self-serve machine, and that was only because you tucked your fingers into your sleeves and badly buried a shiver from the barren cold of the station. The detective takes both the camera and listening device away for any assets retrieval, leaving you at the desk.

“Hey.” He’s soft and you turn.

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing great, you know. It’ll be over before you know it.” He continues.

There is a respectable distance between the two of you but you miss him. You need warmth that was human and safe. So you reach for him and grab his free hand, holding it between both of yours, squeezing it briefly before moving it to your lap.

“I just…I don’t know what to do next. I really loved my place but I can’t stand the idea of being anywhere near him any longer.” You sigh.

His hand squeezes back in return. “Don’t you worry - that’s my job now, as your assistant. We’ll call Cully after this and put you up there with her for the night. I’ll find a new place with as much security as you could want and by next week it will be a fresh start.”

As your assistant. You wanted more. But propriety said no. Your position and pay check said no. Your drunken confession as you burst into your apartment said yes. You bite your lip and nod. You didn’t like feeling so powerless. You were the CEO of Helios Construction for goodness sake, leading corporate construction in South Korea. You were supposed to be strong and dauntless. Instead you were meek sitting in a cold unforgiving police station clutching Seungcheol’s hand like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“I- yeah. Sounds like a plan. Thank you, Se-Cheol.”

He blinks, surprised at your informality and gives you a warm expression.

[shellswritesstuff]

squad damocles hand holding hcs!!! i love these three so much

꒰sᴍ𝟸 ᴛʀɪᴏ ʜᴄs! - ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ s/ᴏ꒱ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

ah how sweet and heartwarming!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ pls hold these guys close, the horrors of the 40k universe must do numbers to their mental,,, id faint even seeing a cherub HSAJK- 

Gadriel

Tries to be nonchalant about it. 'Oops, didn't mean to touch your hand..' type deal.

You don't buy it for a moment, though. If it was such an accident, why is it happening for the third time this week?

After a few more attempts at playing the cool guy facade, you go ahead and make the first move. 

"You're so cute, Gadriel." You shoot him a knowing look, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Oh, and that was an accident, too." 

You'd run away, leaving the space marine behind. 

Next time you wouldn't get away that easy. He'd grab your hand just before you would take off, and offer a rare smile. 

Bonus points if Chairon happens to be walking by when it all goes down. He is NEVER gonna let him live that one down! "Oi, Lover Boy." 

Chairon

A lot more straightforward than Gadriel. Who knows if he'll be here tomorrow? He makes it a point to tell you how he feels before it's too late.

Chairon holds your hands, one of his more than enough to encompass both of yours. He'll bring them to his face, your knuckles feeling the texture of his surprisingly soft lips.

He's a romantic at heart, one in a million in this world. Will pick you an exotic flower from whatever plant he was dispatched to. (This may or may not have lead to a fire in the barge. Captain Acheran scolded him about "getting laid at th expense of his brothers.")

 He now settles for pretty rocks. A radiation risk waiting to happen, but I digress.

"I made sure to thoroughly clean off the guts this time." Chairon would lean against the door, surprising you with an early return. "I and don't just mean myself."

Titus

Imagine you're out assisting his squad on a mission. (Okay, lore accurate maybe not but work with me here. ;;) You hang back, providing fire from behind Titus, picking off any snipers. 

You're too concentrated on your lover that you failed to notice the two hormagaunts jumping for your skull. 

Titus, the knight in shining blueberry armor he is, rushes over to your rescue. He throws the first tyranid to the dirt, stomping it flat. You heard its thorax collapse under the weight of his boot, it's structure cracking and crumbling like rotten wood. 

Once that was dealt with, Titus snatched the second bug out of the air. He put his hands on either side of its head, plunging his thumbs into it's now oozing eye sockets. As you fell backwards, your lover ripped the monster in half. The sight of it's organs stretching to accommodate the tear; it almost made you throw up.

"Are you alright?" Titus dropped the corpse to the ground, forgetting it in favor of you. You gazed up at him, your bloodied protector held out a hand for you to take. 

And that's the story of how you first held hands with Titus. It was a lot more romantic to the man then it was to you.