#waistcoat + rolled up sleeves is too much for me sorry

[lonelyzarquon]

Peter Cushing in Frankenstein Created Woman (1967)

[sunshinebuckybarnes]

distracted

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Summary: As Bucky's Personal Assistant you're required to take minutes in meetings, but something has you distracted.

Warnings: petnames (angel, sir), smut; oral (m receiving). This blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI.

Author's note: gosh I feel like it's been an age since I last wrote something! There really is just something about this man in a suit! (word count: 1.2k)

There was something about Bucky Barnes in a suit. The way they were perfectly tailored to show off his muscular frame without being too obvious. The three-piece ones in particular were a personal favourite.

With each layer, it was like there was a secret being revealed.

When his blazer came off, you could appreciate how his shirt clung to his arms. Every movement highlights taut muscle just waiting to be discovered.

When the waistcoat came off and he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing the artwork that adorned his arms; it felt like you were in on a dirty little secret.

And when his trousers came off? Well, at that point you were his dirty little secret.

"Something have you distracted?"

His voice snaps you out of your head. You look around the now empty meeting room before locking eyes with Bucky Barnes, your boss and CEO.

You feel vulnerable under his stare and it lights a fire within you. He looks at you expectantly. He asked you a question and he expects an answer.

Clearing your throat you fumble an apology, making a start on gathering your things until you hear the click of a lock.

Your heartbeat quickens as you lift your gaze. Watching as he stalks around the conference table until he's standing behind you.

"Can you show me the minutes from this meeting?" he asks casually, resting his hands on the back of your chair.

Shit.

You'd been too distracted fantasising about what was under his impressive suit that you'd completely ignored to do your job.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I must have been distracted," you whisper, not daring to glance back at him.

You jump as his hands come to rest on your shoulders. His nimble fingers dig into your tense muscles, if you didn't know any better you'd think he was trying to relax you. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you did know better.

"What's got you distracted, huh?"

His lips are a whisper away from your ear causing you to shudder involuntarily as his breath caresses your skin.

You're unable to form a coherent sentence, your mind flicking through all of the possible scenarios - most of which end in the same outcome.

Bucky doesn't give you much chance to respond before he turns your chair to face him. He crowds into your space, his large arms caging you in as he rests his hands on the arms of your chair.

"Don't be shy, you can tell me," his face is level with yours, his eyes dropping to your lips as he utters his next words, "What's got you distracted, angel?"

"You, sir," you whisper.

Bucky smirks wickedly at your admission, "Is that so? And what about me has you distracted?"

His piercing eyes bore into you as he awaits your response. You squeeze your thighs together subconsciously at the filthy thoughts running through your mind.

Bucky's smirk grows as he watches you squirm under his gaze.

"I was distracted by your suit, sir. Particularly what's under it."

Bucky hums at your admission, one of his hands cupping your cheek gently, tilting your face up to catch your eye.

"That's highly unprofessional. Maybe if you're so easily distracted we should reconsider your role."

You bite back a smile, your heart rate picking up as this little game continues.

"Or I could make it up to you?" You counter, giving him your best innocent look.

You revel in the way his pupils dilate and his hold on your face tightens slightly.

"And how are you going to make it up to me?"

"By sucking your cock."

He lets out a laugh, leaning in to brush his lips against yours, "You truly are something else, angel." Bucky straightens up and stares down at you, "it's all yours."

You don't need to be told twice as you waste no time undoing his belt, palming his hard dick through his trousers before pulling them down his thick thighs along with his boxers.

Your mouth salivates at the sight of his impressive cock. Wrapping your hand around him you stroke him gently, wanting to work him up as much as possible before you take him in your mouth.

Unfortunately, Bucky knows your game and is not in the mood for teasing. He bats your hand away as he steps closer to you.

"Hands on the arms of the chair. You're gonna let me use that pretty little mouth of yours, aren't you angel?"

"Yes, sir," you purr, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out.

"That's my good girl."

Bucky taps the tip of his cock on your tongue a few times before slowly sliding it into your mouth. You moan at the first taste of him, enjoying the feel of his thick cock on your tongue.

He sets a slow, languid pace, groaning at the feel of your hot mouth around him. Thrusting shallowly at first, knowing how much you enjoy taking him fully and knowing how crazy it's driving you to not have it all. One of his hands rests on the back of your head as he guides you further down his cock.

"That's it, angel," he groans, his head falling back as he hits the back of your throat, "so fucking good to me."

He holds you there for a moment, moaning as he feels your throat constrict around him, before letting you take things at your pace.

You pull back so only the tip is left, swirling your tongue around it before hollowing your cheeks and taking him fully again.

The moan Bucky lets out has you repeating the motion as you're determined to bring him as much pleasure as you can.

"Fuck, just like that angel," he grunts, his hips snapping forward involuntarily causing you to gag around him.

Your fingers dig into the arms of the chair. You want to touch him so badly but you know better than to ignore his demand.

Both of Bucky's hands tangle in your hair as he fucks your mouth. You can tell he's close by the way his breath comes out in pants and his hips begin to lose their rhythm. You look up at him and the moment his eyes connect with yours it's enough to tip him over the edge.

You moan at the taste of him at the back of your throat, sucking him harder to drain everything he's got.

"My sweet angel," he sighs, pulling his cock from your mouth. His hands frame your face and he pulls you up to stand, pulling you into a fierce kiss.

You're breathless when he pulls away and you smile up at him.

"Am I forgiven, Sir?" You ask sweetly.

Bucky smiles at you, leaning down to kiss you tenderly, "You're definitely forgiven, angel. Now I would love nothing more to bend you over this table and make you see stars but I have another meeting in five minutes."

You pout at his words which makes him chuckle before he gives you a quick peck.

"How about you take the afternoon off? Go to my place, have a relaxing bath, I'll pick up food when I'm finished and then I'll spend all night between those pretty legs?"

You hum, leaning up on your tip toes to give him a quick kiss, "that sounds wonderful."

He smooths your hair down before slapping your ass and nudging you towards the door. You can't help but shoot him a wink as he pulls his trousers up and you unlock the door.

Yep, so we can add CEO!Bucky to the list of AUs 😊 thank you for reading! As always comments and reblogs are super appreciated ✨💜

[leezlelatch]

I didn’t see if your request are open or not, and if they aren’t I am sorry.

But if they are..

Chubby Fem reader x Secondo?

Blessed Be 🧿 🪬

Secondo x plus size f! reader. Body insecurity, comfort, fluff, many Secondo kissies.

Secondo sits upon a plush couch, his legs crossed. He adjusts his cuff and lays a hand upon his knee, dark sunglasses shield his eyes even while inside the boutique, and his expression remains stoic as always. Salespeople hover around nervously, unsure whether to offer him anything, or remain silent as he waits for the woman he came in with to come out of the changing room.

It's so quiet, one could almost imagine crickets, and Secondo strains to make out even the softest shuffle from within the room you were currently confined. A worker to his right glances from him to the closed changing room door several times, her feet bouncing in place before she takes a step forward. Secondo holds up his hand, silently, and the woman stops, her face pale.

He gets up, gloved fingers adjusting his waistcoat, and he steps toward the door, knuckles rapping against the wood. "Amore," his voice is quiet, a gentle rasp. "My eyes are bereft of you. Will you not come out?"

There's a beat of silence, and then the door opens with a creak, your face peering out, brow furrowed. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment. "Nothing is working...," you murmur.

"What is not working, my dove?"

"Everything," your voice is exasperated, pained as you hide your form behind the half open door. "This isn't the store for me."

Secondo arches a brow, his sunglasses subtly lifting. "Ah, then we shall go elsewhere, sì? Do not feel as if you must pretend to like the selection for my benefit."

"The selection is fine. These just aren't clothes for someone like me..."

"I am not understanding." Secondo attempts to push the door wider and you stop it. The quickness with which you attempt to shield yourself from him, the widening of your eyes, the shame in them, they stop Secondo cold.

"No," he says. It is not in protest to you, and it is inflected with devastation, worry, love. He pushes through the door, and you make a noise as you're crowded into the small space, the door firmly closing behind him.

Secondo takes off his sunglasses, his eyes moving over your form. You're wearing a dress, a lovely shade of green, and it is form fitting. The skin under your arms spill over the cut of the sleeve, breasts filling all available space, and every roll and bump is accentuated, your belly stretching the material. He can see the outline of your belly button. And then his eyes return to your face, and you look so sad. But the way your shoulders are curved inward, and you try so hard to not look at him, he can see you're steeling yourself. Waiting for an unkind word. Waiting to be told that you are too fat, too ugly. And his heart is in agony.

"Amore. Amore mio," he coos, stepping closer. "Look at your Papa." His hand cradles your jaw, turning you so carefully to face him, and it takes a moment, but your rapidly wettening eyes meet his. "Ah, sì. There she is. My most beautiful one." His fingers brush along your skin.

You open your mouth to protest, to pull away, but he only holds firmer, his other hand falling to your waist. "No, my dove. This is when we talk. We promised to be honest with each other, you remember, hmm? When I was so stubborn, too much of a cold man. But you have kept me warm by the fires of your heart, no?" His thumb wipes away a stray tear from your cheek. "Let me be your hearth."

"I should be doing more," you say, voice hushed and thick with tears. "I should look my best for you. You take me to these nice places, and I don't want to disappoint you."

"Amore. I have never wanted you to be more than yourself. I take you to nice places because I want to spoil you, but you must tell me when you feel uncomfortable." His hand drops from your face to join his other at your waist, slowly exploring your curves, curling underneath your belly, squeezing at the plushness of your bottom, gliding over the thickness of your thighs. "There is more than one definition of healthy. What I am concerned about, is that you feel confident, not only in what you are wearing, but what you are eating. I want you to have that extra treat than deny yourself because you think it fits some outdated notion that I have no interest in. And if you want to explore different habits, I am with you. Your journey is mine, no matter what form it takes."

You let out a breath, eyes straying to the ceiling as you try and reign in your emotion. But it's so hard not to cry, so hard to just...let it all go even though you want to fall into the sweetness of his words. The gentle reverence of his touch. "I just...want you to be proud of who is on your arm."

Secondo steps forward, leg between your thighs in order to press you against the wall. You squeak in surprise, and he smiles, tilting his head to ghost his lips over yours, his breath hot against your skin. "I am proud. So proud, amore mio. This Papa does not deserve the blessing of your presence. The deliciously sinful sensation of your body pressed against his own." His fingers unzip the dress, closing the distance with a quick kiss when you sigh in relief as he pulls the tight material from your body. "I wish to drown in the beauty of you. Lose myself within the softness of your skin. You see, amore? Can you not see? I am undeserving."

His lips press featherlight to your neck, and then he bites, revelling in the way you arch against him. "You are so beautiful. Oh, my dove. Sì, sì, così perfetto per me..." The dress falls from you, pooling onto the floor, and he wraps his arms fully around you, hands flat against your back as he presses you against him with a desperate fervor, bodies melting against each other when he finally takes your lips in a passionate, deep kiss. Secondo licks into your mouth, swallowing any sound you make. His hand presses against your stomach, and he grabs at your flesh, kneading and caressing, worshipping you with hands that have overseen powerful rituals in Lucifer's name.

To Secondo, this is the most potent magic of all.

Secondo pulls away very slowly to brush his nose against yours, peppering tiny kisses to your cheeks. You take a shaky breath, fingers clinging to his jacket. "I love you," you tell him, lips pink and puffy and so perfect, he has to take another taste.

"And I love you. All of you. You are mine, hmm? You understand your Papa?" He looks deeply into your eyes, pinning you with a stare, that one that reminds you that Papa Emeritus II is just under the surface. It thrills you.

"I understand," you confirm, a smile finally crossing your features, one that he mirrors as his thumb once more strokes over your cheek.

"Good girl," he whispers.

Secondo picks up the dress and tosses it to the side, giving you space to change back into your clothes. He takes the edge of your shirt and helps you bring it down, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind as he continues to rain kisses upon every inch of your face he can reach from this position. It makes you giggle, so he does it more.

When the two of you leave the changing room, the workers are at the front, and thankfully say nothing as Secondo makes no effort to return his sunglasses to his face, that white eye rooting them to the spot as he guides you from the store. Will it be much of a surprise Monday morning when the manager receives an email from corporate about including plus sizes?

Secondo spends the entire ride home touching you in some manner, kissing you, lavishing you in the attention you rightfully deserve. Because your body is his temple, and he plans to worship it for the rest of his life.

You are more than worthy. You are perfect. You are his home.

[newtonsheffield]

Is Princess Kate a bit spoilt? She kinda has to be, right? Do she and Anthony clash over that, even after they are properly together?

I think she is, yeah. She’s grown up with the best of everything and it’s not really a secret that she has her Appa (you know, the king of the entire country) wrapped firmly around her pinky. She’s pretty well used to getting whatever she wants whenever she wants it. And I think sometimes that frustrates Anthony.

Because there are rarely any consequences to the things she does, not really. Not the way there are for normal people. Anthony’s family is fairly well off, they weren’t poor growing up but he definitely couldn’t afford to walk into a store and buy whatever he wanted. Unless that store was a Primark.

So it’s a little uncomfortable for him when they’re first officially together and he says he needs to get a new suit for an event they’re attending. He wants to look his best, because the public’s still very much getting used to the idea of them together and this is their first big event. A dinner for a charity Kate’s the chair of. He already feels self conscious about the fact that the nerves in his Left arm will never properly heal to give him any great motor function and now here he is, being greeted at the door of Tom Ford like he’s an old friend.

“Your Royal Highness.” The sales associate greets Kate with an awkward bow before turning to him, “Mr Bridgerton.”

It’s still odd to him, that he can stand beside Kate now, rather than three steps behind. That he can feel her fingers knotted with his as she takes off her sunglasses, her eyes flicking down to read the associate’s name tag with a smile.

“Carrie, it’s lovely to meet you. I wonder if you can help Anthony and me. We’re looking for a suit.”

“Of-of course.” Carrie said quickly ushering in my them over to the section, asking an under questions none of which Anthony is really listening too because he’s so busy wondering if he can afford this. And even if he could it dawns on him that it won’t be just this suit. It’ll never be just this suit. There’ll be hundreds more just like it that he’s expected to wear. When already felt uncomfortably out of place here with the sleeves rolled up on his rugby jersey and his slightly muddy sneakers squeaking against the floor.

“Anthony?” Kate caught his attention, her face frowning and he realised he had no idea what she was asking. “Are you alright, babe?”

Anthony nodded, swallowing. “Sorry, I- what was that?”

“I said I like the Royal blue, or the grey and white tweed sort of pattern. Though tweed’s not very traditional for this sort of thing.”

He wouldn’t have even known that. He glanced around, “Ah, I like the blue.”

They were ushered away into the kind of changing room that Anthony had spent the last few years waiting outside for Kate. One that’s not just a curtain and a partition. There’s champagne and a bonafide snack table, while a person flits around you, checking the fit of everything.

It’s a nice suit. Anthony even likes the way he feels in it, he likes the fact that the man in this suit looks like he belongs beside the woman sipping champagne on the sofa beside him, in the way the man wearing a Harlequins jersey his baby sister had bought him didn’t. But he still feels awkward and out of place as Carrie hums,

“Do you prefer a waistcoat?”

Anthony blinked at her, “I… didn’t when I was… when I usually wore a suit.” He stopped short of saying it wasn’t his uniform. Something everyone in the room must have known. And swallowed thickly, “I don’t know if I need one.”

He hated that he had to look to Kate who shook her head, “It’s not very formal. No waistcoat, no tie if you don’t want.”

He suddenly just wanted everyone else gone. He wanted to be alone to figure out how the hell he was supposed to get out of buying a £5500 suit. He swallowed, “I think the blue shirt’s too much. Could I try another few colours, please?”

Carrie nodded and left the room and Anthony stared at his reflection panic building in his chest.

Kate wrapped her arm around his waist and kissed his cheek, sighing, “Handsome.”

That wasn’t helping. That made him want to buy this and spend the next few months of his life living on tinned beans and cereal. Just to make her happy.

Anthony tried to smile, but it looked like a grimace when he caught sight of it in the mirror. “Thanks.”

Kate’s brow furrowed, “You don’t like it?”

“I… it’s a nice suit.”

“Do you want to try something else? Do you want to go somewhere else? We could try Dolce?”

Anthony nearly laughed, “Kate, honey, I can’t…” he bit it off, “I don’t want to trouble anyone.”

Kate chuckled, “It’s not any trouble.”

He sighed, leaning away from her touch, “Kate, I don’t want to go there because I can’t afford it. I can’t even really afford this suit.”

He’d thought her face would form the sort of uncomfortable expression people’s normally did when they discussed money but it didn’t. She raised her eyebrows in amusement and let out a chuckle, and somehow that was worse.

“You don’t have to pay for it. I am, well, Appa is.”

Anthony’s heart sank, and he didn’t want it to but something in him snapped. “No! He’s not!”

Kate frowned at him, “I… it’s really fine. He won’t… care. He won’t even notice.”

He knew Kate lived in a different world. Well, maybe that wasn’t fair, she was much less out of touch than some people much less wealthy when it came to so many things. But this seemed like something she hadn’t grasped yet. And maybe she never would. Money. When you had so much of it it seemed inconsequential. She hadn’t quite understood why Anthony had laughed when she said she’d bought herself a little treat and a goddamned Ferrari had been delivered the next day. She was used to getting what she wanted. To someone giving her what she wanted, and he would never be able to do that. And he hated it.

“Kate for God’s sake! Do you think this is what your father wants for you?! Do you think he wants you to be with someone like me who can’t even fucking tie their shoes properly anymore?!”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Do you think he wants to clothe me as well?!” He hated how bitter it sounded, how sad. “You’re just so…”

“Spoilt.” She finished for him, her chin tilted in defiance, “That’s what you wanted to say right?”

Anthony clenched his jaw, “I… didn’t.”

She still hadn’t let go of his waist, and she pulled him closer. “I know this is uncomfortable for you. I know you… struggle with this but I love you. And I promise, Appa only wants me to be happy. I know I’m used to getting what I want, and I’m difficult but just… this doesn’t need to be difficult. If you don’t let me buy this for you it’ll show up at your house tomorrow anyway.”

Anthony sighed, leaning against her touch, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I just… I don’t know how to be this person. I like my stupid old sneakers and my rugby jersey and my jeans that cost £20. I don’t even know how to own a £6000 suit. It’ll get wrecked in my closet.”

Kate chuckled, “It comes with a suit bag, babe. And besides,you’re doing fine with that coat I gave you a few weeks ago.”

Anthony squawked, “You said it was on sale.”

Kate blinked at him innocently, “It was on sale.”

“I… what am I supposed to do with you?”

“I can think of quite a few things.” She ran her hands over his shoulders, “First you need to decide if this is the suit for you though.”

Anthony sighed looking at himself in the mirror, “I like it. The sleeves are a bit long though.”

She kissed his cheek again before she moved away and ducked her head out the door, “Carrie, we’d like to make a few adjustments to the tailoring if that’s alright.”

[mercnotfound]

~ I Think I'm Okay ~

Music Producer!Ellie Williams x OC

I Think I’m Okay {Part 3} NSFW

Music Producer!Ellie Williams x OC

Word count; 2.062k

[Ellie is a successful music producer who is in a slump, carving her way through a hundred and one different highs to try and find her next hit, until she meets her.]

Ellie gazed at herself in the mirror, frowning as she swapped between attempting to smooth out the front of her waistcoat and adjusting her hair. She and Jesse were attending an event tonight, one where she had to sip champagne rather than chug it and make eye-rolling small talk. I might die tonight she thought to herself before sighing and stepping away from the mirror; she was wearing a black button down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing her tattooed forearms, and a forest green waistcoat over the top with black slacks. No doubt Jesse would laugh when he saw her in her attire, but she didn’t have time to think about that now - she was late. 

Hurriedly, she snatched up her phone, her keys, and headed out.

Now, something about Ellie - she hated functions. She went, of course, to every event Jesse forwarded her an invite to, and she knew they were important for networking and gathering new clients, but the tightness of them, the stiff etiquette, the clique-y vibe, Ellie hated it, she hated all of it. She was right, Jessie had laughed at her clothes like he always did when she dressed up and she’d already sip sip sipped her way through two glasses of champagne, now she was headed for the food table.

This particular event was being held in a lounge bar; dim lighting, stools and booths and too much polished wood and leather. Drinks were on the house and along the back wall ran a table covered in ‘finger-food’ that Ellie had been eyeing up since she arrived, now, she’d piled a paper plate into an almost mountain, and just as she turned to find a place to eat it in peace, she knocked into someone.

“Fuck, sorry.” Ellie muttered, her right hand coming up to adjust a rogue sausage roll.

“That’s okay, Ellie.” Ellies head snapped up, who-

Rain. She stood there, tight white shirt and black skirt, tiny bow tie-

“You- You’re a waitress? I thought you worked in a cafe?” The words tumbled out of Ellies mouth like a swig of champagne she’d forgotten to swallow.

“I do event waiting on the side.” Rain shrugged, but she had a slight smirk on her face. “You here on business, or just for the food?” She gestured to the plate, grinning fully. Ellie felt herself flush a little.

“Business… mostly.” Ellie smiled sheepishly, then she held the plate out. “Want anything?”

“I can’t,” Rain shook her head. “Boss will get mad.” She stared longingly at the plate. “I am starving though.”

Ellie brought the plate back to her chest, then looked over Rains shoulder. “Come with me then.”

“What?”

She took Rains wrist, smirking. “Come with me.” Then she tugged her along, weaving through the throngs of people and leading her to the bathroom.

Rain raised her eyebrows. “This where you take girls to hang out?” Ellie grinned, pulling her inside the bathroom and locking the door behind them. 

She put the plate of food down and slid it along the marble counter under the mirror towards Rain. 

“Eat.” Rain did as she was told, clearly not lying about being starving hungry. As Ellie watched her, she felt some strange heat climbing up her skin, seeing Rain eating the food she’d got, letting Ellie drag her in here- she shook her head, willing the heat to go away, God I’m a fucking perv.

“Good?” She asked. Rain nodded, still chewing.

“Very, I’m still a little conflicted about the scenery though. I mean, I wonder how many people have hooked up on this counter.” She grimaced, pushing the plate away from her a little and looking at herself in the mirror, checking for loose crumbs and adjusting her hair. As she leaned against the counter, the material around her chest became taught, the button almost clinging on for dear life- and Ellie didn’t miss it, she dragged her eyes away desperately but they found their way back to Rains chest, her waist, her ass. 

“Fuck.” She muttered, shaking her head like she could flick the thoughts out of her ears.

“Hmm?”

“I said, a lot, probably. Bathroom of an upscale bar? Yeah it’s fuck-central in here.” Ellie lifted herself up to sit on the marble, her feet swinging.

“Is that why you brought me here?” Rain teased. Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Nah, not my thing.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second, I’ve heard the songs you’ve written.”

Ellies eyebrows flew up in surprise. “You’ve listened to my stuff?”

Rain blushed, suddenly looking shy. “Yeah.. after you mentioned it last time I went home and looked you up.” She shrugged. “A lot of red carpet pics, a lot of scandalous headlines, a lot of girlfriends…”

Ellie waved a hand dismissively, “That’s bullshit.”

“Really? Because I distinctly remember seeing something in your apartment-”

“The girlfriends, I mean.” Ellie turned her head to look directly at Rain, holding her eyes and biting back a grin as she watched a blush rise on the other girls cheeks. “It’s bullshit.”

Rain nodded slowly, “Okay.”

“And… I’m not against bathroom hook-ups, but.. I’d prefer a bed, a couch, somewhere I can take my time.” She didn’t break the eye contact, and the heat on her skin only got hotter; she’d never felt this before, not without snorting or smoking or swallowing something, and she loved it, she felt alive.

“Makes sense.” Rain said weakly. Ellie could see her words were having an effect on her. She broke the eye contact and looked at the ceiling. 

“So what did you think? Of my work I mean.”

“It’s.. really good, you’re really talented.” 

Ellie frowned, looking back at her. “But..?”

“No buts.”

“I can hear it in your voice Rain, come on, what?”

“Just…” Rain moved her hands around in the air as she searched for the right words. “Your older stuff seemed way more inspired, I guess. The newer things are still good, and it’s obvious how talented you are but there’s something missing, I think.”

Ellie considered this for a moment. It hadn’t surprised her, she knew it was true, but nobody had actually said those words to her, not even Jesse or Dina, and it was a little tough to swallow.

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess.” 

“Did you lose your passion? I’ve heard it’s an easy industry to burn out in.”

Ellie shook her head. “No… I- actually, my dad, he- he passed away.” Why did I say that.

“Oh.”

Ellie cringed, squeezing the counter so hard her knuckles were white as she waited for Rain to properly say something.

“Well, that’d do it, I suppose.” She looked at Rain, who had a solemn look on her face as she said this. 

“Jesus, way to kill the mood, huh? Go me.” Ellie chuckled dryly.

“In all fairness, I did ask.” Rain laughed softly, then, “I’m sorry, Ellie.”

“S’okay, I’m- I’m okay. Just making crappy music.” She smiled crookedly. Rain shook her head and reached a hand out, resting it on Ellies thigh. Fuck.

“Not crappy, just less inspired, it’ll come back.”

Yeah, Ellie thought, it might if you keep touching me. And she meant it.

“We should get back.” Ellie said, sliding off the counter and watching Rains hand fall from her leg as she did so.

“You’re right, I am working, afterall.” Rain headed for the door, unlocking it and turning the handle.

“Hey- do you wanna come to my studio later? After the event, I mean.”

Rain looked back at Ellie, surprised but smiling. “Yeah, okay.”

They re-joined the party, but Ellie kept her eyes on Rain the whole time, only half-in every conversation and forcing Jesse to bear the brunt of the conversation. She watched her serving, clearing plates, squeezing past people and sometimes catching her eyes, seeing how she fumbled with the glasses she was holding once she realised Ellie was looking. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, it felt familiar, like an old friend; the urge to sit down and find a pen and a napkin and scribble down the words floating around her brain, to get her hands on her deck and have her ears pressed to her head under her headphones. What is this girl doing to me? 

At the end of the night, they were gathered outside by the doors, shaking hands and laughing, cigarettes balanced between lips and taxi doors slamming shut until it was just Ellie and Jesse.

“You need a lift?"

“Nah.”

“Everything good? Where’s your head been tonight, Ellie?”

“Places it shouldn’t be.” She muttered, tapping the end of her cigarette before bringing it back to her lips for a drag. “I’m fine, Jesse. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He rolled his eyes, pulling her into a quick one-arm hug before saying goodbye and leaving her stood alone. Another ten minutes, and the side door to the building opened and a stream of workers poured out, chatting at a considerably quieter level than Ellies definitely drunk companions had been. She wasn’t, though, she hadn’t drank another drop after leaving the bathroom. Through the crowd, she spotted Rain, her hair free from it’s ponytail and now falling all over her shoulders. She was chatting with another girl before she saw Ellie, then she broke away from the group and made her way over.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You ready?”

“Yup.”

They got a taxi, Ellie opened Rains door for her and noted the way she squeezed her knees together as she sat, keeping her head angled away from Ellie and facing out the window. Was she nervous?

Soon, they were outside Ellies studio door. “This is me.” She declared, slotting the key in the lock and pushing the door open, stepping back and gesturing for Rain to enter first.

Ellie watched her as she looked around, skimming her hand over Ellies deck, her keyboard, lightly tapping the cymbal on her drumkit wedged in the corner. 

“So, this is where the magic happens?” Rain joked. Ellie laughed.

“Something like that.”

Rain reached Ellies desk, and picked up one of her notebooks, flipping through the mostly empty pages. 

“They’re basically empty.” She sighed, flopping down into her desk chair and spinning it in a slow circle. “You’re right, m’burnt out.”

Rain shook her head, gesturing to the walls where newspaper clippings, posters, letters and merch of Ellies work was hung or taped up. “No, this isn’t the studio of someone burnt out… you’re grieving, Ellie.”

Ellie said nothing, still spinning herself in a circle. Rain sighed and walked over, stopping the chair with her hands and standing between Ellies spread legs.

"Ellie."

Ellie, ignoring her, reached a hand up and touched her index finger to the outside of the other girls thigh, just above her knee, and dragged it slowly up, she looked up as she did this, gazing at Rain through low eyelids as her hand went high enough that it was now under her skirt. Rains breath hitched. Lewd, filthy thoughts flashed behind Ellies eyes, thoughts of making Rain stand like this as she fucked her with her fingers, of bending her over the desk and being knuckle deep inside her, of her hands slamming down on the keyboard as Ellie ate her out on her knees. Music, her moans would be music. Ellies hand stopped at the elastic on Rains hip, neither of them moved. 

“Give me the notebook.” 

Rain hesitated, as if confused, then went back to the desk to retrieve it and brought it back to Ellie, who took it, flipped to a fresh page and pulled the pen out of the ring-spine.

“Kneel, right there.” She nodded to the floor space directly in front of her. Rain did as she asked, her skirt fanning over her thighs in a way that made Ellie swallow thickly.

“Just, stay there- okay? Don’t do anything, just stay there.”

“O-okay.”

“Okay? I want you to sound sure, are you sure?”

Rain took a deep breath, then nodded. “I’m sure.” Ellie bit her lip, dragging her eyes over Rain slowly, taking in the sight and committing it to memory, never wanting to forget the thudding in her ears and fire in her veins as she stared right back up at her. Then, she looked to her notebook, and for the first time in a long, long, time, she knew what to write.

[little message here! I have a playlist i listen to while i write this and ive tagged it on this post if you want to listen!]

[taglist! @gold-dustwomxn @robinismywifee ]

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Hey bestie! For the March Madness prompts, how about “Are you aware that it’s actually ON FIRE?” 🤣

I really didn't want this to go on for this long so sorry for the rather abrupt ending. But here's a little Dis and Bilbo bonding in the forge.

Characters: Bilbo, Dis (implied Bagginshield)

Words: 971

Bilbo was trying really hard not to show how uncomfortable he was even as he felt the bead of sweat travel the side of his face and into his collar. A second drop not far behind it. However, he clearly was more transparent than he gave himself credit for as Dis looked over at him, grinning widely.

“I told you light clothes would be more practical.”

Bilbo looked between his linen button-up and open-front waistcoat to her sleeveless tunic and lightweight skirts. He fidgeted in place as he undid his top button to give himself more relief without being obscene.

“Yes, well. You didn’t exactly say we would be spending the day in the forge.”

The heat was practically unbearable in this portion of the mountain, and the constant ‘clang’ of hammers against metal grated on his senses. While he was very appreciative and awed by the creations the dwarves were able to make, he usually tried to avoid coming down here as much as possible. After all, he knew nothing of blacksmithing and was more than likely to get in the way than be of any kind of use. Dis clearly saw it differently.

“Thorin said he told you about dwarven courtship?” Dis questioned, arching a brow.

Bilbo found himself flushed for an entirely new reason as the engagement bead braided against his ear seemed to weigh a bit heavier.

“Uh, yes, but I…”

“You’re supposed to be bonding with the family.” Dis explained as she pulled out a long piece of misshapen metal.

Bilbo watched with a grimace as she stoked the fire bringing a fresh wave of heat to the room, and threw the metal on top of the hot coals.

“Yes, and I thought that meant we could have tea or bake scones.”

Dis scoffed. “We do that anyways. In the line of Durin, we share our craft with our family-to-be so I’m going to be teaching you how to make a sword worthy of a king.”

Bilbo forced laughter as he took a step back with his arms outstretched.

“Oh! No. I really know nothing at all about smithing. I’m afraid I can’t…”

“It’s tradition.” Dis interrupted his nervous rambles. “Unless you want me to cut your engagement off right here…”

Bilbo didn’t really believe she would do that. After all, Dis wasn’t cruel. However, he also didn’t want to fail at any part of this courtship, and if this was important to their culture…His mouth set in a determined line as he rolled up his sleeves as far as he could.

“Right. So what should I do?”

Dis grinned widely as she encouraged him towards the other side of the table. She handed him a pair of gloves and tongs as she urged him to grab a hold of the now molten red metal.

“Are you aware that it’s actually ON FIRE?” He demanded pulling it out to reveal a flame stubbornly clinging to the end.

“That happens.” She explained with a touch of impatience. “Now hurry! Place it on the table.”

Bilbo tried to swing it around, but he was so distracted by the flaming piece that he dropped it well before it could reach the table, jumping out of the way of the sparks. Dis blinked, a sort of despair filling her expression before she reached down to pick it up. 

“It’s okay. It just won’t be as long as we anticipated. We can still make Thorin a very handsome short sword.”

The metal was thrown back into the fire for Bilbo to retrieve it once more. He didn’t drop it this time, but as Dis ordered him to bang it into shape, he could tell that his attempts were frustrating her.

“Harder! You’re never going to shape it before it cools!”

Dis ended up having to take over halfway through, but it was still far too cool by that point. So back into the fire it went. This happened three or four times before Dis was somewhat satisfied. Even then, it did not look like any sword Bilbo had seen, and he thought the goblins had some shoddy weapons indeed. Bilbo was practically struggling for breath by the time Dis told him to sink the blade in the barrel of oil next to them. So when it caused flames to shoot out straight for him, Bilbo collapsed to the ground with a yelp, dropping the sword in it.

Dis jumped into action digging the blade out, but it was too late to save it. There was a rather unfortunate bend to the blade that he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to have, and he was fairly certain it wouldn’t survive the sharpening process. Dis threw the blade on the table before collapsing next to Bilbo on the ground looking as stressed out as Bilbo felt.

“Sorry. I guess I make a very poor blacksmith indeed.”

She gave a breathless laugh as she pushed back her raven locks out of her face. 

“I’ve seen worse. You should have seen the knife Vili presented to me after a few hours with Thorin. With singed hair and skin. I thought for sure with the murderous looks they were shooting each other that one of them would declare the courtship over right there.”

Bilbo blinked in surprise before narrowing his gaze.

“Was this nothing more than payback then?”

Dis clasped him on the shoulder. “This was bonding, Master Baggins. And yes, I was wanting to give Thorin a taste of his own medicine, but really I was hoping to at least send you back in better shape than my betrothed was sent to me.”

Bilbo laughed, shaking his head. “And? Am I still allowed to marry into your family?”

Dis patted him on the back. “I would be honored to call you nadad’dli (marriage brother).”

[the-fiction-witch]

Corset

Media Bright Star

Character Samuel Brawne

Couple Samuel X Reader

Rating Sexy

Concept Corset ties

I sat in my sewing room working hard on my dress for the summer cotillion being hosted by lord and lady Rochester at their summer estate in only a few short days. I was planning on wearing my light blue summer dress I wore to Miss Elliza's wedding but I had heard thought a very trusted grapevine that Lady Franklin was wearing her own light blue gown so with meerly a week's notice I had to completely change my plan for my dress. Luckily I had some lavender flower fabric and some lilac fabric I had been storing, so I was working with a old corset I had laying around trying to get my dress finished up.

"Tea, buttercup" Samuel smiled as he arrived to my sewing room with the tea tray, the two cups, teapot, sugar cups, and all other tea business. He smiled setting the tray down on the table and he gave my head a kiss.

"Thank you Samuel" I smiled as I pinned

"This your dress?"

"Yes"

"Ooohh looks beautiful buttercup" he smiled "my lovely lilac lady" he smiled pouring our tea and having himself a biscuit "can't you just run it though your sewing machine?"

"I no I'm using some old lace from my winter dress which is way to fragile I run it through the machine it'll just break and gym up the machine, and I already added the lavender embroidery which took me about six hours to do and if I use the machine it'll wreck it, and I'm also having to do it all by hand as the corset is built into the main dress because the design would look lumpy if I did them separately, and the corset is structured with whale bone which I have already made too tight but they are too fragile to change so this is just what we have to do."

"... alright buttercup" he smiled kissing my head "maybe you should take a break?"

"Not if I want it hemmed. No time"

"Alright but have your tea" he ordered

"All this for utter discomfort, but decent beauty"

"I think you look beautiful either way buttercup." He smiled "But surely corsets aren't that bad"

I glared at him and he just smiled "Okay" I nodded getting up and looking around my sewing room, "Waitcoat off" I demanded

"what?"

"samuel."

"Alright" he shrugs slipping his waistcoat off leaving him in his trousers and shirt i grabbed my tape and measured his hip, his waist and shoulders 

"Ummmm you won't fit in mine... but" I muttered digging in my box "ahh ha! my first corset. never fit in it but that's what happens when you but things via mail" I said bringing it over to him making him stand in the mirror, and I got him into it "On like a waistcoat" I smiled then turning him to me to lace up the front as tight as I could "Okay ready?"

"I guess" He smiled as I turned him back to face the mirror and I began lacing up the back being slow but making sure to make good progress "This is okay"  getting tighter "okay.." and tighter, "Okay kind of tight" and tighter, "Oohhh tight" he muttered before then he belched

"Samuel!"

"I'm sorry it forced it out of me" He blushed "How much more?"

"Just a little more four more loops"

"Okay" He muttered a little scared as I did the last four up tieing them up and having a look seeing how it hugged him, gave him a waist, and made him look... 

"Damn" I sighed "How does it make you look better?"

"I have to admit... I kind of like it" He smirked looking in the mirror rolling his sleeves up and fixing his hair "I have a waist, I have an ass,  I look fantastic" He smirked 

"I hate admitting it but you do look good." 

"I know, could I wear this, for the Cattellian?" 

"I think you have to you look so good" I smiled 

"I don't know what you're complaining about" he smirked checking himself out 

"Okay" I smirked getting a pencil and putting it on the floor "Pick it up" I told him , 

He looked down and it took him about ten attempts having to hold the mirrors edge to get down to the floor picking up the pencil and then his but hit the floor, "Point taken" he sighed "Please help me up"

"Alright" I smiled helping him up "Take it off, I'll fix it to match my dress"

"Thank you buttercup" he smiled undoing the ties and immediate her relaxed "I get it now."

"It's nice to feel vindicated" I smiled 

[thebibliosphere]

(Audio transcript under the cut for HOH/audio processing accessibility)

Audiobooks are now live and ready for download on Payhip! Huge thank you to everyone who has supported me and waited very patiently for their arrival.

The audiobooks are priced at $18.99(+) to celebrate the start of Pride and will go up to $24.95(+) on July 1st. (These prices should also roll out across other platforms to reflect this, though I don't think any of the links apart from Audible have been posted yet.)

As noted, the Payhip "pay what you want" feature remains in place by request, but I hope you'll take advantage of the lowered price and enjoy yourself some vampire-werewolf bisexual polyam romance this month 💖💜💙.

Audio transcript:

Nathan was about to open his mouth to reply when the door behind them swung open with a dramatic woosh. Walking backward into the room was a young-looking man who was talking animatedly to whoever was on the other side.

“Yes, Mrs. Collins, of course, I remember. No, I assure you I had not forgotten about our meeting. I assure you, the peonies are my top priority. Swithin? Swithin?” The man’s eyes landed on the manservant barely visible through the open doors. “Ah, there you are. Please show Mrs. Collins to the Glaucous Drawing Room, thank you. I will be there shortly.” The doors slammed shut, and he leaned against them for a moment as though he’d like to barricade himself inside. “Good Gods alive, undead, and those merely sleeping.”

Seeming to realize he wasn’t alone, his shoulders straightened, and he whirled about. The vampire—for there was no mistaking him for anything else—was tall, dark-haired, and dashingly handsome. Genetics had seen fit to gift him with exceptionally good cheekbones and the complexion of cut marble. He was dressed formally but was sans jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal pale, slender arms. The cut of his waistcoat was daringly modern, and it gave him a slightly rakish appeal, an effect no means lessened when he smiled, the wry curl of his mouth revealing a gleaming hint of fang.

It was alarmingly attractive.

The vampire seemed to flicker for a moment, then glided toward them, arms spread wide in greeting. “Gentlemen, so sorry to keep you waiting. Fiddildy, old boy, how are you? How’s your leg?”

“Much better, thank you, sir. Only aches when it rains.”

“Ah, so only on days ending in ‘Y’ then, jolly good.” He gave Fiddildy a friendly clap on the shoulder before turning the full focus of his glittering attention on Nathan, who was suddenly desperately aware of his own heartbeat. “And this must be our new Captain. Welcome to our little island, Captain Northland. I’m the Viscount, but everyone here calls me Vlad.”

“Vlad,” Nathan echoed, still a little dazed. He grasped the other man’s hand when it was offered. A little tingle of something flowed through Nathan’s hand when they touched. The vampire’s handshake was firm and surprisingly calloused for someone who looked like they spent their time following the latest fashion trends and gambling away the family fortune at the card tables. They stood there for a second, each eyeing the other, before Nathan reluctantly dropped the Viscount’s hand.

Seemingly unbothered, the vampire gave him a tight-lipped smile, his fangs carefully hidden. “Yes, a family name, I’m afraid, but I’ve learned to be dead with it. Please, take a seat. You made good time in getting here; I hope your journey wasn’t too terrible. The weather can be a tad unpredictable.”

“No, not at all,” Nathan lied, ignoring the damp chill that still clung to his shoulders from his brief trek through the storm. His rain cloak had been about as effective against the elements as a chocolate tea kettle.

“Good, I am so very delighted to hear that.” To Nathan’s surprise, the vampire perched on the edge of his desk rather than sitting behind it. He was close enough that Nathan could smell his cologne: a subtle, warm scent with hints of spice and myrrh; it reminded him of warmer climes. “I trust they’ve made you welcome at the guardhouse already?”

Nathan felt Fiddildy stiffen nervously behind him.

“Like a house on fire,” Nathan offered. The wry glint of a smile flitted across the Viscount’s face before the vampire carefully hid it away again.

The Viscount’s dark eyes flickered rapidly over him. “My, what an ambiguously phrased thing to say,” the vampire drawled.

Nathan hoped the sudden flush of warmth he felt rising in his chest wasn’t visible on his face. It has to be a glamour, he decided. Vampires were notorious for such vanities, and there was just no way someone could be that devastatingly handsome. It just wouldn’t be fair.

[comatosebunny09]

Devotion [ Pt. 5 ]

Summary: You have been his faithful bodyguard for years, and a dear friend of his for much longer. Can you blame him for wanting something beyond that of a loyal subject and king?

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Drama, Angst, Slow Burn, Modern AU

Warnings: Female Reader, Profanity

Recommended Listening: See You Tomorrow & Tomorrow - Evgeny Grinko

Taglist: @marsthegoblin @genuienlytired @auraee @ah-finally @jensynkujo @nanaoise08squad @mekkencspony @coldstonecrematorium @motzgurke @simpforerensattacktitan

Sorry if I missed anyone. 😭 I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you so much for reading!

Of the many ways for a young woman to find herself enthralled...

Well, you know the lot of them thanks to a certain fiery-haired monarch.

You figure that he is the most beautiful thing to ever grace this kingdom. Watch with childlike wonderment as he looms over his desk, coarse brows furrowed, lips pulled into a taut line. He’s been like this for an hour or so, mowing through the mountains of paperwork littering his study. His Majesty releases an occasional hum, tapping his fountain pen against the lacquered wood as he flips through a binder. 

Sanemi must’ve really gotten to him today.

The royal advisor cornered you both in the king’s quarters. Muttered something about ball preparations and what-have-you’s, demanding that Kyojuro “sit his ass down somewhere to do some fucking work.” You couldn’t help the snicker that tore itself from your frame, watching the two go at it from the doorway.

Not much has changed about their dynamic since middle school, you reflected, a fond cant to your lips.

“I will take care of it, my friend,” His Majesty promised, his hands up in mock surrender. A shamefaced grin adorned his face, tiny craters forming in his cheeks.

Sanemi marched up to you, pinning you with an amethyst glare. Thrust a finger in your face, his irritation emanating off him in waves. “Make sure his ass doesn’t leave this room until half that shit’s been signed, you hear me?”

You replied with a curt nod, stepping aside to allow the tactician to leave. The heavy door slammed behind you with finality, leaving you and your king in each other’s company. Kyojuro shrugged, flashing you a disarming smile that set your heart aflutter.

You wished that Sanemi would’ve stayed longer to maintain the peace. 

“A picture would last longer,” Kyojuro mumbles, drawing you back to present. He scrutinizes the documents laid out before him.

You straighten. Tilt your head whilst clearing your throat, ignoring the heat flooding your cheeks. You realize that you have been caught staring again. It’s a regular occurrence between you and your king. Can it really be helped, though?

The man is gorgeous in every sense of the word, glowing like the cinders he was forged from.

You swallow thickly. Try to tear your eyes from the pulsing veins in Kyojuro’s sinewy forearms—he’d discarded his jacket and rolled up his sleeves a little while ago. Loosened his necktie, his waistcoat wrapped snugly around his frame.

God bless his tailor, for they have cruel impeccable taste.

The sun swaths Kyojuro’s silhouette in its ethereal glow; its rays pouring through the ceiling-high windows of the study whilst it tucks itself behind the horizon. He is much too angelic this way, untouchable even. Someone like you doesn’t deserve his affections, what with the dirt caked under your nails and the scars littering your body. His Majesty deserves to court someone as beautiful as he is. Someone who will bring honor to his kingdom.

Not a lowly bodyguard charged only with keeping him safe.

Kyojuro sighs, fetching another set of documents. Pierces through your ruminations again, asking, “how long do you plan to stand there gawking at me?” He levels his luminous optics with yours. His lips curve into an inviting smirk, chin resting on his palm. 

You stiffen, cursing your wandering eyes. “I-I’m not. I mean, I wasn’t, Majesty—”

“Sit,” Kyojuro beckons, motioning to the gold-crusted, emerald couch adjacent to him.

“I shouldn’t—”

“Sit.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

With hesitancy and a dispirited sigh, you meander over to your king’s side. Drop yourself onto the pillowy cushions, clasping your hands together in your lap. This is also routine between the pair of you.

He’s always had something against you standing guard at the door, so you’re often held captive like this while he works. It most certainly has nothing to do with him being irrevocably taken by you.

You puff out your cheeks, eyes skittering every which way but on your wayward king. You feel his eyes drilling into the side of your head. See him shamelessly staring at you through your peripheral, and it takes all of you not to shrink into yourself.

If a staring contest is what His Majesty wants…

You throw caution to the wind, fixing him with your own pointed stare. His lashes flutter closed; eyes wrinkled at the corners. He beams at you, boasting his pearly whites. Wordlessly, he reaches out to squeeze your hands settled rigidly atop your thighs. You tense, your breath lodged in your throat, heart jackhammering in the forefront of your ears.

Hot, hot. Terribly so. He always is. The action alone is enough to make you lightheaded whilst his thumb makes swift expeditions over your blanched knuckles. 

“Now I can focus,” he murmurs. Couples it with a deep chuckle as you sputter, the sound vibrating your spine. Kyojuro retracts his hand to turn back to his desk, taking up his pen with renewed vigor.

What’s that supposed to mean, you silently simmer, a quieted pout descending onto your lips. You’re bereft of the loss of contact, but what for? This is nothing new, the fleeting touches and stolen glances. So, what’s got you so out of sorts today?

You are thankful for your proximity to your king, nonetheless. From this angle, you get to see all of him. Greedily ingest the sight before you, and he is a work of art.

His Adam’s apple bobs whilst he swallows. The faint scent of citrus permeates your nostrils. Biceps ripple beneath his snug, silken dress shirt; vein in his neck pulsates enticingly. You battle with a sudden inclination to kiss it, saliva puddling in your mouth. You wonder what pretty sounds you can emit from him; if you can turn him to mush the same way he does to you each day.

Silly woman, you chastise, shaking your head. What on earth are you thinking about?

You sit like this in silent contemplation for a beat, transfixed on every twitch of his muscles. The scribbling of his pen is the only sound exchanged between you. You pick your fingernails, obligated to fill the stillness.

“Are you—”

“Do you—”

Amber eyes flit to yours. Kyojuro chuckles, rubbing his nape. It’s hard to miss the color tinging the tips of his ears. Your lips quirk the slightest, butterflies skittering about in your stomach.

How unlike His Majesty to be so bashful in your company.

“Apologies,” Kyojuro mutters, tugging his necktie free from its collar. Turns to you with undivided attention. “What were you about to say?”

“Ah, n-nothing. Um, what were you going to say, Majesty?” Suddenly, the onyx buttons of your coat are so very interesting, a flush of your own creeping its way into your skin.

“Do you have plans for the long weekend?”  

You perk up. Find it hard to meet his gaze, but you admit, “not really.”

“Really,” he hums thoughtfully.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You are off tomorrow, yes?”

You nod in confirmation. Honestly, you need it, what with you working tiring hours as a glorified babysitter. You care deeply for your king. However, keeping up with him and his indomitable spirit is taxing on its own. Couple this with your unchecked feelings for him, and you have quite the exhaustive cocktail.

Your only warning is the rustling of paper.

Suddenly, the couch dips beside you. He’s moved faster than you can process, a blur of yellows and reds. Curse his trainer for honing his cat-like movements.

He swaddles you in his overwhelming heat and commanding presence. A gasp rends itself from your throat. Your knees bump, thighs graze. He is uncomfortably close, and it’s become much too hot again. You feel restricted by your uniform. Has it always had this many layers?

Your king looks to you with delight. Drapes an arm across the back of the sofa, closing in until your noses almost touch. “Will you be accompanying me, then?”

You reel back, crashing into the chair’s arm. Swallow. “A-accompanying you? Where?” You weren’t informed of any movement going on during your weekly brief. So, what is he on about?

Uncertainty meddles with his voice. “I’d assumed Uzui had informed you of tomorrow’s excursion.”

The mere mention of your commander causes your brow to twitch. “He hasn’t told me a thing, Majesty.”

With a guilty sigh, Kyojuro scratches his temple. “Well,” he begins, leaning forward with his elbows pressed into his powerful thighs. “There is a bazaar in town. On the outskirts of the citadel, actually.” He glances at you to gauge your reaction. Searches your eyes for any opposition. You urge him forward with inquisitive brows.

“I wanted to attend so that I could find a nice gift for the prince.” Kyojuro wets his lips, suddenly averting his gaze. Of course. A gift for his dearest brother. He’d be back from the countryside soon. “Uzui was more than enthusiastic about joining me. I figured he would’ve invited you as well.”

A pang strikes your chest, searing like white lightning. And you thought you were all friends. Though you’re never too keen on the idea of His Majesty leaving the citadel alone, you also know that he prefers to travel discreetly. A ring of bodyguards and staff looming about would only draw more attention to him. Besides, it isn’t too often that he gets to leave the castle without some official business being tacked onto it. And, Tengen is more than capable of fending off any attempts on your king’s life.   

“I wouldn’t want to impede, Majesty,” you say haughtily. Since the offer had slipped Tengen’s mind, you felt it best to take it out on your king—

“I want you to come,” he declares, patting your hand, a hopeful lilt to his voice. “That is, if you would like to join us.” Irises glimmer like those of a puppy.

You sigh heavily, lips twitching into a small smile. Try as you might, you’ve never been able to resist him like this. “I would love to, Your Majesty.”

He beams at you, once again propelling himself into your personal bubble. “Might I make one final request?” ventures the king, mischief bubbling in those mirthful eyes of his.

You nod dumbly, hooked onto his every movement. “S-sure, sir.”

Suddenly, the silken strands of your hair waterfall onto your shoulders, spilling from the crude bun you had fashioned it into after your king had so graciously stolen your hairpin. You stammer, an astonished look taking up residence on your features.

He’d done it again.

Kyojuro’s expression melds into one of endearment. He beholds you with boyish fascination, engraining every spasm of your lips selfishly into his memory. “I prefer you like this,” he whispers, breath wafting across your flustered exterior. “Please wear your hair down from now on.”

You cannot help the warmth that wades over you at his request. Your heart overflows with glee. He always knows how to disorient you with his satiny, manipulative words.

You resist a faint whimper whilst Kyojuro twines one of your sleek coils about his finger. He wears that look again; the one he always dons before trying to kiss you. The sweet-talker. Maybe you will let him get away with it this time. Your tongue darts from betwixt your quivering lips to dampen them. Eyes half-slit. You glimpse down at his waiting mouth, watching with bated breath as it pans in.

To hell with it, you contemplate, feeling his fingers creep like spindly spider legs up the nape of your neck. He threads limber digits in your tresses, drawing you further into him. For a moment, you relinquish yourself to your desires. To hell with being his bodyguard. To hell with his monarchy, and with you feeling like the lowest on the totem pole. You’re hyperaware of his mouth so close, your breaths fusing together.

If not for the door being thrown open noisily behind you, you might’ve finally let your king have his way.

<< Previous | Masterlist | Masquerade >>

[spacegoldilocks]

Summer Evening

Raymond Smith x GN!Reader

Summary: Literally just a short lil thing about spending a summer evening with Ray bc I cannot stop thinking about soft boyfriend!Ray and his huge house

Tags/warnings: fluff, language, drinking alcohol, no use of Y/N

Word count: 1.1k

There’s no denying that Ray’s house is impressive. Like, really fucking impressive.

You still remember the first time he brought you here. It was after you’d been on a couple of dates, and you’d already taken him back to your place.

“Jesus Christ, Ray.” You said, marvelling at the dark interior, with navy and purple walls, and wooden furniture. But that was before you’d seen his garden.

Huge lawn, with a seating area under a canopy and pretty lights and blankets. You can’t put your finger on why exactly, but it made you like him so much more knowing he was a ‘cuddle under fairy lights with a blanket’ kinda guy. A softie under that hard exterior.

“Everyone’s always impressed with this.” He said, showing off his barbecue. 

“I can see why.” You laughed, mouth open in awe as he demonstrated it. “You’re never coming back to my place again, I’m ashamed.”

“Don’t be daft.” He smiled, pulling you against him for your first kiss of many under those fairy lights in his garden.

God, that feels like so long ago now. It’s been nearly a year since you’d had the talk about making your relationship official. You still haven’t properly moved in yet. But you may as well have. You’re long past the stage of just having a drawer full of things for the occasional sleepover or weekend stay. Most of your clothes are here, too.

At present, you’ve not left for maybe five days? Or has it been a week yet? You can’t remember. All you know is you spend more time here than your own place.

Ray’s been at work all day, doing God knows what. Chasing teenagers through the streets? Just a bit of paperwork? You dread to think. Especially because it’s been so hot today and he refuses to take off that damn waistcoat.

You decided to surprise him, make him a good meal to come home to. He does it for you enough. 

You don’t even hear him come through the gate, nor walk across the lawn to your seat at his impressive table where you wait for the food to cook. You jump a mile when suddenly you hear his voice next to you.

“Something smells good.”

“Fucking hell, Ray!”

“Sorry, babe.” He cups you jaw, tilting your head to kiss you. He smells so good, if a little sweaty.

“Busy day?” You ask as you break off the kiss.

“A bit, yeah.”

The suns still out and creeps beneath the cover of the canopy as it gets lower in the sky but not low enough to disappear behind the trees. You bask in its warmth, keeping an eye on the food, as Ray talks to you about his day, before asking you about yours.

The food finishes cooking and you eat.

“When did you turn into a chef?” He questions with a smile between mouthfuls. 

“When you finally let me loose on this thing.” You say, patting the table with your hand. 

Took him long enough, even though you were a bag of nerves the first time he let you use it - with his supervision of course. You have a special talent for breaking things so were surprised when nothing was left broke, and nor did you set fire to something.

You sit and eat and talk together and the two of you spend the evening out there. 

The sun eventually dips behind the trees lining his garden, and with the lack of sunlight comes the chill of a summer evening in Britain. By no means cold, but when that little breeze hits it makes you shiver.

It takes a while for it to get completely dark and you share a bottle of wine as the only light available becomes that from those twinkling overhead. The wind gets stronger, and the alcohol in your system is doing little to warm you up.

Ray’s fine. He finally took off that vest and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to let his forearms breathe. He’s not bothered by the drop in temperature. You, on the other hand, have exposed legs and arms, and are frankly, fucking freezing. 

“Are you cold?” He asks when he sees you shivering slightly.

“A bit, do you mind turning it on?” You say, gesturing to his barbecue-heater-table contraption. 

“Fuck that, come here.” He taps the seat and pulls the blanket from behind his head. 

You cross over to him where he sits on the bench, perching yourself as close as you can get next to him and throwing your legs across his lap.

He takes the blanket, neatly unfolds it and drapes it, as best as he can with you against him, across your shoulders, wrapping it tightly around you.

His arm comes around you to pull you even tighter to him. He’s warm, and lovely, and you look up at him. His blue eyes behind those glasses you love so much on him.

He nudges them up his nose bridge as he looks back at you. You still see the brightness of the lights when you close your eyes, and they fade ever-so-slightly when Ray brings his lips to yours. He keeps a grip on the back of your neck as you kiss like teenagers under twinkly lights and blankets and you feel the slight lightheadedness that comes with drinking wine on a summer night.

His lips are soft and he tastes sweet - of that merlot he pulled from his wine fridge. Fruity and sharp.

Your hand grips at his shirt where he’d undone a few of the buttons to cool down, grazing your fingers across his bare flesh underneath.

Whispers of ‘I love you’ are shared within the kiss as your mouths move in sync and his beard rubs against your chin - probably leaving your skin a little bit chafed from the friction.

It’s hot and needy and yet, there’s so much tenderness he shows whenever he kisses you. It’s a side of him that’s gentle and caring, soft and loving, and only gets shared with you.

You separate and he presses soft kisses up your nose and forehead as your head lulls onto his chest.

You feel it rise and fall under you. Everything’s so calm. No noise from the city reaches this far out and Ray’s hand drops down to your arm, where he draws featherlight patterns on your bare skin under the blanket. 

You think you almost fall asleep in his arms, his scratchy cheek pressed against the top of your head until he whispers your name. 

“Hm?” You hum to show that you’re awake.

“What would you say if I asked you to move in with me?”

[vukovich]

peculiar prompt: soulmate au where your dick is the same exact length as your soulmate’s (i guess everyone has a dick in this universe idk 😂) anyways drarry discovering they are soulmates in whatever convoluted way you would like!

Nine and Three Quarters

Summer weddings were an unlikely tradition for a family that ran high to freckles and sunburns, but Harry didn't mind. Usually.

This wedding, though, he'd have just as soon not attended. It wasn't that he harbored any romantic intentions toward Charlie, but seeing him so bloody happy made Harry keenly aware of his own solitude.

Charlie and Constantin fed each other forkfuls of cake and grinned. They were perfectly-matched. Identical white short sleeve dress shirts and gold waistcoats, sparkling blue eyes and mirrored grins as they threatened each other with blobs of icing, much to Molly's horror.

Their matching gold rings felt like an extension of the tattoos on the underside of their left forearms. Charlie's was a dragon, of course. Constantin's was a crouched hippogriff. They were exactly the same size, but different designs and colors.

Forearm tattoos abounded among gay wizards, but it had taken seeing Charlie and Constantin together for him to notice the pattern. A plate of cake floated to his table and set itself down in front of him. He picked it apart with his fork, separating the layers of frosting out from the the cake, then mashed the fluffy cake down into a pellet.

A breathless Charlie flopped into an empty chair next to him and surveyed the wreckage on his plate.

"Got a grudge against that cake?"

"Huh? Oh. No. Sorry."

Charlie slid Harry's cake away, probably for its own good. Constantin and Fleur fox-trotted past, and one of them reached out to ruffle Charlie's hair.

"No date?"

"Nah." Harry licked his fork clean, rolled the bits of cake around in his mouth, and wished he'd have eaten the slice.

"Still doing the playboy thing, eh?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess."

Charlie huffed a laugh. "You guess? What else would you be doing at clubs?"

Harry shrugged again.

"Well, if you get tired of it and want the name of a really good soulmate tattoo artist, let me know." Charlie wiped up a dab of frosting off Harry's plate and popped his finger in his mouth. "Until then, enjoy hunting in the dark."

Charlie rose to leave, but Harry reached out and grabbed him by the buckle on the back of his waistcoat.

"Soulmate tattoos?"

--

--

"But I thought the tattoo went on my arm."

Harry kept his hands in his jeans pockets, just in case the man decided to help him disrobe.

"It does..."

Bushy grey eyebrows rose in speculation, and the man's brown eyes squinted at Harry, unsure of whether Harry was playing a prank, playing dumb, or playing at nothing.

"So why would I take my trousers off?"

"Riiiggght," he said slowly, gently spinning back and forth on his stool. "Why don't you tell me what you do know about soulmate tattoos."

Harry hooked his thumbs in his pockets and looked around the tattoo parlour for clues, but there was nothing but drawings on the walls. Pictures of forearms, too, all with differing sizes of beasts and creatures on them.

"Uhm," Harry started, "they go on forearms." The man nodded and motioned for him to continue. "And... they're... magic?"

The man shook his head and sighed. "The death of gay wizard culture, I swear. I blame that app."

"Wait, there's an app for-"

"Soulmate tattoos are the size of the wearer's dick."

Every tattoo Harry had ever seen ran through his head at once, and he stood slack-jawed for what felt like hours.

The man continued. "And so part of getting one is getting your dick measured. Professionally."

"I... Uh..."

"Men lie on the app. That's why all these boys are running around thinking they don't have soulmates, but older men know better. Back in the day, we'd just walk up to a bloke, line our arms up, and pair off."

Harry looked at the ceiling and tried to imagine a scenario in which that didn't sound both terrifying and oddly comforting.

"Why would you line them up?"

The man stared at him for a long. fucking. time.

"Soulmate dicks match, kid." He grumbled something about the Internet. "Now do you want the tattoo or not?"

"I... Uhm... Maybe later?"

"Suit yourself."

--

There had to be a better way to do this.

Harry balanced on tip-toe, focused on his dick with one eye, and dipped his quill. His tongue peeked out a corner of his lips as he concentrated on tracing around his shaft.

Was the quill angled accurately? Was the nib too far from his skin to be accurate? Was width even relevant?

He let out a held breath and dropped down to his heels. The paper on his desk was an embarrassment.

"Looks like a fucking caterpillar," he grumbled to himself.

Maybe they made enchanted quills for this.

--

The nook of art supplies at Flourish and Blotts was overwhelming, but it smelled good. Needle-sharp enchanted nibs sounded like a terrible idea. Image-grabbing paper sounded equally dangerous. What if he got his dick stabbed or absorbed into a piece of paper?

Someone cleared their throat behind him.

"Can I help you?"

Draco Malfoy met his eyes with a hesitant smile. He looked strangely at home surrounded by paper and ink. He wore a rumpled black t-shirt that advertised in bold white letters "Truth Quills: The Reign of Error Ends Here".

"Uhm... maybe?"

"What kind of project are you working on?"

"I'm... just... tracing something?"

Draco nodded and reached up to grab a pack of nibs just above Harry's head. The Dark Mark on his forearm caught Harry's eye. It wasn't a Dark Mark anymore. The skull wore a crown of red roses, and the snake had been filled in with vibrant yellow and blue markings. Harry decided it looked a bit like a Grateful Dead album cover. But prettier.

"These are good for most projects if you're just starting out."

Draco handed him a plastic box with more thingamajigs than he had any idea what to do with.

"Uhm, okay. Thanks."

"No problem." Draco's eyes wandered down to Harry's forearm and his smile faltered. "Anything else?"

"No, I think I'm good."

--

He wasn't good. He was nowhere near good, and he had black ink all over his dick. Also on his hands, and the table, and the floor, but those were less important.

"Looks like a goddamn Holstein dong."

--

"Alright," Draco said, and his smile was bordering on a smirk. "But what's the reference? What are you trying to trace?"

A dozen dick-shaped things came to mind, and Harry blurted, "A banana."

Draco did not laugh. Not with his mouth. Just with his eyes. His t-shirt today said "Blink Ink: Drier than your ex" in jagged black script.

"Mm hm," Draco squeaked through his nose. "Is accuracy important?"

Harry let out a relieved sigh. "Yes."

Draco cleared his throat and schooled his face. "Here."

He handed Harry a Truth Quill. "That ought to give you an accurate outline of your... banana."

--

"Hot damn!"

Harry held the outline of his cock up to the light. Damned if it wasn't perfect. He laid it face-down on his forearm and frowned. How was he supposed to get it onto his skin?

--

Draco faked a cough and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. "Pardon?"

"I need to transfer it."

"But a backlight won't work because..."

"Uhm... it can't... light can't go through the... other... thing."

Draco's t-shirt today had a frilly, looping font that said, "Nearotica: Almost There."

"Dare I ask what material you're transferring this banana onto?"

Harry focused on Draco's forearm, and the curve of the roses, and the sinewy body of the snake.

"Uhm... leather?"

Draco shot him a challenging look Harry didn't understand. "I suppose you'd want a cautery tool for that."

"Uhm... okay."

--

He wasn't okay. He had two burned dots on his forearm, and a hole in his paper at the base and tip of the outline.

Over a hundred galleons spent, and all he had to show for it were what looked like two mosquito bites that were exactly one penis-length apart.

The hell with all of it.

--

Harry dropped bags of barely-used art supplies on the store counter, and Draco's chin snapped up. He cocked his head and looked at the bags while Harry read his t-shirt: "Thrill Your Darlings: Tropes and Nopes."

"Didn't work out?" Draco asked.

Harry bent down, rested his elbows on the counter, and shook his head. "Can I return it?"

Draco shrugged. "Store credit, since it's all been opened."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "I'll take it in coloring books."

"I'll throw in some markers."

Draco shot him a pitying smile and stood to collect the bags. His eyes caught on the two burn marks on Harry's forearm. He set his elbow next to Harry's and pressed their wrists together.

"Huh," Draco exhaled. He rolled his tattoo against Harry's forearm. The peak of the rose crown touched the mark nearest Harry's wrist, and the snake's tail met the other.

Harry stared at their arms, wide-eyed and panicked in the best way.

"Is it-" Harry started. "Do they, uhm..."

"I... do believe so. If your banana outline was accurate."

Harry gulped. "It was."

"Huh," Draco repeated. "Well, in that case, there's a giant mandala coloring poster I've had my eye on, but it's a bit much for one person."

Harry let a grin spread across his face. "Consider it sold."

[ladymercysletters]

A Gentleman’s Eye

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Word Count : 1264

# = your first initial 

You’d heard a Bridgerton had started coming to Lord Granville’s parties but you’d never seen them there before. You yourself had only been to one once before. Henry had insisted you came as soon as your obligatory year of mourning had finished. Your old and lecherous husband had kept you practically locked away at your estate since he married only a few years previous. His greasy, sweaty palms had only touched you once or twice – trying to produce an heir, before breathed his last in some East End brothel and left you with an estate and your title.

You wandered the halls of the party for a while, wearing a half mask that just about concealed your identity. Still thinking about the Bridgerton in attendance you occupied your mind trying to decipher which one of them it could be. A brother, obviously – no unmarried lady of standing would risk being seen here, lest she completely leave behind her reputation. So, a brother. The eldest was a known rake, but an artists den didn’t seem like the type of establishment he’d frequent judging by the last conversation you’d had with him. The younger, Colin? If you recalled, perhaps the poor boy had been led here unawares. No, you had your money on the second son, he’d always had a wandering eye when it came to society and you were fairly sure of your guess as you thought on it more.

Slipping through the gatherings of small groups with your wine in hand, you could have missed him – being obscured by an easel, where it not for Sir Granville calling out for you and guiding you into the artists den. Henry talked away, explaining the theme of the evening and introducing you to some of the artists as you payed no mind at all. Caught in the captivating image of Benedict Bridgerton, illuminated by the glow of the fireplace, concentration clear on his furrowed brow and curved lip.

‘My dear, I have lost you’ Sir Henry jested, seeing you otherwise occupied.

‘No n… not at all, I am sorry’

‘Don’t be. Had he not had that effect on me I doubt he would have found his way here at all’ he chuckled, sipping at his glass. You both looked on. The concentration he gave to his work was undeniably attractive, but the open waistcoat and rolled sleeves made your corset feel tighter that it had before entering the room.

Feeling warm all of a sudden and completely out of your depth you made your excuses and returned to the hallway, feeling cooler already as you went in search of another glass of wine, and more platonic company.

Your husband had never spent much time with you, thank the lord, only the occasional weekend where he would lock himself away in his study with his steward. It left you a lot of time to read, and drink, and wander the painted halls alone, and untouched.

The evening wandered on and the few glasses of wine you had indulged in had taken slight effect, leaving you rosy and less guarded than before.

Benedict leant against a wall as he watched the hoards around him, leaning back to take a drag of his cigarette. Deciding on another glass of wine to fill the void left by his art he turned for wherever the source of the wine had been previously and almost toppled over a figure in his path.

Falling off your heel you were saved from toppling completely by two large hands coming around your waist to save you. As you pulled the fallen mask from your face you saw you were mere inches away from the face of Benedict Bridgerton, the man who had taken over your thoughts for the entire evening.

‘Lady Y/N’ Benedict exclaimed ‘I do apologise, I didn’t see you’

‘The fault is all mine’ you interrupted as he pulled you to your feet

‘No, I insist. I payed no mind to where I was going’ he carried on, taking your hand in his. You noted his other hand was still holding the small of your waist. ‘t least let me get you another glass’ he noted, looking down at the crystal shards strewn on the floor. He looked up at you through his lashes and you locked eyes, his crooked smile making your chest flutter as he led you gently through the halls to another glass of wine.

His conversation enthralled you – for the brother of Anthony Bridgerton you half expected him to know nothing of art and culture, however his knowledge and charm exceeded all expectations and you practically hung on his every word as you discussed the great renaissance painters. Your quiet corner of the house remained so as you talked between yourselves, only candlelight to accompany you as talked about your passions and wants in life.

The closer you became the more you enjoyed the warmth Benedict’s body emitted, his scent surrounded you and you wanted nothing more than to curl into it. Benedict was leaning in to you as well. Although he usually attended these parties in the hopes of forming more intimate relations with a woman for the evening, he found you utterly captivating. Your mask long gone he took the opportunity to drink in your features, mulling them over as only an artist could.

As you continued talking about an exhibition you had seen at Somerset House the year previous Benedict took it upon himself to brush a stray curl away from your eyes. The action took you both off guard and your closeness became apparent to both of you when his soft fingers trailed slowly down the side of your face.

‘You are unutterably beautiful; do you know that?’ Benedict whispered lowly.

‘Do you say that to everyone you bump into?’ you quipped back, wine slowing your speech

‘Never in my life’ he growled, towering over you as you pressed a palm to his chest.

‘I am a Lady’ you sighed – his closeness enough to set every hair on your body on edge. His breath bringing goose bumps out on your skin.

‘And I a Gentleman… My Lady’ Benedict whispered into your skin as he laid one solitary soft kiss to the bared skin of your shoulder. Your breath caught in your throat. Never in all your years had anyone treated you with such softness. As he pulled back, he brushed the tip of his nose gently across your jawline, separating you both mere inches as you had been before. ‘I have never met a woman like you before.’

‘You shouldn’t have met me tonight’ you smirked, knowing that this couldn’t go any further than you both wanted it too. It was already dangerous enough being here without your mask, but in a darkened corner with a gentleman, you could be ruined.

Benedict leaned back, wiping his hand over his face to sober himself up. Of course - he could ruin you like this, and however much he desired you he couldn’t be your downfall. You slipped out off of the bench and out of the soft grasp of his fingertips, fleeing through the open door; holding your mask to your face before your carriage swept you away into the night. Benedict watched through the frosted window as you were carried away into the night. Already missing your presence he turned to see you had left your handkerchief on the table – Initials decorating the corner read #P. Pocketing the item as he stood to retire for the evening he determined that he would find you again.

[darter-blue]

Congratulations again on the milestone, that's so awesome! Can I ask for "velvet" and because I loved the last Sam story you wrote for me, can he be a guest in the ticket? Maybe he's trying to help Steve pick out a gift for Bucky? Or something holiday cheery like that? Thank you and lots of love to you! 💕

Dearest Cate. Sorry for the wait gorgeous, but it's finally done. A little shopping adventure for Sam and Steve, and an unsuspecting Bucky.

For @indyluckycharlie - Velvet

Sam Wilson is great at a lot of things, and shopping is one of them. Fashion is not something Sam necessarily pays that much attention to, but he knows what he likes, he knows what looks good.

And he knows that Steve does not.

So here he is, at the fucking mall of America, with Captain America, in the men's department at Nordstrom.

And bless this man, but he is a goddamn disaster.

'This one?' Steve says, holding up a brown plaid jacket with leather elbow patches and fucking lambs wool lining and just… Sam can only shake his head.

'You wanna take someone out to a nice dinner and that's what you're gonna wear?'

'Ummm…'

'Is the vibe you're going for, lumberjack?' Sam says, shaking his head.

'You said nothing too formal!' Steve huffs, hanging the jacket back on its rack and shoving his hands into his pockets.

'I meant not a suit, not to wear your old man slippers as a jacket.'

'Hey,' Steve's brow furrows and he ducks his head. 'Leave my slippers out of this.'

'Can I help you gentlemen?' a voice interrupts, its owner standing carefully back from where Sam and Steve are arguing.

Sam looks up at the sound to find a sales assistant - fashionable, black skinny jeans and a button down white shirt with a sweet dark blue velvet vest - and nods his head.

'Yes,' he says before Steve can object. 'Please. This man needs all the help he can get.'

The sales assistant, James - so says his name tag - looks over at Steve and up and up to his face and then swallows.

Sam has to fight back his laugh, but the guy seems to recover quickly, lets the smile widen on his face and steps forwards to join them.

He glances at the jacket that Steve has hastily hung back at an angle, and then back at Steve and Sam in turn. 'Is there something in particular you're looking for?'

And Steve has looked the guy up and down, seems a little fixated on the bun at the top of his head, and blushes. Has to clear his throat.

Sam can't tell if it's the bun, or the outfit, or the guy that has Steve in a state.

Might be all three.

But Steve is now shaking his head at the question, but Sam is having none of it. The man needs to learn to ask for help.

'He's looking for a dinner jacket. Something to show off his assets.'

'Ah,' James looks from one of Steve's shoulders to the other, down to his waist and back up to his chest. 'Gotcha,' he says, turning away and doing a quick sweep of the racks, 'is this for a special occasion?'

Steve looks at the guy, James, as he ushers them over to the more expensive jackets, and then at Sam as if he wants to flee.

'Dinner at Fiola Mare,' Sam says when Steve remains mute.

'A date,' Steve says, with zero enthusiasm.

'Oh,' James turns back to them with an eyebrow raised. 'You don't sound excited.' He looks between Sam and Steve as if he's trying to ascertain their relationship dynamic.

'It's a blind date.' Steve rocks back and forth on his feet and then looks up at James from under his lashes. 'I haven't yet been able to get myself out of it.'

James smiles at that and then looks away, pulls the jacket he's brought them to off the rack and holds it in front of himself.

'This one's got a nice slim fit, I'll have to bring the waist in a bit, we're never gonna find a size off the rack that will fit those shoulders and that waist.'

Sam can see the blush bloom into James' cheeks at what he's said, and has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling.

This is getting interesting.

'Umm..' Steve looks at the Jacket, classic black with a darker black leather trim. 'It's a bit… edgy.'

'You want something more old fashioned?' James asks, 'I have some nice pinstripes just over here.'

'I was thinking, well… I like your waistcoat.'

Sam has to put his hand over his mouth to hide his laugh at Steve's word vomit.

At least the fluster seems like awkward flirting.

'Oh, I…' James looks down and smooths a hand over the velvet material and Sam watches Steve's eyes track the movement. 'Actually I do have a jacket in this.' He turns them around and heads to a different display, where a mannequin is wearing a jacket in the same material as James' vest.

'This could work,' Sam says, taking the Jacket and holding it up to Steve's chest. It's a good colour for him, navy, and it's cut well. The velvet is much showier than Steve would normally accept. Sam needs to grab the opportunity to get him out of his shell. 'This is the one.'

'I mean… do you think so?' Steve looks at Sam and then over at James, eyebrows comically high and eyes wide. For someone usually so imposing, he definitely has the confused puppy look down pat.

'Absolutely,' James agrees, standing back and crossing his arms as he looks Steve and the jacket over.

Sam claps Steve on the back when he seems to have gotten stuck staring at James forearms in his rolled up sleeves.

'Great! We'll take it.'

'Okay, let me ring it up and then I'll take some measurements, when do you need it by?'

'Next Saturday,' Steve mumbles un-enthusiastically.

'I can do that.' James walks them to the register and grabs the plaid jacket on his way past, puts them both on the counter. 'You can never have too many jackets,' he says looking at Steve, 'and some people really go for the lumberjack look.' James winks and then turns away to ring up the jackets.

Sam has to lean over and snap Steve's mouth shut.

He lets James lead Steve into the back to take the measurements and waits for them to be out of earshot before dialling Nat’s number.

'S'up,' Nat says lazily into the phone as it connects.

'Hey so, I know you had your heart set on that girl from accounting, but I think I've found a better candidate for the blind date next Saturday. '

There's a pause and Sam can hear Nat shuffling around, probably getting into a more comfortable position on the couch. 'Okay,' she finally says, wide smile evident in the tone of her voice, 'tell me everything.'

[harrysweasleys]

yellow sundress // f.w

summary: fred spots you at bill and fleur’s wedding and can’t keep you off his mind.

warnings: none

word count: 3.2k

a/n: let’s all pretend there’s no war and the wedding doesn’t end horribly, shall we? (for my own sanity, of course) :) xx enjoy!

—

Fred was happy for his brother, really. Bill was always the most mature of the Weasley clan — well, according to Molly, anyways. Always boasting about how Bill had his life in order and how he’d go on to do great things. So, although Fred grew up feeling slightly envious of his big brother, today he was happy. Happy for him and happy that there was finally something for the family to celebrate.

He had found himself rather excited the morning of the wedding. Him and George had spent the night at the burrow — Molly’s orders — so they could prepare and set up the tent bright and early. Arrangements for the wedding had been made very last minute indeed, so the panic and rush was still happening hours before the happy couple were to say ‘I do.’

The early morning grass was still wet with dew drops, shimmering like little diamonds under the hazy sunshine. The field was quiet except for the occasional caw of a bird or the screech of an insect. 

Though sunny, it wasn’t overly warm. Fred found it just comfortable to wear a long sleeved shirt under his waistcoat, preventing goosebumps from rising on his skin every time the morning breeze rolled around. There wasn’t much heavy lifting to be done, thanks to magic, so Fred found himself sitting back with his brothers, only ever occasionally giving a lazy flick of his wand to pitch in.

“So, no date?” Ron walked up to Fred, crossing his arms across his chest and giving his brother a small smirk as they finished pinning the tent into the ground.

Fred scoffed, “Coming from you?”

Ron rolled his eyes, “You’re older than me, you need to get a move on. Maybe you’re next,” he joked, motioning his hands to the wedding preparations.

Fred fought the urge to smack him across the back of the head, “You hilarious little git.”

Ron’s laughter echoed in Fred’s ears, a taunting reminder that he indeed did not have someone in his life. Someone that he could have on his arm right now, someone that he could end up dancing the night away with. Although Fred teased Ron about his bad luck with women, he knew his little brother fancied Hermione, and she felt the same way back. It was only a matter of time before the two ran off into the sunset together, really.

Fred scoffed at the thought of his youngest brother getting married before him.

The tent was up and ready in no time, a few of the distant Weasley cousins and some old school friends of Bill’s already underneath it, setting up tables and chairs so that there was room for people to sit. 

Molly called his name from inside the house, her head sticking out of the kitchen window and her arms waving wildly; a clear sign to Fred that he should rush over.

“What is it?” he asked as he entered through the doorway, ducking his head to avoid hitting one of the wooden beams hanging low by the kitchen entrance. A beam that he had whacked his heads so many times on when he was growing up that he was surprised his Boggart didn’t turn into it when he was still in school.

“Carry these out!” Molly huffed, shoving multiple large trays of goods into his arms, her hair sticking out all over the place and her apron stained with icing and different kinds of sauces.

Fred agreed, walking ever so slowly out of the house and placing the heavy, unbalanced trays on the closest table he could find, not wishing to spill anything and unleash his mother’s wrath so early in the day. He let out a long sigh as he looked around at the ongoing preparations, the sun now higher in the sky and making it easier to do things under the bright light.

Too occupied with watching over everything, he hadn’t noticed a body approach him and stand by his side.

“Fred Weasley, as I live and breathe,” a soft voice caught Fred out of his daze, blinking his eyes to refocus as he looked down to face the person who had nearly startled him. 

You were standing there, hair tied back loosely and a bright smile on your face. You were wearing a light yellow sundress, a cardigan sitting on your shoulders as you held onto a small clutch purse. Though Fred didn’t know his perfumes, he could smell a sweet mixture of honey and rose coming from your direction. A smell that Fred, up until this point, never considered to be beautiful. But as he looked down at you, your expectant eyes awaiting an answer, Fred found that everything about you was beautiful. 

“Do we know each other?” Fred asked lamely, internally rolling his eyes at himself. He had a feeling that if he had seen you before, he wouldn’t have forgotten. 

Your smile changed from soft to amused, “I see I didn’t make a lasting impression,” Fred felt his own lips turn downwards into a frown as you let out a small giggle, “We went to Hogwarts together.”

He scanned you up and down trying to find anything that could spark recognition, but he failed, “Were we in the same year?”

You shook your head, “I was below you. The year below you, I mean. Not — I — you know what I meant. I’m Y/N.”

Fred felt a smile take over his face as you looked down to the ground, “It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

“Technically, we’ve met before,” you pointed out, a sly grin on your lips, “I was also there when the goblet of fire ejected you as an old man. Classic, really.”

Rubbing the back of his neck and laughing sheepishly, Fred cursed his younger self for acting like such a fool, “Not one of my brightest moments, I must admit.”

You let out a bubbly laugh and Fred swore he lost his breath.

“I found it amusing. Never dull, you two.”

A sense of pride buzzed in Fred’s chest, glad that he could make some amusing memories for you. Glad that you even remembered him. How Fred never noticed you while at school, he’ll never be able to answer.

“Well,” you adjusted your cardigan around yourself and gave him a little wave, “I’ll see you later. I’ve got to go help Fleur.”

Before he could bid you bye, you scurried off into the house. He heard you and Molly greet each other before the sound of your footsteps rushing up the stairs echoed throughout the house and through the open window.

A grin was still on Fred’s face long after you were gone. What it was about you, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t remember ever being so intrigued by a person before after such a short encounter. You had completely captivated him in the two minute conversation that was shared. Fred, who had made it this long without being in a serious relationship or committing to anyone, suddenly had an overwhelming urge to get to know you better.

—

Silent conversations bled throughout the seated crowd, everyone chatting quietly with the people around them as they awaited the ceremony to begin. Half of the people were familiar, but the other half were Fleur’s invites. People that none of the Weasley family had ever met — people who, as they scanned their surroundings, clearly still weren’t overly fond about having a wedding outside an old house in the middle of a field.

Old school friends gathered left and right, greeting each other and reminiscing about fond memories. Memories that, in this moment, felt so distant and gone. As if school was ages ago instead of only a year and a bit. A lot had changed over the course of twelve months

Without really knowing he was doing it, Fred’s bored eyes scanned the crowd, looking out for the familiar yellow dress. He had already greeted everyone that figured there was no point in getting up to talk if the ceremony was minutes away from starting.

“Looking for someone?” George poked him on the shoulder, a crooked smirk on his face. He couldn’t give a proper one — the bandage wrapped tightly around his head prevented him from doing so.

“Do you remember an Y/N when we were at Hogwarts?” Fred asked, eyes turning to his twin.

George nodded, “Yeah. Wasn’t she friends with Ginny and Luna?”

“Blimey, I need a better memory,” Fred frowned. He had never raked through his brain more than in the last hour, trying to find any sort of scrap, but had very little success.

“Why?” George wiggled his eyebrows, “Someone looking for her?”

Fred rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, not answering his brother. Not that he had the chance, really, as the scent of honey and rose filled his senses once again, your bright yellow dress catching his attention from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t even noticed the empty chair next to him, but as you took your seat there, he was thankful that it had been empty.

“Oh, hey,” you smiled, removing your cardigan and placing it on the back of your chair, “Were you saving this seat? Sorry, there’s nowhere else.”

“No,” Fred muttered quickly, “You can sit here.”

George let out a low chuckle and Fred imagined himself turning around and whacking him across the head. But, fortunately for George, the very image stayed in his mind.

The ceremony began shortly after, but Fred couldn’t focus much. Only when you nudged him in the side and told him to stand for Fleur’s entrance did he notice how zoned out he really was.

His cheeks and ears felt warm but he was lucky you didn’t notice, a wide grin on your face and your eyes slightly watery as you watched Fleur walk down the aisle, an equally happy Bill watching her every movement with such love in his eyes, even Fred couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming emotions.

They said their ‘I do’s’ and the ceremony came to a close an hour later, everyone clapping loudly.

You disappeared into the crowd and Fred made his way to the reception tent, finding his table and sitting with the rest of his siblings. The atmosphere was calm, soothing, and the music gave a pleasant echo of fun. Having not been to many weddings before — or any, really — Fred didn’t know what to expect. He thought it would be loud, chaotic, and people would be toppling over each other on the dance floor.

That, however, was not the case.

As the afternoon turned to early evening, a few couples had come and gone from the dance floor, a few meals had been eaten, and the music playlist continued to produce a good enough array of songs for Fred not to become overly bored. Molly had strongly suggested playing Celestina Warbeck and was still bitter that Fleur rejected her upfront, but she seemed to be enjoying the evening as she moved to the music on the dance floor alongside her husband.

“You gonna ask Hermione to dance?” George nudged Ron in the side, Fred chuckling at his younger brother’s clear discomfort.

Ron’s cheeks flared pink, “Blood hell, no. She’s with Krum.”

The three of them looked over to the centre of the tent where, in fact, Hermione was laughing and dancing with the Bulgarian seeker. The one that Fred had listened to Ron whine about for hours on end in his sixth year.

“Come on, Ronniekins. You could out dance him,” Fred smirked, teasing him.

Giving him the best glare he could muster, Ron grumbled, “Hope she steps on his big feet.”

Fred let out a small laugh and turned back to face the dance floor, his eyes immediately finding you. He tried telling himself it was due to your dress, but that was only because he didn’t want to admit how beautiful he found you. How he currently wanted nothing more than to rush over there and ask you to dance.

Odd, Fred thought, I’ve never wanted to dance with anyone.

“What about you Freddie?” Ron turned the attention away from him, “I see you eyeing her. Just go ask her to dance or I’ll go do it for you and I reckon I’d make it way more bloody awkward.”

Trying his best to act nonchalant, Fred grumbled, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” George’s eyes sparkled with mischief and as much as Fred usually liked that, he didn’t like it so much right now, “Then you wont mind if I go talk to her—”

“Sit down, you git,” he snapped quietly, eyes darting away from where you were standing and chatting with Luna before he glared daggers at his two sniggering brothers, “Both of you need to shut it.”

“Just go,” George said, taking a sip of firewhisky, “Someone’ll snatch your spot.”

Fred took a deep breath and stood up, wishing to get away from his idiotic family. His heart was racing against his rib cage, uneasiness and nerves spreading throughout his entire body as he slowly walked towards the floor. He stopped to look at anything and everything along the way, stalling the interaction as much as possible. Asking Angelina to the ball had been casual — he never really fancied her the way one should fancy a date. It was more of a friendly thing. But as he looked over at you, your contagious laughter reaching his ears and your cheeks slightly pink, he realized that this was so very different. So very nauseating.

“Fred,” you smiled up at him, catching Fred off guard. He hadn’t even noticed that he walked up to you, but as he heard George muttering behind him, he realized his twin probably gave him a good shove in your general direction.

“Hi,” he smiled down at you, “Hello, Luna.” He greeted your friend, who gave him a dreamy wave before stalking off through the crowd with a smile on her face.

“She’s had a lot of gigglewater,” you informed him, “Told me about seven times that she thought I looked like Pygmy puff.”

Fred found himself laughing, “I don’t think you look like one. I don’t remember Pygmy puffs being so stunning — and I’d know, Ginny had one of those little rats.”

Your eyes widened and your smiled faltered just a tad, “You think I’m stunning?”

“Yeah,” Fred suppressed his nerves the best that he could, “I actually wanted to ask if you wanted to dance.”

He saw you take a deep breath, placing your glass down on the nearest table before holding out your hand, “I’d love to.”

Your hand was warm as it laced in with his, a sudden wave of confidence flowing over him at the contact.

He led you out to the dance floor, your body close to his as you linked your arms behind his neck, his hands holding your waist. He felt his breath stutter as your fingers grazed the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, his lips curling up into a satisfied smile.

“Do you know how to dance?” you asked, looking down at your feet as you actively avoided stepping on his feet, the two of you slowly beginning to sway to the music.

“Nope,” Fred grinned, “Winging it.”

You chuckled, tossing a loose strand of hair out of your face before gazing back up at him, “Apologies in advance if I step on your feet—”

Right as you said that, Fred felt the tip of your shoe dig into the top of his foot. Your eyes shot wide open and you stepped back, tensing up.

“I am so sorry!”

Fred removed a hand from your waist and pressed it over his heart, “You wounded me, woman.”

Guilt left your face and you broke into another fit of giggles, stepping close to him once again, your hands finding their spot at the back of his neck as you muttered another apology. Fred couldn’t remember ever dancing like this with anyone before. Though you two were currently only friends — if even that — he felt like your movements were intimate, close, and he wanted to continue dancing with you until the sun was gone and rising back up again.

“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, resting your head against his chest. He was tall enough that you could do so without leaning over. Fred hoped to Godric that you couldn’t hear how violently his heart was beating.

“I’ve been told,” he chuckled, the vibrations causing you to pull away and smile up at him.

He stared down into your eyes, his own face falling into a serious trance. As cliche as it was, he felt as if the two of you were alone. That the wedding had died down and the dance floor was meant for you and you alone. That no one could ruin this little moment. He could smell your intoxicating perfume and it was rendering his mind slightly blank.

Fred Weasley didn’t fall for anyone in one day. Especially someone that he had never met before. But here he was, the only thing on his mind being that he wanted to dance the night and morning away with you. That he wanted to take you to dinner. To bring you to the shop.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, a tone of inquisition in your voice as you peered up at him.

“You,” he replied, stopping in his step completely when he heard himself, “I — that came off awfully weird.”

“It came off awfully sweet,” you stopped dancing with him, smiling brightly, “For someone who doesn’t remember me, you sure seem to be warming up rather quickly. I’m not complaining, though.”

Fred had never been happier for his boldness than in this exact moment.

“Coffee?” you asked, beginning to move to the music once more, Fred following in your step. He found himself stumbling over his feet just a bit, but he played it off well enough that he was certain you hadn’t even noticed.

“I like coffee but it’s a little late now,” he smirked to himself, knowing what you meant but deciding to tease you just a tad.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes playfully, “Oi, you know what I meant.”

He chuckled, cheeks hurting from how much smiling he had done this evening, “Of course I do. But here, let me ask. Y/N, would you accompany me to dinner and coffee tomorrow night?”

You pretended to ponder, the tips of your ears slightly redder than they were a few seconds ago, “I would need to check my schedule but I believe I’m free.”

“Good,” Fred grinned, heart doing a summersault in his chest as you beamed up at him, your body pressed against his as the two of you continued to get lost in each other.

Luckily for Fred, you were too busy focused on him to notice Ron and George shooting thumbs up your way, their knowing grins taunting Fred from across the dance floor. But, as Fred looked down at you, he thought he didn’t really care.

After all, Fred Weasley has a date.

—

taglist

@grierpilots

@hxfflxpxffs

@mikumana

@msmimimerton

@pit-and-the-pen

@diary-of-an-onliner

@theweirdsideofstuff

@thoseofgreatambition

@theweasleysredhair

@haphazardhufflepuff

@almostweepingbanana

@ickle-ronniekins

@iprobablyshipit91

@wand3ringr0s3

@susceptible-but-siriusexual

@starlightweasley

@mytreec

@thisismysketchbook​

(message me to be added!)

[unloved-cadillac]

If you don't mind, can I have a one-shot with Atsushi finding out that his s/o self-harms in order to kinda keep alive?? like y'know a coping mechanism. Sorry! It's just that i've been kinda feeling down and he's my comfort character

C/n: my god, sweetheart. Are you okay??? I hope you are. Love you bunches. Thanks for requesting and I hope that you enjoy🤍

——————————————————————————

Talk To Me. (Atsushi x Reader)

Atsushi loved you. So much. It was so..refreshing to have someone care for him and love him unconditionally unlike how he was brought up. You and him began dating a few months back and he’s been so happy.

At the ADA, it was scorching hot. Yokohama’s temperature suddenly rose and everyone was sweating and exhausted. “God damn. Where’s the electrician to fix our AC?” Yosano asks as she fans herself. “I called but they seem to be busy with other things as well. I’ll see what I can do.” Kunikida says and takes Ranpo to check out the air con. Atsushi looked to where you sat and you had on your long sleeve shirt on.

He wheeled over to you and sat in front of your desk. “Hi, ‘Sushi.” You greet and he smiles. “Hey. How are you? Need some water?” He asks and you shake your head. “I’m alright.” Everyone had at least a piece of clothing off, including Atsushi. He took off his top shirt to leave him in his vest and even Dazai took of his waistcoat.

Atsushi looked down at you and saw that you were sweating but you hid it well. “Honey, you should take off your shirt. It’s boiling in here.” He says and you stiffen for a second. “Uh, no. I’m ok. We’ll be going home in a few hours so I’ll be fine. Thanks though.”

Atsushi nods and moves back to his desk where he watched you from afar. For the time that he knows you, he had never seen you without a long sleeve shirt or a jacket. He asked Yosano about it, since she was the first friend you made here and she didn’t know either.

He didn’t think much of it. Maybe you just loved the coverage. But when he decided to drop by, unannounced, you panicked. You always wore tank tops or shirts at home to let your wounds air out and dry up but now you ran to your bedroom to put on a sweatshirt and then answered the door.

“‘Sushi! What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to come by and say hi. I got these for you.” He pulls out the flowers from behind his back and gives them to you. “Aww. How sweet. Come in.”

He walks inside and closes your door and watches you move around the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers. You opened the tap to fast and the water splashed onto your sweatshirt. “Oh Christ. I’ll be right back.” You say and he looks at it. “Y/n, it’s like 100 degrees out. Just take off your jacket. I’m gonna take off mine too.” He says and slips off his jacket, revealing him in a nice shirt.

“I-It’s alright. I’m just going to get another jacket. Be right back.” You stutter out and go to your room. He sighs and looks around your house. Your basket of clothes were full and he smiles when he sees the jacket he got for you there. He picks it up and frowns when he sees it.

Blood. Dried blood. All on the inside of the sleeves and they look fresh. He digs inside the basket to see most of your long sleeve shirts covered with it. Did you go on a mission he didn’t know off and get injured? But that’s impossible. No one went anywhere for weeks.

When you came out of your room, you freeze when you see Atsushi holding your blood-stained clothes. He turns and looks at you with wide eyes. “Y-Y/n. What’s this?”

You avoid his eyes and hide your hands behind your back. “Nothing. I just spilt ketchup on them. They need to go to the cleaners.” You fake chuckle at that pathetic excuse. “Y/n.” He says sternly and slowly walks to you.

You lowered your head as he took your hands in his. He didn’t ask and you didn’t resist. It was bound for him to find out sooner or later. He slowly rolls up your sleeves and he gasps. Slices, sounds and horrible gashes were on your inner and outer arms.

“B-Baby,” he chokes out as he looks at your face, “what? Wh-What happened? Why, I- talk to me. I’m here. Please just say something.” He begs and brings you in for a hug.

“I-I don’t feel alive, Atsushi. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This life doesn’t seem real and doing this just makes me feel alive. I can’t feel anything else if I don’t.” You cry out and his grip tightens around you. “I’m here now. Please,” he pulls away just enough to look at you, “let me help you. Let me show you that this life is beautiful. You’re here. You feel this?” He takes your hand and places it on his heart.

“This is because of you. And this,” he place sit in your chest, “that is also because of you. This life is so beautiful now that you came into my life. So, let me show you how to live. It’s hard. To ignore all the bad things, but once you look at the sun with hopeful eyes and a beating heart, you will feel alive again.”

“‘Sushi.” You say softly and hug him. “Don’t do this anymore, my love. I’m here for you. Forever.”

——————————————————————————

“You will feel alive again.”

🖤🤍Thanks for reading🤍🖤

-Caddy.

[esmealux]

Hi there! For the two-part drabble, may I request Deckerstar in situation 13 (someone does something stupid) with sentence 6 ("Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.") Thank you, and I've really really been enjoying your the updates on your Planning a Hell of a Wedding fic!

Hey! It took me two months (including more than one month of writing) but I've now finally finished your prompt. Another anon had requested 25 (being somewhere you're not supposed to) + 6 and dear @my-crazy-awesome-sox had requested 26 (a very cheesy date) + 6, so I've merged all your prompts into one 7K+ long 'drabble'. Hope you don't mind!

And I'm glad you like the updates on PHW! I'll try to write some more now that I've finished this.

Hope you like this!

Also, an immense special thanks to @my-crazy-awesome-sox for helping me with this fic. She truly has been a godsend, and a lot of the wording (especially in the later parts) is kindly and almost directly borrowed from her mind. Thank you again, babe!

Also thanks to @lightbringer-666 for assisting me with some French. If all the French isn't perfect, it's because I also googled my way to a lot of it. Apologies in advance (and please do let me know if there's anything I should change!)

Someone does something stupid + being somehwere you're not supposed to + a very cheesy date + 'Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.'

Rated M. Post 5B - contains spoilers!

Read on AO3 (includes list with English translations)

It’s ridiculous, really. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach like she’s a schoolgirl waiting for her prom date. It’s not even their first date. It’s not even their second. The thing is, between becoming God and Consultant, revising a few laws of the cosmos, fixing some bugs in humanity, bringing Dan to Heaven, and going to therapy, she and Lucifer haven’t had much time for, well, each other. At least not in ways that didn’t involve discussions about the redesign of the afterworld and how to sate world hunger. So yes, she is a little giddy with excitement at the thought of having a whole evening to themselves—no celestial craziness. Just the two of them and a bottle of the restaurant’s finest.

If Lucifer would just show up.

She checks her phone. 06:14. Unlike last time she anxiously waited for him in a restaurant, there’s a text.

Running a bit late. Please forgive me. Can’t wait to see you ❤

And one more.

Sorry. Can’t wait to see you naked*

Chloe shakes her head, a stupid smile spreading across her face. She resists typing back a flirty reply—he’ll be with her in a minute, and she is nota schoolgirl—and puts her phone back in her clutch. Hands trembling a little, she smooths out invisible creases in the dress he’s bought her. It’s short and tight, of course, but perfectly so. Reaching mid-thigh, with a small slit revealing a bit more of her left thigh. Black, unsurprisingly; he still hasn’t gotten over how delectable she looked in the LBD she wore on their last ‘date’. And this one makes her legs look even longer, which is undoubtedly the primary reason Lucifer picked it. Still, it isn’t skimpy. He could have opted for a deep neckline and cold shoulders—she almost expected him to when he said he’d bought her a dress—but he didn’t. Instead, the short and skin-tight skirt is perfectly balanced with a high neck and long bell sleeves that are cut open just above her joints, making the soft fabric flow around her bare underarms. She likes it—would probably have bought it herself if it weren’t crazy expensive. Likes how it makes her feel both sexy and classy and most of all comfortable, likes that he knows her so well.

She fidgets with her earring and traces the rim of her empty wine glass with her fingertip, watching people as much as she can from their semi-private corner. She spots an Oscar-winning film director, a retired NFL player, that pop star Lucifer pretends to hate, and just how expensive isthis place?

She’s immediately distracted by the shift in the air and the sound of Italian loafers approaching her.

‘My me, Detective!’

His brown eyes roam her figure as she stands to kiss him. Their lips meet in a soft peck that could easily have turned into more if Lucifer hadn’t pulled away to look her up and down.

‘You look like a goddess.’

Chloe snorts and chuckles, not yet used to the title he insists is hers if she’ll have it. She puts a hand on his chest, gazing up at him with a smile.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

He hums and leans in for another kiss, but something comes between them this time. They both look down—at a dozen red roses.

‘Those for me?’ she asks, warmth spreading in her chest.

Lucifer hands her the bouquet with a nod and that soft smile she loves more than anything. He pulls out her chair, a gentle hand on her shoulder as she sits down, and sits down himself.

There’s a card nestled between the velvet petals: ‘For the Detective & Consultant’, her old and new moniker scribbled side by side in his annoyingly elegant handwriting. The latter nickname, however, is written in smaller, cramped letters—an afterthought. She smiles.

She turns the card, expecting to find a dirty, eye-roll-deserving comment on the back. But there’s no lewd joke or naughty promise.

It simply says, ‘I love you.’

Her heart swells, filling her chest till it aches. It’s all so new still. Not the love between them, but how it’s uninhibited now. It’s not like they don’t have their obstacles—just yesterday they had a fight—but there’s no doubt anymore, no voices telling them some dreams simply cannot be. They might have a whole universe to deal with, but for the first time ever, things between them are easy. No words are left unsaid. No feelings are squashed. No time is wasted. Every day is spent wrapped in each other’s love. Finally.

‘I love you too,’ she tells him, and he lights up, amazed. Confident. Their hands find each other on the table, fingers intertwining.

A waiter comes by with two menu cards and a vase for the flowers. Chloe reads through the menu carefully, pretending to know what kind of food hides behind the fancy French names. Lucifer sees right through her, sighs, and orders some hors d’œuvres, two of something she couldn’t pronounce if she tried, and a bottle of red.

‘So, were you stuck in traffic, or…?’ Chloe asks him with a glint in her eye as the waiter pours her a generous glass of wine. The celestial being with the supernatural metabolism can drive home.

The being in question looks confused for a moment before he answers, ‘Ah, no. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ For a brief second, he looks at her as if he’s apologising for more than tonight, but she strokes his knuckles and smiles at him, you’re here now, and he moves on to explain himself. ‘I just couldn’t find this bloody suit. Only when I’d ransacked the house did I realise it was still at the penthouse, so I had to make a detour.’

He is a little excused; so many things are impossible to find right now, with more or less unpacked boxes spread out between her apartment, Lux, and their new home. In hindsight, moving in together while taking over the almighty family business probably wasn’t the best idea, but they’ll get settled soon enough. Besides, right now, what’s important is that Lucifer was late because of a wardrobe crisis, and she will not let that slide.

‘You couldn’t just wear one of your three hundred other suits?’

A flicker of hurt and sheepishness flashes across Lucifer’s face.

‘Well, this one is special.’

Chloe takes in his suit: the navy jacket, the matching waistcoat, the royal blue shirt.

‘Oh.’

He smirks at her as heat creeps up her cheeks (so much for not being a schoolgirl).

‘You remember?’

She does. Of course, she does. She remembers vividly—how shocked he’d been at first, how new and soft his lips had felt against hers. How they’d held onto each other until the sun was setting and she really did have to go home and feed Maze and Trixie.

She also remembers how she, later, behind closed lids, had ripped off the shirt and waistcoat in desperate need. How it’d earned her a husky chuckle and a breathy ‘D’tective!’, and the sinful Heaven that was his hot and open mouth.

‘You okay, darling?’ Lucifer looks at her, his expression somewhere between concerned and amused. His thumb brushes the back of her hand.

Chloe takes a sip of wine and clears her throat. Adjusts her necklace.

‘Yeah, just, you know. Reminiscing.’

He studies her flushed face for a second before his curious smile spreads into a full-blown Cheshire grin.

‘You had a wet dream about me, didn’t you?! After our first kiss?’

Chloe glares at him. ‘Say it a little louder for the people in the back, will ya?’ He opens his mouth, and she immediately feels the need to clarify, ‘Do not say it a little louder for the people in the back.’

His smile doesn’t falter. ‘I’m just ecstatic to know our first kiss left you all hot and bothered. I mean, not that I’m surprised.’ He brings his wine glass to his lips and lets go of her hand to gesture down himself.

Chloe rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, like you didn’t go home and wanked yourself blind that night.’

He laughs, surprised by her bluntness, and shamelessly answers, ‘Why, of course I did. That night, other nights. Before and after that kiss. This morning. You serve as quite the spank bank, my dear.’

She definitely doesn’t blush at that. But she does glance down at his waistcoat, at the soft skin and hard muscles she knows hide beneath it. She gives him a slow and dirty smirk, appreciative.

‘You too, baby.’

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening. Much to Chloe’s satisfaction, his neck and cheeks redden a little. Then he gives her a lopsided grin, smug and impressed.

‘Pray tell, Detective.’ His eyes glide down her face, her chest, her stomach, and slowly back up again.

In another time, she would have given him a stern look and told him it was none of his business, but she doesn’t. She also doesn’t tell him about lonely nights and long showers and crying his name into her pillow when they were still just friends. Instead, she leans across the table and half-whispers—

‘If you behave yourself tonight, I might show you.’

He gulps. Squirms a little in his seat, and—when he’s regained his composure and quite indiscreetly adjusted himself under the table—leans forward till there’s only mere inches between their faces.

‘Is that a promise?’ His voice is low and husky, his breath hot against her face. His eyes drop to her lips.

‘Pardon, monsieur, mais l’entrée est prête.’

They lean back in their seats and turn to the poor, young waiter, who’s balancing two seemingly heavy plates, a carafe of water, and a basket of crusty bread in his arms.

‘Lovely!’ Lucifer’s eyes follow the food as the waiter puts it down in front of them. ‘Merci beaucoup, Olivier.’

Olivier smiles at Lucifer, shy but with a look in his eyes Chloe knows all too well. She doesn’t blame him.

‘Ça va?’ Lucifer asks, his voice lined with genuine fondness.

Olivier nods. ‘Oui, ça va. Et toi?’

Lucifer looks to Chloe, beaming. He takes her hand on the table and interlocks their fingers again.

‘Tout va très bien,’ he answers, looking back up at Olivier with a dazzling smile.

Olivier’s eyes drop to their hands and, probably, to the ring, white and pearlescent, on Chloe’s third finger. His lips tug up at the corner.

‘Je peux voir ça. Félicitations!’ Before Lucifer can respond to that, whatever it means, Olivier gestures towards their food. ‘Et bon appétit.’

Lucifer replies with a friendly ‘merci’ and calls out something like ‘Salue ton père de ma part!’ as Olivier walks off.

Chloe stares at Lucifer, twirling the smashed bullet around her neck between her fingers.

‘What?’ he asks, curious.

She tilts her head, smiling. ‘French suits you.’

He smiles back, lasciviously. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mm-hm.’

The look he gives her leaves no doubt that, sooner or later, he’ll be whispering foreign phrases against her skin.

But right now, they have other appetites to sate. They dig into the first course, and the (assumedly) insanely high prices suddenly make sense, because it is frigging good. The main course is even more delicious—divine, actually, to the point where Chloe has to ask Lucifer if he accidentally spiked the food with a blessing or two. He assures her it’s all Olivier’s father, no holiness involved, apart from Chef Beaumont’s heavenly cœeur de filet de bœuf. Chloe moans in agreement, savouring every bite.

He watches her with a smile, jokingly apologising for not serving her grilled cheese, and she makes a bad joke about this date being cheesy enough as it is. Because it is cheesy. Him buying her a dress, bringing her red roses, the love note, the candlelit restaurant, the French food, not to mention the suit. It’s like a rom-com parody.

But it’s also perfect. It’s everything she’s longed for, an over-the-top romantic date night with her- with her partner. A date that isn’t cut short by a horny stewardess (may she rest in peace) or a failed attempt at exorcism; where Lucifer actually shows up and isn’t just trying to outdo another man; where Chloe isn’t trying to make him ‘do something good for a change’; and their parents aren’t tagging along on a headache-inducing surprise double date that is also a sting in disguise.

So, in some ways, it is kinda their first date.

And it’s a really, really nice date.

They laugh—they laugh so much. More than they’ve done in the past few months combined. Or so it feels, at least.

They laugh, and they talk. About movies they cried to, favourite drinks, and how they’re gonna paint the living room. About the summers spent under the plum tree in Nana’s garden, and all the pranks pulled in the gilded meadows of Heaven. About chasing Amenadiel through the clouds, and how Chloe always wanted a sibling. About her short-lived Hollywood experience and that one time she may have gotten a little high at a Backstreet Boys concert. (He seems impressed by that, her ‘abhorrent’ taste in music aside.) They exchange secrets they never told anyone, stories of bad kisses—Jed used too much tongue; Will was always better with words—and tales from drunken nights out. They reminisce on the first time they met—how annoying she’d found him, how compelling he’d found her—and the many, many cases, some really weird, that first encounter led to.

They talk about Dan.

About missing him, even though he’s making waffles with Charlotte now.

About Trixie, and how therapy seems to be helping her, too. How she still sometimes breaks down crying, but no longer crawls into their bed in the middle of the night, shaking and gasping for air. How she’d laughed the other day, and it’d made them both cry. How incredibly strong she is, that little urchin.

They talk about going to Paris one day, all three of them—the French do make excellent chocolate cakes—or maybe somewhere else she wants to see, once everything is calmer. They talk about some of the prayers Lucifer has been hearing, about faith and free will, what they miss about solving crimes together, what they don’t miss, and how they’re still very much partners, even more so now—in every corner of life.

They talk till their cheeks hurt from smiling and Chloe’s half-drunk on expensive Burgundy. Lucifer asks for the cheque, their food long gone, and pays with cash, making sure to leave a tip possibly the size of Olivier’s monthly salary.

They leave the restaurant giggling about a stupid joke Lucifer makes, his hand splayed out on the small of her back. Her own hand is placed much lower than what is decent for such a fancy place like this, practically cupping his ass, but she’s tipsy enough not to care, and he doesn’t seem to mind the attention. It’s his own fault, anyway, for having his pants tailored to hug his butt like this.

Naturally, Lucifer drives. He doesn’t hold back his comments on how slow and boring her car is, but at least he stays somewhere close to the speed limit. She wishes he’d also wear a seatbelt, and keep both hands on the wheel, but his palm is nice and warm on her thigh, and she trusts he’ll get them home safely. She leans back in her seat, her head comfortably buzzing from wine and him, and watches the blurry city lights through the window. He’s turned down 2ndStreet.

‘Where are we going?’ She looks over at him, curious.

He smiles in the shadows, his fingers stroking the skin left exposed by the slit in her dress. His touch leaves hot, tingling paths on her thigh.

‘I thought we’d go for a second desert.’

Chloe is beyond full, her dress stretched over her now slightly rounder belly, and she can think of other things she’d rather do (things that include pinning Lucifer to their bed and making him groan and beg and laugh), but she’ll never say no to a freshly brewed latte and watching Lucifer obscenely enjoy some Sicilian pastry.

She turns up the radio, fumbling a bit, and closes her eyes with a smile, more content than she’s been in… a long time. His hand stays on her thigh as they move through the night, fingers tapping to the beat of the songs against her skin, creeping higher, teasing, just enough to make her breath hitch, but nothing more, and then back down again. Maybe they’ll just take that latte to-go.

The car comes to a final halt, and first then does Chloe realise they haven’t stopped outside the late-night café and bakery that’s opened down on Spring Street.

‘Lucifer, what’—she looks around, double-checking—‘what are we doing at the back entrance to the precinct? You said we were getting desert.’

He leans across the centre console, fingers spreading on her thigh, and brings their faces so close their noses touch. Chloe swallows.

‘We are,’ he assures her with a wolfish grin, his gaze lingering hungrily on her, and she could jump him right then and there. But he takes his hand off her body and clicks her seatbelt free, pulls the key out of the ignition and exits the car. He strides to her side and opens the door for her, gentlemanly as ever, and she watches him with narrowed eyes as she takes his hand and steps out, sceptical even in her cloud of lust and inebriation.

He heads directly for the back entrance and opens the black iron door with ease, rudely ignoring the state-of-the-art security locks. A part of her knows she should stop him right there and give him a stern talking-to about respecting human laws—he still can’t do whatever the hell he likes just because he’s God now. But another part, the part of her who helped him empty two bottles of French wine, really wants to step over that threshold, to intertwine their fingers and go on a late-night adventure. And that part of her must overpower the other, because she lets him snake his arm around her waist and lead her through the door and inside the familiar building.

She senses him grinning by her side, his fingers curling around her hip in a deliciously tight grip that only stokes the heat pooling low in her belly. He takes her down the corridor, around the corner, and then they’re there, in the middle of the precinct. Everything is covered in darkness, the wide, open space only illuminated by a never-resting info screen and the purplish glow from the vending machine. Still, she can make out the shape of their desk, the door to Ella’s lab, the interrogation room. The fridge in the breakroom still hums obnoxiously, and the air smells like strong coffee and sugary glaze—or maybe that’s just a phantom. Either way, it all tugs at her heart, beckons her down memory lane, and she lets herself be pulled. Through the good, the bad, and the crazy.

Lucifer is quiet beside her, probably lost in nostalgia himself, or maybe just letting her have this moment. But not for long. With titillating eagerness and a devilish smirk, he wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her by the hand—towards the evidence closet.

He presses her up against the door, his body hot and hard against hers, and pins her hand against the cold glass of the frosted window. His dark eyes sparkle with mischievous excitement.

‘There’s something we never got to try.’

Her pulse quickens, blood humming loud and hot.

‘Lucifer, we can’t.’ She tries to sound firm around her suddenly heavy breaths and dry throat, but he doesn’t seem discouraged in the least.

He leans in, closer, his smirking lips brush against her ear. ‘Can’t we, now?’

And as if he hadn’t done enough already, he takes her earlobe between his teeth and bites it.

Chloe smothers a gasp.

‘We shouldn’t.’ She puts her hand on his chest and pushes her head against his, nudging him away from her neck so she can thinkfor a second. He reluctantly obeys and settles for placing his hands on her sides, dangerously high, thumbs almost stroking the underside of her breasts. She pushes his hands down to her waist. ‘We shouldn’t have sex in Evidence—shouldn’t have broken into the precinct in the first place. I mean, do you want us to get arrested?’

He only laughs at that, of course. ‘I’m God, darling. I won’t get arrested.’

Chloe rolls her eyes. He would probably charm his way out of it if they were caught, God or not—but that doesn’t make any of this okay. She’s about to tell him as much when he adds-

‘But if you wanted to cuff me and tell me what to do, resisting would be the last thing on my mind. In fact, I’m sure we can find some cuffs lying about-’

‘Lucifer, no.’

Her tone is sharper than she’d intended. He pulls back a little, studying her face. His eyes flicker to her parted lips, her flushed, heaving chest, and then back to her determined gaze. His brows furrow.

‘Do you really not want to do this?’ His voice is soft, serious.

They stare at each other, hot breaths mingling. He’s still pressed up against her, a six-foot-three wall of muscle and love, and his scent—spicy cologne and smoke—floods her head like ambrosia, a dizzying fog of him. Her skin burns beneath his palms, his touch sending embers through the expensive fabric and down, flames licking at her inner thighs. Her heartbeat thumps in her ears.

‘We don’t even work here anymore,’ she rasps, deflecting his question. It’s a weak excuse, but she is fraying at the edges.

A salacious smile forms on Lucifer’s face. ‘We’ll just pretend we do.’

He takes a step back, putting a more ‘professional’ distance between them, adjusts his lapels and attempts at a neutral expression. ‘You wanted to show me something in Evidence, Detective?’

And there’s that word again, want—because she still hasn’t answered his question and her consent means more to him than anything. She loves him for that, she really does, but right now, it’s not that simple. She wants, every cell in her body wants, wants him to shove her into that closet and take her apart. Has wanted it for so long, thought about it for years—at her desk, in the shower, while sitting next to him during interrogations. Thought about it in the self-same evidence closet, as she was pressed up against the wall by someone else. Imagined tugging at his hair, feeling him between her legs—even had to swallow his name. She still thinks about it, thought about it the other night, briefly, wistfully, while making a cup of tea. Thought about how much fun they could have had, sneaking off to secret corners of the precinct like two horny teenagers—if it hadn’t been for, well, mostly Michael, and all the chaos he’d released upon their lives.

In fact, it’s only fair they have at least one reckless, semi-public rendezvous. Just one. To make up for the honeymoon phase they never really had. With all the hurt and heartbreak they’ve had to go through, alone and together, they deserve to have one night of stupid fun.

On the other hand, and this is why it’s not that simple, it’s a bad idea. It’s a really bad idea. And also, pretty illegal. If she asked him to, if she said no now, he would take her home and push her up against the nearest surface, bury himself in her faster than any of them could get their clothes off, bring her to ecstasy-

But it’s not the same. It just isn’t.

With as much innocence she can muster, she looks up at his anticipatory face and puts her hand on the doorknob. The cold steel is a soothing balm against her burning skin.

‘I do want to show you something in Evidence.’

He lights up like it’s a declaration of love, all unrestrained enthusiasm.

‘After you, darling.’

Their lips crash against each other before the door is even closed. He pushes her backwards in the semi-darkness, between shelves and boxes, hands low on her hips. His fingers dig softly into her ass as they stumble towards a sliver of wall together, panting and laughing against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t break contact with her lips as he quickly sheds his jacket on the way and throws it over his shoulder, for the moment uncaring of dirt and creases. Then her back hits the wall with a thunk and she’s instantly struck by déjà vu, until Lucifer grabs her thigh inside the slit of her dress, and the unwelcome memory quickly evaporates in the heat of their clashing bodies as he wraps her bare leg around his waist and pins her to the wall with the hard press of his hips. Their unison groans fill the cramped space.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she murmurs breathlessly against his lips before opening her mouth to let his tongue back in. He tastes like wine and crème brûlée.

He hums in disagreement. ‘We should always be here, Detective.’ With the hand still on her ass, he pushes their bodies impossibly closer together and rocks against her. She moans, despite herself.

‘We- I-‘ Chloe stammers, leaning her head back as he kisses his way down her neck, her mind and body pulling in different directions. ‘This is- why am I letting you get away with this?’

She feels him smirk against her throat. His hand slowly glides up her inner thigh—her pulse quickening with every inch—until his thumb brushes past damp fabric.

‘Because you like me.’ His beard rasps against her hot skin in the crook of her neck, a contrast to his soft lips placing slow, open-mouthed kisses from her jaw to her collar. ‘Because you love me.’

Chloe scoffs.

‘Do I love you?’ she questions, her breathing erratic, her eyes turned to the ceiling as he sucks a mark onto her neck. With the hand that is still between her legs, he pushes her underwear to the side and rubs against her, nice and slow. ‘Yes.’ Her gasped answer has a proud, almost victorious chuckle rumbling from his chest.

‘But do I like you?’—she bites her lip and stifles another moan as his fingers press just right—‘That’s still up for debate.’

He breaks off the assault on her neck and looks up at her, eyes black with desire.

‘Allow me to try and tip the scales, then.’

She’s bereaved of his fingers as his hand moves to the edge of her underwear, pulling it down as he sinks to his knees. She almost stumbles when he slips it over her feet, but he grabs her leg, steadying her, and helps her out of her stilettos. Once she’s barefoot, his warm palms slide up the side of her legs, pushes the hem of her dress up a few inches, and then his mouth is on her.

He licks her, slowly, tenderly. She reaches down to pull at his hair, commanding him to give her more, to take more, and he does. He starts feasting on her, all tongue and lips and-

‘God, yes.’

He chuckles smugly into her core. ‘I do love it when you moan my name, darling.’ Eyes fixed on hers, he gives her a nice, long lick before he dives back in. He kisses her clit, sucks it, circles it, laps at her like he can’t get enough, and she’s reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess. She bucks against his face, needing more, and he does that thing that she likes, tongue flicking her clit, warm and wet, as he pushes a finger inside her.

Her eyes clench shut, her head falls back against the wall. She doesn’t bother holding back her groan this time.

Lucifer hums against her, low and greedy, taking as much as he can, before he pulls away with ragged breaths. ‘Ma déesse, que tu as bon gout.’

The meaning is forever lost on her, but his hungry tone, the way his tongue wraps smoothly around the French syllables, the words dripping like sin from his glistening lips, sends warm shivers down her spine.

He slows down his pace inside her, places kisses on her lower belly, seeks her ticklish spots and the ones that make her breath hitch, and then trails down to her hips, studying her sharp bone with his lips and his teeth, before moving down to her thigh, stubble prickling her tender skin. As if he’s got all the time in the world, he lets his mouth travel to the insides of her legs, already spread for him, and kisses a path up her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where she aches with need,but never quite there. His finger, still moving slowly—too slowly—curls a bit, reaches that spot deep inside her that usually makes her see stars, but he pulls back before she’s even done gasping.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, a threat and a plea.

He places one last kiss to her sensitive thigh, nuzzles his nose against her heat, before his tongue finally finds her clit again and his finger starts pumping inside her, fast and hard. Then faster, harder, and, fuck, deeper.

‘Baby,’ she begs him to continue, fire spreading through her body, from her curling toes to her already heated cheeks.

He slows down for a second, and she reaches down to scratch at his scalp in frustration but quickly forgives him when he adds another finger and resumes his perfect pace, thrusting up in her to the beat of her racing heart.

‘Je veux te faire jouir.’ His thumb replaces his tongue as he looks up at her, eyes sparkling with lust and determination, but also patience. Like he could do this for hours, the whole night, as long as she falls apart around his tongue and fingers in the end.

He doesn’t need all night, though. She’s close, so close, can feel the beginning of that blissful high burning in her lower belly, between her thighs, where his mouth licks and nibbles and sucks. A building warmth pumping through her veins. She grabs at his hair, wraps her leg around his shoulder and pushes his face closer into her heat, needing that last-

‘Fuck, right there,’ she gasps. Right there right there right there.

He smirks against her, always eager to please, and does as she says. As she’s teetering on the edge, he curls both fingers inside her, goes impossibly deeper, and reaches the same spot as before, except this time, he doesn’t stop, and she comes with a shudder and a gasped ‘fuck!’ as he licks her through it.

‘Tu es tellement belle, ma chérie,’ he tells her, voice soft with awe as she comes down from her high and opens her eyes. She understands enough of the words to smile down at him, at his dishevelled hair, his swollen lips, and warm, chocolatey eyes.

‘You too, baby.’

She still hasn’t caught her breath when he, after wiping his mouth on her thigh, slowly rises from his feet and starts making his way up her body. His fingers skate lightly up her dress, his knuckles brushing against her rising and falling ribs as his hands sneak higher and higher, closer and closer. With a feather-light touch, he starts tracing the curves of her breasts, deliberately avoiding her aching nipples. He teases her with his fingers, kisses her neck, lips trailing, hot and slow, up to her jaw and the sensitive spot behind her earlobe.

‘J’ai envie de toi,’ he says into her ear, his voice rough with want and determination.

Chloe can’t take it anymore. She fists his waistcoast in one hand and grabs him by the hair with the other to pull him up into a hard kiss. He tries to stay in control, to hold back his obvious desire for just a little longer, but he quickly loses the battle and lets a bit of hunger take over. They pour equal heat into the kiss, tongues pressing and teeth clashing as their mouths slide against each other. She threads her fingers through his curls, he bites her lip, and they both groan and gasp into the kiss.

Chloe’s the one to pull away, needing air sooner than him. They’re looking into each other’s eyes, both panting, when he says it again, ‘J’ai envie de toi.’ This time, breathy desperation shines through his voice. ‘Je veux être en toi.’

And then they’re kissing again and both of them are working at his belt and pants in a flurry of hands until he’s finally inside her with one quick thrust. He fills her to the hilt, deliciously stretching her inner muscles, warm and hard. For a moment, they’re both so overcome they can only pause and breathe, Lucifer’s forehead cradled in the crook of her shoulder as her hand gently strokes the short hairs on the back of his neck.

He pulls back to look deeply into her eyes, and starts off slow. Not teasing, just tender. He kisses her cheeks and neck, every inch of skin he can reach with his lips, and whispers sweet nothings against her skin. She can’t know for sure, of course, because it’s still in French, and she doesn’t catch all of it, the sounds alien and muffled—‘t’es incroyable’, she hears, ‘j’suis fou amoureux de toi’—but something about his tone tells her it’s not as dirty as whatever he was saying before. Still, it makes her just as wet, the words tingling across her skin.

He picks up the pace, wraps her legs tighter around him, and pushes her harder against the wall. His hand grasps her breast roughly, seeking purchase, then rhythmically strokes over her nipple in apology, and she moans her relief. The shelves on either side of them hit the wall with a consistent thump, thump, thump as he thrusts up into her, fucks her, their harsh pants mingling in the small space between their parted lips. Chloe claws at Lucifer’s shoulders and back, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Even through the two layers of fabric, she can feel his warmth and muscles, and a sudden urge bubbles up within her. With desperate fingers, she starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, but it takes too long—she needs him—so she rips open both shirt and waistcoat and frantically pushes them off his shoulders. He pins her against the wall with a hard thrust, letting go of her thigh and breast to shake the material onto the floor, and Chloe scratches at his finally bare back and shoulders, nails digging into slick, freckled flesh. She arches back into the wall and bares her neck for him to nip and kiss.

‘Fuck, Lucifer!’ she whines. ‘Oh, God, baby, fuckyes!’

He growls at the sound of her noises and bites her ear.

‘J’adore baiser avec toi.’ One hand slides down to her ass, holding her and pushing her dress higher up as the other bites into the now bare skin at her waist. The sharp touch sends a jolt down to her throbbing clit, making her clench tighter around him. ‘J’adore ton corps. T’es vraiment une déesse.’ The last word is a groan against her lips as he kisses her.

It’s wet, messy, and so delicious they both grasp tightly onto each other’s mouths with lips, tongues and teeth, neither of them wanting to ever let go.

‘Je veux t’embrasser,’ Lucifer pants when they break apart for a second, his gaze fixed on her mouth as their lungs fight for air. His dark eyes soften when they look into hers. ‘Chaque jour de ma vie,’ he adds reverently as he leans in. ‘Pour toujours.’ And then he kisses her again, like he wants it to last for all eternity.

His thrusts turn slower and deeper as they kiss, harder, until kissing becomes panting into each other’s mouths and Chloe’s head falls back in sheer pleasure. He tightens his grip on her ass and runs the hand on her waist up her side, brushing his thumb over her nipple as he passes her breast, up her neck, and cups the side of her face. She lets their eyes meet, and the way he’s looking at her, with absolute awe and gratitude, makes her heart flutter and her hips buck against his bare stomach. Her hands slide from where they’ve been clutching his mess of a hair to his back, trailing down to where he’s most sensitive. She places her palms on either side of his spine and presses lightly, carefully.

‘Tu me-’ he cuts off with a gasp when her nails skim over his hidden wings, ‘Tu me rends- fucking hell, Chloe.’

She keens at the guttural sound of her name. He leans his forehead against hers with a grunt, the slight change in angle making his rhythm falter, one hand slamming against the wall next to her. She watches the rest of his control slip through glazed eyes. She did this to him. She rendered God himself lost to his own bliss. That knowledge itself is nearly enough to push her over the edge.

‘Close,’ she breathes.

He grabs both her thighs with strong hands and presses her flush up against the wall, going impossibly deeper inside her. She hisses through her teeth and sputters all kinds of incoherent, unholy prayers into the sweltering air between them. Every hard thrust pushes her closer to ecstasy.

‘You make me so happy,’ Lucifer whispers, sounding so wrecked and raw her eyes clench shut. ‘I want- I hope- fuck- I hope I make you, nnf, just as happy.’

‘You do, baby. You make me so- so-’

Heat floods her veins as she comes, the sweet tension snapping all at once. She cries out, arches her back, and moans long and low as he continues to fuck her through it. His thrusts are quick and inelegant, his arms and thighs trembling, and she knows he’s close. She intentionally clenches around him, whispers his name, and then he too is tumbling over the edge, the only type of falling she ever wants him to feel again.

They smile at each other as they try to catch their breaths, sweaty foreheads still pressed together.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘So much.’

She hums with happiness, her heart pleasantly aching at the sound of the words he couldn’t say the last time they were here.

‘I love you too, babe.’ She reaches up to lazily nuzzle the hairs at the nape of his neck, still smiling.

‘Maybe you even like me?’

She lets out a breathy chuckle and slides down the wall to land on her bare feet. Her legs are… wobbly, to say the least. Lucifer smirks at her.

‘We’ll see about that.’ She smoothes out her dress as he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens his belt. ‘If anyone ever finds out about this, your chances are pretty bad, buddy.’

She collects his clothes from the floor and helps him into his shirt. Two buttons are missing, lost to the force of her hasty ripping. It gives her an odd sense of satisfaction, the fact that the shirt he wore when they first kissed—the shirt she dreamt of tearing off his body—now is marked by their little escapade. (At least until he gets his tailor to fix it.)

‘Well, I’ll just have to keep trying to convince you then, won’t I?’ He licks his lips and lifts his eyebrows as he offers her a hand to help her up from the floor once she’s put her shoes back on. Chloe bites her cheek so as to not smile at his suggestion and intertwines their fingers.

‘You can start by helping me assemble that new shelf system tomorrow,’ she tells him, waiting for him to groan in response, or mumble something about hiring some people to do it for them. But he doesn’t. He just opens the door for her and lets her go first with a soft smile on his still flushed face.

‘Anything for you, my love.’

The door shuts with a gentle click behind them.