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yesimwriting · 6 months

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okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

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Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader

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m0nsterqzzz · 2 months

Text

Valentine

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pairing: Clarisse La Rue x reader

summary: Clarisse blinked and suddenly she had you as a Valentine

content: clarisse being a love sick foul. thats it. thats the entire fic

a/n: recently started listening to Laufey and I have like TEN different fic ideas nowwwww ahhhhhh. this is really short but idk i kinda like it. idkkkkkkk. ahhhh. anyway, love yall.

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Clarisse has a problem.

It's not like a, "I just killed some Dionysus kid with my spear" type problem, but it's a problem nonetheless.

When she was a kid, the daughter of Ares hated affection. Even when her own mother would try and hug her, it just made her feel crowded and trapped. She'd avoid it at any costs, which is why now in her teenage years at camp half blood, she's never had a relationship.

That's usually been okay. She's always preferred glory or love. But right now, as she clings to you like a koala bear while you read your book in her bed, she finds herself questioning it.

This is the problem.

She’s never craved affection the way she does with you. When you hug her or wrap your arms around her waist from behind, she doesn’t feel trapped or crowded the way she does with everyone else. She feels safe and warm.

Something is wrong with her.

It only dawned on her when she was sitting on the beach with you watching the sunset. The way the golden light looked on your face, it was shining off your already beautiful eyes, and you looked mythical as you turned to cast her a heart stopping smile.

Clarisse La Rue, scary daughter of the god of war, is in love with you.

She panicked, avoiding you for a whole week before she finally came to peace with her feelings. That doesn’t mean she told you, if some of you were expecting that. She loves what friendship you guys have, and she would never want to ruin it by doing something as stupid as telling you about her emotions.

It didn’t help that you were so affectionate though.

So after months of stopping cuddles with the excuse, “It’s getting warm.” or explaining her crimson face after time you congratulate her sword fighting wins with a kiss on the cheek as a reaction to the heat outside, she finally went to the one person she knew could help.

Silena Beauregard, daughter of Aphrodite and expert when it comes to crushes.

“Ask ‘em out.” Was what the girl said, casually brushing out her hair as Clarisse groans into her pillow.

“You don’t get it.” The daughter of Ares says with much annoyance, rolling over on her friend's bed as she holds a stuffed animal close to her chest. “I can’t. I try, but every time I build up the courage to say it, the words get stuck in my throat and I end up looking like a total idiot! I hate it!”

Silena chuckles, joining Clarisse on the bed as she shrugs. “Then die alone I guess. I really don’t know how to help you other than that.”

So….Silena was no help if you didn’t know.

Clarisse has just about given up at this point, instead deciding to just keep dying internally while still being friends with you.

She lasted with this just about four minutes.

“You look pretty.” You had casually said to her while putting on your golden helmet for capture the flag, folding up the sleeves on the flannel you’re wearing- one of hers- as Annabeth shouts out orders.

She’s caught off guard, almost dropping her spear and tripping over a rock. She swallows thickly before she says, “You…you look pretty too.” Silena eyes her with a teasing look from across the clearing, making kissy faces with a smug look. Clarisse doesn’t even know if she gave you a worthy compliment, stuttering out a quick goodbye before she makes her way into the forest to avoid anyone seeing her blush.

After that she manages to keep to herself for about an hour.

She’s running through the forest looking for you after hearing a scream that sounds way too similar to yours, ready to rip the head off of anyone who dared to mess with you. She finds you casually lounging on a rock near the beach, sword discarded on the sand as you talk joyfully with some younger campers. The sound of her erratic breathing alerts you, so you turn around, calming down when you notice it’s her.

“Hey Clar. What’s wro-” You don’t even get to finish before she’s picking you up in her arms, burying her head in the crook of her neck as she grips you as tight as she can without hurting you. You’re confused though you don’t question it, just running a hand through her curly hair as she shakes and slowly calms down.

It’s surprising really. Clarisse hates being affectionate in front of other people, scared of being seen as weak or too emotional. Though right now, she doesn’t seem to care as all the younger campers stare and giggle, just enjoying your embrace as forces down the fear she felt when she thought you were in trouble.

She realizes now that she can’t just keep this secret. She can’t go another minute without you knowing how much she loves you- that she would go to the ends of the earth or fight as many monsters as she needs to just to see your smile.

So for the first time in her life she skips capture the flag, joining the Apollo kids at the arts and crafts table and glaring at anyone who dares to question why she’s here and not out there fighting.

Silena joins her after a while, spending an hour making bracelets and teasing her friend while the daughter of Ares makes the cheesiest sign anyone has ever seen.

You’re lying in bed with a book when someone knocks on your cabin door. You frown in confusion, sure it’s one of your siblings and wondering why they don’t just open it. You call out for the person to come in, but when nothing happens and another knock comes through, you groan and get up to answer it.

The annoyance is immediately gone when you open it to see your best friend, though the confusion is still there as you take in her appearance.

The glittery, pink and red sign that is covered in hearts with the words, “I’ve been struck by cupids arrow. Will you be my Valentine?” is a harsh juxtaposition to the dark clothing on her body and shiny, sharp spear hooked to her back. It’s adorable, really. The way her face scrunches up as she slowly and slowly spirals deeper into the thought that this is the cringiest thing ever done in the history of the planet, the way she shifts from foot to foot as you stare in awe, the way she nervously smiles your way.

“If you hate it, it was Silena’s idea.” She mumbles when you don’t speak for a few seconds.

“And if I love it?” Your words surprise her, but she soon recovers and responds as a grin takes over her face, “Then it was all my idea.”

You nod, gently plucking the flower out of her hand then grabbing the sign so that her hands are free to hug you. She easily does, wrapping her arms securely around your waist as she pulls you as close as possible.

“I blinked and suddenly I had a valentine.” She whispers before leaving a chaste kiss on your forehead.

Clarisse has a problem.

But you are the perfect solution.

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#clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #WIFEY #Spotify

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phoenixinthefiles · 4 months

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Genuine

I apologize it took me almost 2 months to write bcus I hate discussing feelings that much Warnings: v self indulgent like this some self-discovery type stuff

@vhstown (also lmk if you wanna be tagged or something)

Your book slipped from your lap as you laughed and failed to catch your breath.

Hobie, the source of your amusement, started at you stale faced. Unfortunately for him, this only made you laugh harder.

“Wait,” you gasped out, still trying to catch your breath.

He continued to sideye you as he spoke, “Yeah it’s hilarious, nearly drowned in the Thames, but as long as you’re amused.”

You managed to contain your giggles enough to get your breathing under control and you leaned on his shoulder looking up at him with your best innocent look.

“I’m so happy you didn’t die, darling,” you said, trying your best to copy his accent.

He rolled his eyes at your antics but you could see the small smile he was failing to hide.

You grinned mischievously and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Hobie Brown, punk extraordinaire, trips into the River Thames mid performance; sounds like a headline. Oh wait…it is one.”

You cackled at your joke, but stopped when he pushed you and you nearly fell into a candle.

“Hobart Brown! I could’ve burned myself.”

“Thought you would’ve laughed it off since you find near-death experiences amusing.”

You snickered and shook your head, “You are so dramatic.”

“Nah, you’re just heartless.”

“Don’t you know how to swim?” you asked.

He glared at you instead of responding.

You gasped, “you don’t?”

He scoffed, “‘Course I do, but I was fifteen and pissed out my mind.”

“So you flailed around like little girl? sounds like a serious lack of survival instincts to me.”

He lunged for you and you reared back, putting your hands up in surrender.

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry I’ll leave you alone.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but he sat back down.

You smirked and muttered, “for now.”

His head jerked back to you and you gave him another innocent look.

He just shook his head at you again.

You watched him for a moment before remembering what you were doing before you nearly laughed yourself to death.

You had rambled to Hobie a week ago about wanting to make a reading nook where you could sit with a blanket and read your favorite books.

After you complained about being bored earlier in the day, he invited you to hang out on his boat and the two of you spent about two hours finding all of his books and making a fort.

It was cramped, and the height of the stacked books made you slightly claustrophobic, but it was still cozy. And it’s not like you hated being close to Hobie.

The candles were his idea, even though you told him it was a fire hazard.

You found your book you dropped, and dusted it off before finding your spot to pick up where you left off.

You found your focus shifting from the book to the conversation you two just had.

Everyone has been embarrassed at least once in their life, It shouldn’t have surprised you like it did.

Hobie was human, humans get embarrassed.

But still…

“Can’t read your mind.”

Hobie’s voice interrupted your thoughts and he turned towards you.

“Hm?” You asked.

“You got a question. Can tell by the way the your looking,” He tilted his head and gave you a lazy smirk. “It’s easier to tell when people with smaller brains are gearing up for a question, their brain can’t really contain it.”

You roll your eyes. You did have a question, but the reason he knew that wasn’t because your brain is small.

Not everyone can be genius.

“Ok. Why are you living in a boat if you had such a mortifying experience with water? I mean personally, I wouldn’t-

You’re cut off by your own laughter as you leap up and dodge him as he lunges for you again.

You’re fast as you dart away, but his legs are longer and he’s much more agile. You almost knocked a candle over trying to get up.

Should’ve ignored his suggestion for those.

He catches up to when you run into the door leading out to deck, bumping your hip harshly into the frame.

He saves you before you can faceplant into the many plants and flowerpots he has cluttering the deck.

You groan as you try to catch your breath, trying in vain to rub out the sting in your hip.

Hobie doesn’t aid in your efforts at all. He digs his long fingers into your ribs as you laughed breathlessly and tried to dodge his fingers.

He doesn’t let up when you trip over your own feet trying to back away from him.

He smoothly slows down your fall, somehow managing to keep a good grip on you even though his fingers are constantly moving and you’re squirming like hell. Stupid guitarist hands.

Speaking of, the rhythm he’s strumming into your ribs is akin to the song he was playing earlier…

“Ok,” you gasp, “I give up I’m sorry!”

He doesn’t let up at all.

“Nahh, it’s a bit late for that, where’s all that energy from before huh?”

“It’s gone” you grit out, still tying, in vain, to squirm away.

“Hobie pleaseee,” you beg. Well it was more of a wheeze.

He continues spidering his fingers up and down your ribcage, pretending to give thought to your plea. “Don’t know if I can do that love, still haven’t heard a good apology.”

You whine and squirm a little more but eventually give in.

“Ok, ok I'll apologize," you gasp out and he leans back, finally.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sure the performance was amazing and the dive just amplified it. Y’know the unpredictable nature of punks and that?”

He snorts and stands to his feet, pulling you up to stand in front of him.

“Your apology was still rubbish, but you recovered in the end.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned into his chest, still panting like a dog.

He wraps his arms around you pulling you even closer, softie.

You finally regain control of your lungs and took a deep breath inhaling the scent of leather and scented smoke wafting off of Hobie, you probably smelled the same considering the candles.

He rested his chin on the top of your head and you knew he was probably still waiting on you to ask your question from earlier.

“I was surprised that you got embarrassed.” You muttered out, feeling a bit stupid as you did so.

He pulled back slightly and gave you a confused look. You sighed and pulled back further turning to lean against the very short railing wrapping around the deck. Yet another hazard, if he wasn’t careful he might fall off this boat.

“I know it’s kinda dumb, but I was surprised. I mean embarrassment kinda requires you to care what people think and you being you…” You trailed off.

He nodded and tilted his head back and forth a few times before responding, “I don’t care what they think, but feelings don’t really respond to logic.”

"No they certainly don't," you mumble.

You can't really describe the tightening in your chest and the pressure in your brain, and you don't really want to.

Unfortunately for you...

Hobie knocks his knuckles against your forehead, wordlessly communicating exactly what he emans.

You roll eyes and take another deep breath before you respond.

"You wear everything on your sleeve; everything about you screams-genuine. And sure you've got a lot of other things going on but you don't...hide. I just don't understand it I guess. Not everybody does that and-

"I don't hold a grudge against you for it."

You're not surprised at the interruption, more at the fact that he read you so well.

You grimace and look away to gather yourself before you speak again.

"I-I know that but sometimes I worry."

He hums and pulls your hands into his, fidgeting with the ring he made that rests on your middle finger.

You're grateful for the distraction and direct your eyes down to your connected hands as you continue.

"I don't wanna say the wrong thing, and you not even be able to get what I mean because I can't...show it."

You shrug and let your hands fall out of his, subconsciously closing yourself off while you try to breathe through the straining in your sternum.

He places his hands on your shoulder and gently rubs his hands up and down your arms. It's not that you need to be warmed up, but the action calms you down and breathing becomes much easier.

You look up at him and he gives you that stupid smirk of his.

The one that made you fall in love with him.

"I've known you for a while now doll; you think you're closed off and cold, but you're not. You're a lil' emotionally stunted-"

You roll your eyes, while his twinkle.

"But I don't fault you for it. What's the point in being the same anyway, weren't made for it y'know? You're plenty expressive; I can see it in your eyes, in your body language, in that little lip twist you do when you're trying to be nice."

He brings you closer to him, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other one the railing behind you.

"You've let me in, I'm not going anywhere."

You give him a small smile and he matches it before tilting your chin up and leaning down to give you a kiss.

You return it and your smile widens when you pull away.

It drops in the very next second when you hear thud from inside the boat and the distinct sound of fire scorching paper.

Your eyes widen and you push away from to run back inside.

You bump your hip on the door frame again but you ignore the pain and scramble to put out the fire that's singed your book.

Luckily, you caught it before it could really spread and only the corner of the book is burnt.

Hobie snorts from the doorway and you turn to glare at him.

"Well I've got a idea of what you're feeling now."

You huff and shake your head, " I told you it was a fire hazard."

He shrugs, "It was pretty. 'Sides you've got quick reflexes; you caught it in time."

You smirk and toss the book to the ground, better to not have anything in your hands when you run.

"Yeah I do, they're really quick. I definitely wouldn't have have tripped off a boat and forgot I knew how to swim."

As soon as you finish your sentence you take off, and damn him for being a giant because he's right on your heels.

i did it 😭😭😭✊🏾

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown fic #atsv hobie #spider punk #hobie brown #fromphoetou

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demonicbaby666 · 4 months

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The Couch

One shot | Supergirl Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Supercorp

Genre: Fluff and eventual smut

Words: 4.3k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, Kara being an absolute cutie ig, fingering, oral sex, overstimulation (it's unintentional)

Summary: Just two friends casually sleeping together far too regularly on a worn-out couch. What could go wrong?

A/n: She’s not perfect, but it’s been a month and I desperately needed to get something out there! Promise to be more on my writing game. Also a big thank you to my wife @hotchscvm for being my beta reader and hyping me up <3

The first time was an accident. After too many potstickers (on Kara's part) and too many pages read from her spell book (on Lena's part), they'd ended up on the couch, dozing side by side. In retrospect, it was late, and while staying up to spend more time with each other sounded like a good idea, it probably would have been a better idea to host the impromptu feast at one of their apartments. But that is neither here nor there because the fact still remained: they'd always feel so at home with each other that falling asleep on concrete would probably come as easy as it would a plump mattress.

Sometime in the night, Lena had managed to topple over on her side, taking her best friend down with her, and either Kara was too exhausted to care or too sleepy to notice because the half-arsed excuse of a cuddle was taken in kind with one muscled arm slipping around a curved waist. Kara had never shied away from intimacy, especially with Lena, but as she groggily slung her arm around her best friend, happily snuggling into her fragrant neck, the beginnings of something very not platonic began tampering away in her chest. It all felt daunting, yet wonderfully and irrefutably natural.

Everything was all well and good for a while. They both slept better than they had in weeks. That was until a few hours later, when the sun had just started to peak over neighbouring spires, and the pair rose from their sleep to discover the true meaning of back pain. Of course, neither pointed out that if they had gone home rather than finished the duration of their uncomfortable slumber in each other's embrace, the agony would have been much more manageable. Still, once again, this was never mentioned. Instead, Lena took to teasing Kara about the drool drying at the corner of her mouth, and Kara's rebuttal was to mention the bird's nest atop Lena's head.

The second time was a week later when Kara returned from a nightly patrol to find Lena snoozing alone. The brunette had taken advantage of the couch's full length; her legs bent to accommodate the sparse leg room, and she had a cushion wedged under her head that had definitely seen better days. Other than that, Kara was reasonably convinced Lena seemed comfortable. Kara did try not to stare, but after minutes spent wandering about and trying to find something to do, and there definitely was bound to be something if she was actually looking as hard as she had convinced herself she was, Kara relented and returned to Lena.

She watched as the brunette's chest rhythmically rose and fell, how her mouth was slightly parted to allow tiny sighs to tumble out, and couldn't help but smile as her chest warmed at the sight of the way Lena had her arm flung over her forehead, hand flying over the side of the couch. It was a sign, Kara recognised, that meant Lena was, for once, having a rested sleep rather than the usual - broken and fragmentary. That was why she told herself she didn't wake her or risk it by flying her home. There was nothing selfish about it. In fact, she was being selfless by relishing the notion she was probably one of the very few people who got to see Lena that way - open and bare, not always on guard or the look for any sign of danger. Of course, Kara saw glimpses of it when they were together, but it was rare. So, getting to truly see Lena when she was so unguarded was remarkable in Kara's eyes.

It felt right when she walked over and knelt beside the roughspun fabric of the couch to get a closer look, like there was some injustice to picking out the details of such a pretty picture from afar that had been corrected. Now, if it had been anyone else, Kara would have worried her behaviour was bordering on creepy. Still, it was Lena, her Lena, and simply listening to that strong, steady heartbeat warmed Kara's chest. It quieted all the clattering and commotion of National City. The conversations, the arguments, the music, the car engines, everything fell silent to Lena's familiar heartbeat, and Kara would be damned to ever apologise for finding calm in that, so she continued to watch. That, she could admit, was selfish.

As much as sleep may dull one's senses, Lena was becoming keenly aware she wasn't alone. Usually, her first instinct would be to fight, but when she blinked her eyes open and was met with the human version of a golden retriever, she couldn't help but smile sleepily.

"Hi," Kara whispered, placing both knuckles under her chin and continuing to stare with childlike wonder sparkling in her eyes.

"Hi," Lena replied weakly. Only she found she was not weak from sleep or the dull ache in her cramped legs. She was weak from the way Kara was staring. It made her feel naked and exposed like she was on trial for the crime of being known and still loved. She saw it in those blue eyes - pure adoration and devotion, and it terrified her how Kara could look at her like that when she'd seen her at her worst, when she'd hurt Kara in unforgivable ways and carried the same genes as people who damn near wanted her dead.

She was weak for losing herself in the blue whirls of her best friend's eyes, the golden flecks that circled her pupils - yet another thing that made her seem unreal. Her fingers twitched as she mentally traced the little scar by Kara's left eyebrow, wanting desperately to reach out and feel the mark of a distant memory from Krypton. Lena thought better of it, knowing the intimacy of the act would mean stepping into dangerous territory. Instead, she shuffled to the side, cramming herself against the back of the couch and extending a silent invitation, one Kara understood immediately, and if her joyous smile was anything to go by, she was more than happy to accept.

Kara lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to think of how good it felt to have the warmth of Lena's body so close. After a few minutes in her log-like position, she cautiously raised an arm in question. The proximity between them was nil, so what was the damage in being a little closer? Her bravery was instantly rewarded with a weight falling on her chest and a slim finger tracing the raised fabric along her chest. And as many a time before, everything around her, except Lena, ceased to exist, and Kara found herself lulled by the steady thrum of a familiar heartbeat.

The third time, Kara told herself, it was completely and utterly necessary. Suppose she didn't comfort Lena when she felt like utter shit. It would quite literally be the end of the world. She was sure of it. Solely because of that, Kara hunted the brunette down, finding her in a dimly lit room, a set of fresh tears trickling slowly down her cheeks. A series of angry lines marked Lena's blanched cheeks rouge, the colour of heartbreaking remembrance. There was a distinct look in her eyes, resembling a wounded pup. Only Lena had never been helpless like one. She'd been alone the majority of her adult life, fighting. And she'd come out the other end stronger for it; that was undeniable, but what would always remain were the chronic wounds of her hardships.

Kara remained in the doorway, unsure her presence would be welcome. The more she saw, the heavier her chest felt. The details were the worst: the way Lena clasped her hands so tightly together, yet they still shook, the glossed-over sheen to her eyes, the way her jaw shook with each silent cry, and most of all, the raw hiccups that only Kara could pick up, wearing away at Lena's throat every time she tried to keep herself quiet.

Clearing her throat, Kara lightly padded over. The brunette's mind was so far away that by the time Kara was crouching down and delicately separating her woven hands, taking each within her own, she'd just about registered that she was no longer alone looking with puffy eyes. Kara tried to offer a sympathetic smile, but it was excruciatingly painful when the woman she adored radiated so much pain she felt within herself, too. She was helplessly searching her mind for something to say, anything that could encompass what Lena was feeling or take it all away, but she knew nothing in her vocabulary could.

Kara got to her feet, taking Lena with her. There was no complaint. Lena simply complied, no energy left in her to fight, no reason to fight someone wholly trusted. She let herself be taken from one room and led into another, her mind turned off and tuned only to how soft the hand guiding her forward felt - how it was already calming her racing pulse.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kara asked, sitting down on the far side of the couch, encouraging Lena to join her by keeping their hands clasped. Lena followed willingly, though she kept quiet, staring at the margin between the couch cushions, each frayed piece of string taking her interest individually.

Kara gave Lena a once over, this time honing into every detail as quickly as possible so Lena didn't feel uncomfortable. She noticed a handful of things: the shine to Lena's hair was no longer there, and her perfume was only vaguely present, but what Kara saw first was the darkened ring under Lena's swollen eyes, and that's when she gathered what had been happening.

"It's the nightmares again, isn't it?" Kara quietly asked, squeezing Lena's hand once, twice, and holding tight to show this was in no way an invasion of privacy but a rope for the brunette to take so Kara could help pull her out of the pit she'd fallen into. A tiny whimper confirmed her guess, and that's when Kara took action. She ignored Lena's creased brow when she untangled their hands, scootched closer, looped her arms around Lena's waist and hauled her onto her lap. It was a risky move, given that this was most definitely not the most platonic position. However, any fear and regret instantly faded when she heard a sigh and felt Lena's head nestle into her neck. She held her tight and let Lena take whatever she needed from the embrace. Gently, Kara used one hand to brush through chestnut hair, keeping one hand around a slim waist. Emboldened by Lena's willingness, Kara lowered her head, turned it to the side, and kissed her barely visible cheek.

"Can we stay here tonight?" Lena finally whispered, and Kara's whole body responded in kind, buzzing in anticipation.

"Of course," she replied into the silky softness of Lena's hair. She breathed in, knowing before the exact scents that would coax their way through her airways, only to erupt into a swarming storm in her stomach - herbal shampoo complemented by nodes of bittersweet honey tea, the kind you'd drink when trees began to lose their leaves and your body hadn't yet adjusted to the drop in temperature. "Whatever you need, Lee, I'll do it."

"You, Kara Zor-el, are my hero, not Supergirl, you," Lena pulled back to confess, her worn-out eyes glinting in low light as she stared intently, watching Kara's eyes gaze right back. They stayed staring for seconds, a minute; neither knew. They simply accepted that it didn't feel wrong, it didn't feel awkward, it felt safe and warm, like coming back home after a trainwreck of a day or seeing the sun finally peak from behind the rainclouds.

Finally, Lena ducked back down and allowed herself to let go, wetting Kara's neck with a fresh set of tears.

After that, it became a weekly occurrence, then bi-weekly, tri-weekly and well, then they didn't bother trying to count how many times a week they found excuses to fall asleep in each other's arms. The couch grew new additions that no one mentioned but thoroughly enjoyed: a luxuriously soft blanket folded neatly over the side, a kitschy cushion from Kara's apartment and new upholstery. Neither spoke of their shared nights, not even with each other. It became taboo, a dirty secret between two willing participants. They both knew that, for one reason or another, they were crossing boundaries, leading them into dangerous territory. However, not acknowledging it seemed enough to fend off the intrusive thoughts.

After a particularly long day at the tower, Kara and Lena found themselves in the same place they had always wound up in when everyone had left. Their limbs entangled, and their bodies so close Lena was essentially lying atop Kara, with her head comfortably nestled on the blonde's chest. Usually, the pair would find sleep quickly enough, but something was different that night. Sleep didn't come so easy, with the day's events weighing heavy.

"What are you thinking about," Kara asked, breaking the comfortable quietude.

Lena didn't have to think twice before answering, "How I never want to lose you."

There were a few bouts of silence. Kara let Lena's words sink in before speaking again, "What do you mean?"

"Every day, you go out and protect the people of this world, even if it means risking your own life." Lena mindlessly played with the collar of Kara's sweater, trying to casualise the severity of what she was saying. Kara could sense the tension brewing in Lena and began to draw soothing circles up and down her back.

"It's who I am, Lee. My powers mean I can help people; it's my duty to do so," Kara sighed, pressing her lips to Lena's head.

"I know. But I just worry I won't see you fly back through the tower doors, that I won't be able to do enough to help you, and I'll lose the only person that's ever seemed to," she paused, the l word anxiously sitting on her tongue. "That I'll lose the one person who has always stood by me. It's selfish, I know."

A tidal wave of emotions washed over Kara. She stayed motionless for at least a minute, processing all Lena had said, and failed to say.

"Lena, look at me," she ordered.

They were both helplessly reminding themselves that this is what friends do: they're allowed to cuddle, they're allowed to fall asleep together, and they're allowed to feel like they complete each other in a way no one else probably could. The pure definition of slumber parties is deep conversations where confessions are made, so of course, this is all normal and strictly platonic and nothing more. Except when their eyes met, the look they shot at one another was anything but friendly. It was desperate and demanding, taking all the oxygen out of the room and leaving them breathless. Kara could hear Lena's heartbeat, frantic, from anticipation, excitement, or fear, she didn't know.

"I will never leave you. I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't promise me that."

Kara cupped Lena's cheeks in her palms, gently holding her still, "You're right, I can't, but I can promise that I will always fight to come back home to the people I love– to come back to you." Her eyes flickered between Lena's eyes and lips. "I love you, Lena."

"You don't have to say that," Lena choked out.

"I meant it," she stated in a hushed voice, eyes firmly planted on soft lips. "Lena, come here."

"Kara," Lena pleaded in a weak whisper, battling the fuzzy feeling that was stirring beneath her fingertips. Lena could scarcely breathe, her throat constricting with each passing second because Kara was looking at her the same way she always did, and she was so very weak to stop herself from looking back and letting the air be stolen from her lungs. Kara pulled her closer until their lips were a hair's width away, and then she chose to wait. Her intentions were clear, but she knew it had to be Lena who would make the final move. And she did. Lena closed the minimal space between their lips, ignoring the rapid pace of her thudding heart. As expected, Kara's lips were perfect, acceptant to let Lena take the lead and demanding nothing in return.

Soon enough, both got lost in the delicacy of a slow makeup session. Kara made a great effort to reign in her zeal, only encouraging Lena with a slide of her hands down to a supple waist and aiding the brunette atop her when she heard no protest. The two found themselves upright, Lena's knees cocooning Kara's hips, their core pressed against one another enough to raise their body temperatures. With the slide of the super's tongue along a plump lip and the compliant opening of the brunette's mouth, their slow and tempered kiss tilted more towards eager and desperate. Kara had scarcely noticed her hands sliding down to grip Lena's ass. She wholly gave herself to instinct and desire, guiding Lena back and forth in a grinding motion.

"Kara," Lena moaned, throwing her head back and struggling to hold herself still when Kara instantly went to suckle at her neck. "Not here. Take me home."

The blonde didn't need to be told twice; she hauled herself up, taking Lena with her, and allowed the other woman's feet to briefly touch the ground before she picked her up bridal style and shot out the balcony doors. The city was bursting with life. Laughter echoed off every surface and bounced up into the night sky. The noise sought to pollute Kara's senses, yet the blonde didn't even have to try to fight off the background noise because all she was focused on was Lena's smile, and her residing bouts of childlike laughter. It was perfection - holding Lena close, feeling her body heat against the crisp evening wind.

All the withheld desire flooded their senses the moment they landed on Lena's balcony. Kara burst into the apartment, brain muddled with the ghostly feel of velvety lips all over her throat. She used her super speed to whisk them to the bedroom, gently placing Lena down and climbing atop her.

"Hi," Lena whispered, searching Kara's eyes for regret or hesitation.

"Hi." The super leaned down and pressed a small kiss to Lena's lips before pushing herself back up to hover and smile, ridding her best friend of any doubt.

"Can I?" Lena asked, her hands under Kara's sweater, bunching the material between her palms.

"Yes." But Kara didn't appear to have the patience for Lena's gentle touch as she yanked the offending garment over her head and ducked right back down to Lena's neck, lowering her lips to the birthmark that always looked so darn kissable and did just that.

They set their tasks to removing articles of clothing, revealing more and more of themselves to each other, taking turns to stare awestruck before returning to the matter at hand. Kara took her sweet time unclasping Lena's bra if only to charge to the impending reveal she'd been waiting years for.

"Beautiful," Kara whispered, eyes fixed on Lena. "You're perfect."

She didn't let the brunette get a word in, not that Lena stood a chance when lips had already surrounded her pert nipple and a tongue darted out to move in tight circles. Kara was ravenous. She moved from breast to breast at lightning speed, giving each the full treatment until Lena was mewling and cantering her hips. It was when she felt the slickness of need touch her stomach that Kara ventured south. With each methodical kiss, Kara shuffled lower and lower, finally arriving and comfortably settling herself between creamy thighs.

Contrary to Kara's expectations, Lena was not fighting to be in charge. She allowed Kara to play around and find what got the most promising reactions. However, it seemed to be less trial and error and more constantly hitting the nail on the head because after what must have only been half a minute, Lena was practically writhing, and Kara was all but lost in the rich, sharp tastes coating her tongue. She'd found her pace and her pattern, starting with slow, pointed licks to Lena's clit, occasionally running the stiff muscle down to drive into her sopping cunt before moving back up and taking the bundle of nerves into her mouth and lathering it with the flat of her tongue. Kara kept this up, falling in love with all the ways Lena would respond: her low-pitched moans, her bucking hips, the way her thighs would clamp around Kara’s head when she used the heel of her foot to urge the blonde closer. It was heaven, and Kara never wanted it to end.

She was vaguely aware Lena was reaching her peak, the hand in her hair tightening, fingers coiling locks of hair in a firm grip. It spurred her on. Kara only moved faster, messily lapping up every inch of Lena's pussy until the brunette sprung up from the bed and let out a cry. Kara was greedy, though; she slowed down, gently lapping up the mess left behind, only to devour Lena all over again. From the moment Kara heard the sounds Lena unleashed when she entered her with two fingers, she was a goner. All she knew was Lena's sweaty body, her accelerated heartbeat, the clamping around her fingers and the harmonious cries of pleasure. She kept going and going. Harder. Faster.

"Kara," Lena whimpered, her breathing heavily laboured and her heart pounding. She used her grip on Kara's hair to pry her away. "You've got to stop."

"Are you okay?" Kara reeled back to ask. She scanned Lena once over, fear evident in her eyes. "Did I hurt you?"

"No! No, of course not. You just made me cum four times in a row, darling. I think I may pass out if you keep going." Lena seemed dazed but happily so as she stared down lovingly at Kara. She used her remaining strength to guide the blonde back up and capture her lips in an appreciative kiss, moaning at the taste of herself on her best friend's tongue.

Lena bided her time. She waited to regain a steady heartbeat before she refocused her attention on the pressing matter that was the slick mess gathering on her thigh. Kara had - clearly - already begun working herself up. Whether or not the needy grinding was intentional, Lena didn't know, but she knew she wanted to be the one to give Kara her release, not have the blonde get off on her thigh. She guided Kara back and forth till she deemed her sufficiently distracted, and only then did she turn the tables, flipping the super on her back with surprising strength.

"My turn," Lena devilishly smirked.

She effortlessly slid three fingers into Kara and began thrusting in and out with reckless abandon. The blonde had no chance. Her head crashed back into soft pillows, her body burst to life, and her skin birthed a litany of pebbly goosebumps. It was like nothing she'd experienced before. Unlike previous times, this felt like it was finally for her. Kara didn't have to fake the appreciative sounds coming from her mouth. She didn't have to direct Lena on what to do. She was free to lie back and take all that was given. And Lena was more than happy to provide.

The brunette had her lips glued to Kara's neck, adamant about marking her impenetrable skin, and though she may have been failing miserably, there was no mistaking Kara's moans for anything but satisfaction. So she kept going. With her mission still in sight, Lena eased herself down on her elbow, alleviating some of the pressure from her hand and placed her thumb over Kara's clit. The position was awkward, but Lena did her best to trace figures of eight over and around Kara's sensitive bud - knowing she immensely enjoyed the action herself - and was rewarded instantly when she felt Kara's body tense up and shake.

"Lena," Kara moaned. Her hands were wound in the bedsheets, knuckles blanched from the force of her grip. She sounded so desperate, so fragile, that Lena had to bite her tongue to stop herself from moaning.

"I know," Lena replied, rising back on her palm to gaze at Kara's sheer beauty in this delirious state. She delicately brushed stray hairs off Kara's face, staring deep into her eyes, and ever so slightly smiled. "Let go, baby."

~~~

"You're staring," Lena sighed, turning over and using her palms to rub sleep from her eyes. She’d expected some sort of embarrassment to tint Kara's face. Instead, she was met with a cheeky smile and a raised eyebrow.

"I know," Kara said in a sure voice, her gaze unmoving, and suddenly, Lena felt like she was on fire all over again. The vivid events of the previous evening, still very fresh in her mind, were of no help.

"Oh." Her cheeks were burning, and there was no doubt with her pale skin Kara could see. So Lena did what she could; she hid her face in Kara's side. "If you maybe wanted to stop, I wouldn't be opposed."

She vaguely heard Kara's laugh, but she'd become one with the small between the blonde's side and her forearm that everything was muffled. That was rectified when she was swiftly slumped onto her back, and whisps of golden hair tickled her cheeks from above.

"I don't want to stop," Kara whispered. Innocence slowly vanished from the back-and-forth gaze, replaced with dark curiosity and dangerous intent. Soon, Lena found herself incapable of not glancing at Kara's pillowy lips that seemed to be inching closer. "Roa, I never want to stop staring at you."

Tags: @homo-oddity @camciel @lovelyy-moonlight | click here to be added to my taglist

#supercorp #supercorp fanfic #kara and lena #kara x lena #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl cw #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #Kara Danvers #Lena luthor #kara danvers x lena luthor

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beloved-blaiddyd · 1 month

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A Tasteless Cup [Yandere!Joker/Reader]

Prompt: After the destruction of your previous reality, you and Akira Kurusu landed in Teyvat. In an effort to stay afloat, Akira had set up a book café in Mondstadt alongside you. However, is this the true flavor of "Freedom"? [Dedicated to: Riley H. Goodheart, for the Alone Together event]

CW: yandere themes, dubious food, manipulation/controlling behavior, toxic relationship dynamic. P.S: Akira is aged up [20s] in this fic, happens after Persona 5.

To Akira, those he lets into his heart will become an intrinsic part of him. They are more than a trick of a card, more than a mask to mimic and steal for his own, more than a numbers game. Every bit of them is his soul. His relationships are the culmination of his being and, eventually, his raison d'etre.

And Akira Kurusu had a hard time coping with losing these links.

To others, relationships are no different from chains. The surrounding people are less a home and more like bars to a cage— a prison. And despite being somewhat of a Mr/Ms. Congeniality, you aren't as affected by the fact that neither of you can return to your respective world.

You are both empty. You have been handed a clean slate, an empty card, and an empty vision.

You are both "fools" again.

"Bit too early in the morning to start a serious discussion…" Akira tiredly muttered, removing his glasses before rubbing his eyes.

But as long as the sun rises once more, does a rebirth truly matter?

Anyone would be remiss to disregard the sheer jadedness in his eyes and the slight breathlessness of his speech. Akira poured himself a cup. Normally served to others rather than his indulgence, you quietly noticed that his cup lacked sugar. The cafe owner drank and embraced its bitterness, unflinching.

It's been three months since you both arrived in the world of Teyvat. Getting by as an Outlander proved difficult, and thankfully, Akira is kind towards you and a jack-of-all-trades. One might say he has "maxed out his stats." Charismatic, skilled, and bold, he has the makings for an entrepreneur with a pyro vision to boot. Unsurprisingly, he had become one of old Mond's eligible bachelors in a short time frame.

So, by just the third week, he managed to persuade Master Ragnvindr with a solid pitch. The cafe you both sit in is a testament to your shared hard work. With his brew proficiency and your hobby of accumulating knowledge through books and art pieces, the cozy place had become a second home for individuals such as the local librarian and the Guild's investigator.

But you'll always remember his words the night before he was invited into Duke Ragnvindr's study room.

"Akira, are you sure about this?" You muttered, tugging his sleeve. "Once you finalize it, you can't just..."

"Hmm? Why are you hesitating?" He tilted his chin up slightly, confused. "It's a good way to keep our finances afloat, right? Don't you want to keep collecting books and art supplies? I thought you said you wanted to have a small library someday."

"But, for you to work this much for it-"

"You matter to me. You are the only thing left binding me down here in Teyvat." He casually shot you down, but his light tone could not erase the heaviness of his words. "Besides..."

"Don't you like it when I make a hot cup and fresh pastries just for you?"

That dream materialized into something called Cafe LeBlanc. Though he claims the name wasn't his but a charming, cranky old man's— you doubt anyone else can come up with that. But he sounded genuine enough. His unexplainable "silent" face can sometimes make him a hard read.

… This isn't one of those times. You know what's troubling him quite well.

"Yeah…" you muttered. "Can't we save this conversation for the end of the day instead?"

Akira laughed.

"Smart," he hummed humorlessly.

"You know I get too tired to do anything at night except washing dishes and doing crosswords. It's not happening. We'll have this talk now."

Fair enough. Avoiding one's problems is a mindset you never advocated. You'd be a terrible hypocrite if you start now. "Alright, I'll hear you out."

You shifted from your seat, dragging it closer to the counter. Akira downed his cup on the other side, revealing no liquid gold in its bottom. His eyes were wide awake thanks to the caffeine, yet you couldn't even glance upward.

"(Y/n), do you remember how I got this pyro vision?"

You blinked, unsure how he'd make the fact relevant. Still, you nodded.

A long time ago, you liked how open Akira was about himself. You can tell he had immense trust issues he had worked on fixing. Akira is a good man. Being wrongfully expelled and imprisoned at a young age must've done damages you can't quite comprehend fully. Sometimes, you wish you had the courage to be just as vulnerable, too.

He traced the outline of a pyro symbol on the table with his slender finger collecting not a single dust nor stain. Despite the warmth his vision may hold, it did not detract from the cold atmosphere you both had to face. With the angle you were viewing him, you can't help but notice his eyelashes. They're prettier than yours, you thought. If only his glare wasn't so pointed.

"When I arrived in this world, I was alone and confused. But you? You weren't. I saw your face— the face of someone who had nothing to lose to begin with."

Akira's gaze softened. He was right. You adapted to this new world so suspiciously well.

"I couldn't tell whether you saw our situation as a positive or whether you thought this whole transfer to another reality was a cruel joke. But I had a feeling you were as horrified as I was. That you couldn't bear the thought of living alone. I think that you also had friends you cared for, but now, you will never be able to hear their voices again."

He breathed in shakily, his eyes heavy. Akira may seem like a silent person, no different from Duke Ragnvindr, but the time you spent together backs up what your instincts are testifying right this second.

There's one true thought in his mind.

After all his efforts.

After all that he has gone through so that you'll stay by his side.

What was it all for?

"So, when a Lawachurl wounded you in Windrise, I stepped in. I can't help but project myself onto you. I thought about how you must also have friends waiting– family waiting– whether it's a cat or a sister— I knew I just had to. I had to risk everything, even if you were just a stranger to me then." He clenched his fists. "And you were worth it. You were absolutely worth every risk. You were worth everything. I knew I had to survive, if not for myself, but to help you."

"Even without some sort of— card– or whatever— to indicate it, I knew our relationship was progressing. That our understanding of each other has reached such high ranks. I know we had become each other's most trusted confidant, so why? Listen, I value freedom too, but—"

He slammed his cup down— you jolted as you heard it chip slightly. It wasn't his intent to scare. Akira would never wish to frighten you. But he can't stop his emotions and movements from being brash and pointed.

"... Why did you want to quit working with me?"

There it goes.

"Is it because I haven't spent much time with you lately? You know I've been busy with trying to invest in a better flat—"

The pace of his breathing was starting to quicken.

"Kurusu, it's not that…" You need to rationalize this with him. Fast.

"I-Is it because work has been too much? I told you we could hire someone if you feel too faint for the job. I care about your health— hell— maybe even more than you do—"

"Akira, listen to me—"

His futile attempt to maintain control was like an age-weakened thread. The fibers of his composure whittled away string by string, itching to snap entirely. Akira's jaw clenched.

The manacle may not be anchoring his feet down as it did in the Velvet Room, but there's no denying that doubt is tugging and clawing at his neck. He knew that if he should continue, only strained words would come from his coffee-bitter lips.

He rubbed his head against his shoulder. He had to have been wiping a tear away, trying to make it unnoticeable but failing.

"But why are you LEAVING m—"

"Behold, for this fine hour, you are not only graced with the presence of soft rays— you are also blessed by myself: Fischl, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung!"

"Mein Fräulein meant to say good morning to you both, Arsene and Sholmes."

... Akira chuckled a short and strained sound that could easily be missed by a weak ear.

As though a switch had been flipped, Akira's contorted expression turned back to his customer service smile. You trembled slightly. Perhaps it's a skill he mastered during his part-time worker years in high school, but he seemed a little too good at hiding such overwhelming frustrations— almost shape-shifting.

It's…

Eerie.

He's smiling. It's his usual smile he has that has a calm allure and a hint of cockiness.

As if nothing happened five seconds ago.

"Ah, greetings, Your Highness!"

The guests were none other than some of the regulars, Amy and her bird familiar. This blonde, eye-patched girl is the only person in Little Mond who consistently makes Akira act dramatic.

He bowed, not missing a beat of young Amy's theatrics. After spending so many years chatting with Yusuke, he's gotten used to bouncing back conversations of this nature. Akira enjoys the young investigator's company. He saw tiny bits of his friend in her.

"What shall we, humble servants, offer you this dawn? Will it be your usual order, or does our dear royal have something else in mind entirely? We will do our best to provide you with maximum entertainment! After all, this is your castle, Mein Fräulein."

You stiffened.

We.

He's not letting you go just yet. You caught a glimpse of his dark pupils, slightly moving to meet yours. Imploring you without words to act out of his best interest.

Akira Kurusu has always been a witty man, but there is no way there's no anger beneath that mask.

"Are you alright, Sholmes?" Oz asked.

For whatever reason, Akira persuaded Amy to call you both Arsene Lupin and Herlock Sholmes. The former was likely a nod to his first persona's name. His explanation for the latter was something along the lines of "you strike me as the type who always wants to search for your truth."

You blinked.

Right. You're his version of Sherlock Holmes.

Ha.

Even here, he gets to dictate everything about you.

"... Yes, Your Highness, to what do I owe the pleasure?" you said. The blonde girl smiled and tilted her head up pompously.

"What other brew could I possibly order but the darkest taste that leaves any normal mortal to shrivel in imagination?" Amy shrugged, her eyebrow raised as though everyone knew what she babbled on with commendable sass. Her aviator companion thankfully cleared the air— albeit a little too blunt.

"Mein Fräulein desires a cinnamon ginger affogato with more sugar than last time, please. Two spoons for the poor Mein Fräulein."

"O-Oz!?!"

It's easily one of the least bitter cups on the menu. It consists of vanilla gelato, a tablespoon of espresso powder, cinnamon sticks, hazelnut liqueur, and bits of dried sunsettia. I can't say what would make anyone fear such a thing except for those with complications. Someone else shared the same sentiment.

You and Akira laughed in unison.

Your eyes widened in astonishment. That was in sync. You immediately looked away as Akira busied himself with Amy's order. It was awkward knowing that even with your efforts to cut things off, there was still some vague commonality between you two.

"... Say, your Highness?" Akira smiled softly. "Would it be alright for me to probe some of your most revered royal musings?"

...

... What is his play this time?

"You have my ears, dear subject."

"Suppose there is a princess who is facing an uphill battle. Furthermore, her valiant knight aspires to rescue her. However, the princess, for unknown reasons, declines his assistance. Is that..." He shut his eyes, laughing that strained chuckle once more. "... equittable?"

"Oh, most grievous indeed! A knight, who is obligated by the code of chivalry, shall always respond to the plea of his princess when she is in peril. His solemn obligation is to protect her honor and safeguard her from any danger!"

Akira looked at you.

His eyes were cold.

"But what if the princess doesn't want to be saved? What if she believes she can handle the situation herself, or maybe she thinks having assistance would make her weak?"

"Ah, but thou dost speak in riddles!" Amy scoffed, unamused. "A princess may exhibit abundant power and courage, yet it is the responsibility of her faithful knight to guarantee her safety, especially when she questions her own necessity. For what good is a knight's valor if not to serve and protect his liege?"

"Would you say her actions essentially strip him of his purpose?"

"Why, of course!" Amy replied with full conviction. "One would not require Oz if he lacks such a necessary trait! It is the basis of our trust– our relationship! A true knight's honor lies not in the glory of battle, but in his unwavering commitment to his princess, even in the face of her refusal."

You sucked in a deep breath.

Akira, you—!

"Speak frankly. Do these inquiries pertain to me?" Amy glared at him. Akira shook his head immediately, umping up his flamboyant voice inflections.

No.

It's about you.

It's always about you when it comes to him.

"Of course not!" Akira feigned worry. "It was for a novel I'm writing— to honor one's love."

… To honor one's "love".

Love? You froze. He calls this relationship love? It hadn't been that for the past few months! Love is meant to be like coming home to a comforting home— not a cold palace with your unfeeling statue at the heart of it all.

You were hoping that your life would be dictated by what you want it to mean this time around. You hope to create your own purpose, your own identity. You hope to reject his titles—being his partner and his "Sholmes."

But mostly, you sincerely hoped his words were untrue and did not allude to something as sinister and self-destructive as his love.

Besides, you already have a lover waiting for you to leave this mess behind.

You and he already have everything planned out. A rented flat, food, work— everything is set. The only box to tick off was leaving itself, and then you'll be in your lover's arms.

But you swore.

You swore you just saw him smirk.

"(Y/n), could you please lend me a hand? Can you pass the cinnamon sticks from the cupboard?"

Starting your day by serving Amy leads to serving a hundred more. You can't just stand up and leave whenever someone asks for your service. It's impossible to make the shortest comment about how you no longer work for LeBlanc, even more so when people beg for book recommendations. Being friendly is part of who you are. It can't be helped.

What made matters worse was that people were ordering seconds. Apparently, Akira must've adjusted all the recipes on the menu because whatever was added to those cups made it all the more divine. You knew his skills were perfection, but to think he could even exceed that...

In the end, despite multiple delays, Akira still got you right where he wanted you.

"Thank you. Please come again!" He escorted the final customer outside and flipped the closing sign himself.

Now, it was just the two of you left.

"... You must be tired." You offered, hoping he wouldn't catch on. "It's been a long day, why don't you take a rest—"

"Nice try."

Well, it was worth a shot.

You stiffly waited for him to say something. Anything. But instead, he took a kettle off the icebox and heated the stove with his vision.

"Back to my story, do you remember where we left off?"

The wisest thing to have down was biting your tongue or pretending not to know what he was talking about. Unfortunately, your answer was immediate.

"Something about how you got your vision?"

"Ah, yes, that." Akira laughed. "Say, I told you about how I used to be the leader of the Phantom Thieves when I was in High School, right?"

While waiting, Akira tapped his fingers against the table but stopped when he realized you were becoming distracted. Snapping out of it, you cleared your throat.

"You were stealing hearts in the Metaverse, yes, I recall..." You mumbled. Due to the sudden need to speak, you ended up unwittingly playing by his script again. "You manifested a Persona and used that to reform the heart of rotten adults."

You flinched slightly when his tea was starting to release thin smokes. It smelled too much like rust. Maybe he exhausted it too much today. The customers you had were double the amount. You had to commend his willpower for still managing exceed his usual sleep schedule.

"Isn't the kettle burning?"

"Trust me, it's not," he answered nonchalantly. "I remember when I told my story to you, you were mostly understanding of our actions. You didn't judge us. Rather, you told me that humanity is selfish and destructive."

"But back to how I got my vision," he finally turned the stove off. "I genuinely thought my most distinct trait was my appreciation for Freedom."

"Yet you got a pyro vision." You joked lightly.

He didn't laugh. Instead, he nodded.

"Strange, isn't it?" Akira tilted his head to look at you for a bit, before back at the hot cup he was pouring. It's the same liquid he's been adding the entire day. This must be the last of those ten pints. "Here, try it."

You slowly took it. It's still a bit too warm, so you continued talking.

"I thought about it, too. If we go by theories, it will make more sense if Barbatos blessed me instead. But with you here..." Akira laughed. "Pyro is definitely my element. I'm seeing a pattern with vision-wielders like me. Based on what I've seen so far, pyro users are often the most passionate. And passion can put a leash on freedom when need be."

You took a sip.

He put an elbow on the table and propped his chin on his palm.

"How is it?"

"It's... tasteless?" You blinked.

You thought he must've added something grand to the cups today. Was it all just one big placebo effect?

"Makes it no different than regular water, huh?"

"Well, yeah, I guess?"

"I've actually been disposing of this the entire day, that's why the coffees looked darker. Diluting the original sample is hard work but worth it. Enough as a substitute for normal water in case we run out. Who knew you could empty 10 pints so quickly in a day..."

"You. In case you run out." You sighed, finally addressing it. "Akira, I'm no longer your partner."

"So is he."

You both paused.

He returned the kettle to the ice box before unmasking its contents.

"You were near-fatally wounded once before. You tasted it in your mouth when I defended you from that Lawachurl-

"You should know by now that blood isn't supposed to be tasteless."

Riley H. Goodheart can now message Akira Kurusu

#$ first follower event #$ brynn's manuscripts #yandere joker #yandere joker x reader #yandere akira kurusu #yandere ren amamiya #yandere akira kurusu x reader #yandere ren amamiya x reader #akira kurusu x reader #ren amamiya x reader #joker x reader #yandere persona #yandere persona 5 #yandere persona 5 x reader #why does he have so many names and aliases.#persona #persona 5

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cherryblossom-enthusiast · 2 years

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Thunk! (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader)

I watched Top Gun: Maverick. Need I say more for the motivation to write this short little fic? If I continued this short little fic, would be people be interested in reading it? Let me know! Otherwise, pour in some requests for me. I’ve got the rare motivation to actually write.

Summary: You’re dying from the heat of the sun, but some are worth the burning feeling. One of them is Bradley Bradshaw.

In other words: You’re hot and sweaty, but so is Bradshaw and it may just be the thing to make you go haywire. That and the football he accidentally hit your head with.

Fluff(?)

Words: 1.1k

Part 2

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The heat was sweltering and that was putting it mildly.

“Beer?”

You look up from your book as a cold bottle touches your cheek making you flinch a little. Way too eager to get any sort of salve, you take the bottle quickly almost spilling it. “Don’t mind if I freaking do.”

Penny, your aunt Penny that is, slides onto the bench chair in front of you, a similar drink in her own hands. Taking a small swig of her beer, she nods at the paperback in your hands. “How is it?”

You shrug as you take your own slow sip. “Decent.”

A small but all-knowing grin slowly etches itself on her lips. “Hm, okay.” Her tone sardonic. It makes you want to wipe the expression off her stupidly pretty face, but you hold off on saying anything else. Anything, and you mean anything is ammo for teasing when it comes to this woman and she’s been going strong for the past couple of weeks.

“Spend the next couple of months with Penny.” Your mother had almost ordered you to do. Fresh out of university in the standard 4-year period time-frame. You weren’t one to take breaks, never have been. Throwing your body into lectures, your student life flew by and before you knew it, that part of your life was over.

No parties, no hangouts, just you, your copy of Pride and Prejudice, and your cat Judy.

In a brief, terrible miscalculation of saying your thoughts out loud in front of your mother, she then pushed you into taking a couple months off from looking for a “forever job” and booked you a plane ticket straight to this beach instead.

And that leaves you here. 2 weeks later from flying in an airplane by yourself for the first time.

Almost hurling the contents of your stomach in the process.

You were definitely not looking forward to going home.

You both fall into comfortable silence for a small while until you pick up your beer bottle and put it to your sweaty, otherwise blotchy cheek once more. Not missing a beat, Penny comments on it immediately. “You know, the bar has a multitude of problems, but the AC is not one of them.” She places her elbows on the table and rests her chin on one of her palms. “ I know you get hot easily kiddo, why don’t you read inside?”

Tapping the bottle, you instantly avoid the mischievous glint in her eyes. “Uh- just,-“ shit. You thought. This woman was good, too damn good at getting under your skin. “Just wanted some fresh air?”

Why’d you fucking question yourself?

“This the same girl who hates hiking, biking, running, and otherwise any other activity that ends with “ing” that happens outdoors?”

“I don’t hate them, I’m just not very good at them.” You defended, eyes still averting all over the place.

Another swig of beer as she raises her eyebrows. “Riiiight,” she elongates her speech, making it sound as sarcastic as possible. She doesn’t get to finish her sentence before another, much huskier voice screams at the both of you.

“Heads up!”

Oh boy you thought. Here we go again.

The football slams against your head, hard enough that an audible thunk! rang in your ears. Your shoulders tense and letting out an “ow” you palm against your skull to rub at the site of impact.

Penny puts the teasing on hold and immediately scans you over for any injuries. “Oh shit, are you okay?” She asks, voice dipped in worry.

You manage to say “All good.” With a small grimace, eyes still squinted.

“Hey, are you okay? I’m really sorry about that.”

It was like alarm bells rang in your head. That voice you thought. God, it was pathetic it affected you that much.

Completely forgetting about the aching for a brief while, you turn your head to the new figure beside you and sweet mother Mary, you almost regret it on the spot.

You come face to bare-chest with Bradley fucking Bradshaw.

You quickly avert your eyes once more. You’d been doing that a lot today and it was kind of getting tiring if you were being honest with yourself. Just getting attacked on all fronts you supposed.

It’s like he covered himself in baby oil or something.

There’s a hitch in your breathing that you really hope Penny doesn’t notice. “I’m uh- I’m fine-“you stutter “I’m just- I’m good.”

Nice. Great job.

“You sure?” He asks, moving his head to try and catch your gaze. “Is there any way I can say sorry or make it up to you?”

Honestly, just stand there and look pretty.

“No, I’m good, it’s no problem.”

The man was not taking that as an answer. “Look, I think we’re about done anyways, and getting a couple of drinks after getting changed- That is to say Penny’s open tonight.” He directs his question to your aunt with a hopeful smile and she just nods her head with that sly glint. “Can I repay you with some drinks?”

You weren’t a drinker and it was for good reason. Just as you were about to tell him not to worry about it once more, your aunt beat you to a reply. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it Bradshaw.” She answered for you. “As long as you don’t cheap out on her drinks.”

He just let out a scoff and rolled his eyes in amusement. “Pen, I know I can be an asshole, but I don’t think I’m that much of an asshole.”

You finally meet his gaze and he lifts the corners of his lips into another apologetic smile. “I guess I’ll be seeing you at 9 tonight.” This man is putting his full sincerity into his apology and you’re only hearing words buzz. Half of the reason being your head was still kind of aching and the other half because his sweat-slicked abs were still on full display in front of you. “Sorry again, about that.”

Not being able to come up with any other intelligible reply, you simply purse your lips and nod.

Bradshaw finally leaves your vicinity and it feels like you can breathe again. You let out a sigh and blow a piece of your hair away from your face. You notice Penny’s signature smirk and your mouth turns into a flat shape. “You knew didn’t you?”

“Anybody would know in 2 seconds.” She shrugs . “Also, your paperback’s been upside down the whole time you’ve been out here.”

You groan, slamming your already injured head onto the table in hopes that it would just knock you out cold. “He’s just stupidly hot.”

“And I just got that stupidly hot guy to buy you drinks so I deserve a thank you.” She states proudly as she finishes her beer. “Now go home, get changed, consume alcohol, and live a little.”

You hear her rise up from the bench in front of you, probably getting ready to handle her rowdy bar for the night. Before she leaves, you can’t help but make a small jab of your own. “Yeah, well take your own advice and screw Mitchell already.”

“I already have, and I’m not planning to again” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Yet.”

“Ewww.”

“Hey, you serve snarky, you get snarky.”

#top gun maverick #top gun #miles teller #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #Tom cruise #x reader #top gun fanfiction #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fluff #fanfic

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avaritia-apotheosis · 1 year

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Danny ends his first month as Bruce Wayne's PA being held at gunpoint.

This is not the first time he's been in this position, and lord knows with his luck it probably won't be the last. But this is the first time he's ever been held at gunpoint by a regular gun. As in one that fires bullets and has gunpowder, as opposed to the ecto-charged weapons back in Amity. The novelty of the situation makes him hesitate for longer than he usually would. An ecto gun would hurt like a bitch, sure, but he knew he was strong enough to tank it. But a bullet between the eyes? He's not sure how that would affect him considering, well, him, and he's really not in any hurry to figure that out.

The guy in the Michael Myers mask holding him hostage— one of six, all wearing horror movie villain masks probably taken from some local Party City—yelled at Danny to put his hands behind his head. "I know you!" Michael Myers said. "You're Wayne's dog aren't'cha?"

Danny rolled his eyes. He shoots Tiffany, one of the front desk clerks, an exasperated look. God forbid people actually call Danny by his job title.

Tiffany shrugs as best as she could from the ground.

"I'm his PA, asshole," Danny snapped.

"Why you—"

"Oh just shut the fuck up!" Scream, well, screams. "He's just some punk kid. The cops will be here any minute, and we still don't know where the fuck Wayne is."

In the most innocent way Danny could manage (and by innocent, he means the most annoyingly straight face he could pull) Danny says, "Do you have an appointment?"

Tiffany face palms. Scream blue-screens. "What."

"Do you have an appointment?" Danny stalled, straining his senses for any sign of the Bat. Really, it shouldn't take Bruce this long to respond. They were literally in his building. "Anyone that wants to see Mr. Wayne needs an appointment."

Michael Myers fumes. "Yeah, I do. It's under do what we say, or I put a bullet in your teeth!"

Danny tilted his head just so. Was that footsteps he heard overhead?

"Interesting name." Danny made a show of pulling out the palm-sized planner he kept in his breast pocket and flipped to today's date. "Is it foreign?"

He made it a habit to keep a physical copy of his boss' agenda as a back-up in case something happened to his work phone. (See: Vlad messing up the work phone he bought Danny after Danny purposefully squeezed in a month's worth of work into one week). If Danny wasn't so sure that Michael "trigger happy" Myers wouldn't shoot Danny's fancy new work phone, he'd have pulled that out instead and called an ambulance for these poor bastards.

"I am going to enjoy hurting you."

The lights overhead flickered.

Danny hissed in mock-disappointment. "Oooh, would you look at that. It looks like Mr. Wayne is fully booked. Guess you can't see him today." He batted his eye lashes, mouth widening in a shit-eating grin. "But luckily for you, it looks like there's an opening with the Batman."

The room was swallowed up by darkness.

The sound of horror villains screaming was music to Danny's ears.

#dpxdc #pa danny au #ficlet #juno writes

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tadpolesonalgae · 8 months

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Azriel x Borrower!reader: The Secret World of Borrowing

A/N: uh, so, yeah…making it so borrowers have little wings in this, so I guess you could just call them fairies at this point.

Warnings: none???? for once??? maybe like bad language if I’m really trying???

Word Count: 3,327

-Part 2-

Anything in excess will do your body no good.

Initially, you had dismissed the thought—living off sugar cubes sounded like absolute heaven. But after about a month of surviving solely off the sweet substance, you’ve begun to dread your next meal.

Your stomach’s rumbling again, so you hop from the burnt out candle pot—cramped as it is—hidden behind a stack of books, perched precariously at the edge of the fae’s desks. So far, you’ve managed to avoid them all, darting behind teacups or ducking beneath the lip of a plate, and soon, you’ll be done with them. Just one more week, and your shimmery, iridescent wing will be fully operational.

It’s already been three since that dreadful storm that had sent you whipping through the air, smacking into the wooden frame of what you’ve now pieced together was a window ledge. From there on, you’d used your small reserves of magic to bind and set your wing, but it’s been lessening your healing powers—hence the exacerbated pain and elongated recovery time.

Slowly, carefully, you peek out from behind the towering stacks of parchment, spotting the sugar jar that’s kept on the desk. A quick scan of the room tells you the fae that inhabits it is not around at the moment. While you’ve made a point of remaining hidden and out of sight, you’ve noted a few peculiar things about the male. There’s a strange darkness that wafts around him, a bleakness that surrounds his wings—great things, that stick out from his back and loom over his shoulders! He has an odd sort of schedule, too. Blasted male. He often works late into the nights—confining you to your too-small candle pot that’s cramped, and stuffy, and really not good for your healing wing.

But you can blame him for all those wrongs until the day you die—for now, your keen nose is picking up a delicious smell. Doing another scan, you peek out further, to spot a plate laden with food.

Dear Mother, it’s one of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen. You ignore the meat at the side, instead staring at the beans, and salad, and beside the plate— Berries! You could dance, leap for joy, cry, or sob, at the welcomed sight. You rush out, darting over the grain of the wooden desk. The small, glass bowl comes up to your stomach—a little taller than the plate—and you eagerly grab a berry.

The food is still warm though, which means he will likely be returning at some point soon. You turn, scanning the flat expanse of his desk. There’s a metal-looking container, housing some ink pens. That will do perfectly well should he return.

You open your mouth, poised to chomp down on the berry, when the hairs on your neck rise. Then something snags your ankles, pulling you off balance. A tiny scream spills from your lips as you drop the berry, face smacking into the desk. Quickly, you flip over, ignoring the blood dripping down your upper lip. It’s that darkness he’s always wrapped in, but—why is it bothering you? You didn’t know it could detach from him? That’s unfair!

You shoo it away, kicking your legs but it curls higher, tentatively. You snarl, writhing more frantically as it creeps up your knee, over your thigh. A growl rips from your throat in warning, but it doesn’t listen. Instead, more darkness swells, wrapping up your hips and around your waist. You shriek in anger, practically vibrating as the shadows press and push at your skin.

The final straw comes when you receive a pinch on the ass, red colouring your vision as magic wraps around your hands and you grip a strand of darkness firmly, yanking it off your body as if it were some weak rope. The darkness twitches, writhing in your hand, suddenly desperate to get away from you. “That’s what I thought,” you snap, indignantly, tossing it off you.

It slinks away, once again leaving you to the berry. You huff, wiping your nose on your forearm, attempting to get rid of the blood. But then you’re knocked into from behind, making you stumble. The shadows coil, springing forward, tackling you to the wooden desk as they keep you pinned. You struggle and writhe, worried about what this position will do to your wing, but then you hear the ominous scuff of boots in the hallway.

Panic surges in your chest, and you once again coat your hands in magic, but the shadows have learned from last time, shackling your wrists to the wood so you’re unable to touch them. You snarl in fury, pushing the magic to your mouth as you sink your teeth into the shadow. It twitches and jerks about, but you hold fast. The constraints remove themselves from your wrists, and you take the chance to flip the shadow over—the others that had been holding you down skittering away, scrambling for cover.

With your hands now free, you keep it pinned to the table, slamming your magic coated fists into it, beating it off you until—

Reinforcements have come, and they’re dragging you off the smaller shadow that’s twitching and flickering. “Let me go!” You snarl, tugging against the restraints, “it started first! Let me finish it!”

The door swings open, and you all freeze.

It only takes a second, but then his hazel eyes have landed on you, piercing into your form as he stiffens. His shadows release you, darting away as if they were completely innocent, and then you’re scrambling for cover. You were mistaken though, his shadows didn’t go into hiding. They were grabbing a jar.

You slam into the glass, a fresh wave of blood running down your upper lip as you smack your palms into the glass—to no avail. On the bright side, the berry’s in here with you. You grab it, placing it between you and the edge the desk, between you and the approaching male.

His eyes are marginally widened as he comes to a stop, pausing warily as he takes you in. You go rigid under his scrutinising gaze, crouching down behind the berry. It only comes up to your knees, but it’s better than nothing. A shadow curls over his ear, and you hiss at it, backing as far against the glass as you can, keeping your magic on hand.

Slowly, he pulls out the chair, lowering himself into the seat, still staring at you. You offer him your most scathing glare, trying not to be too intimidated by his size and piercing eyes. “Let me go,” you shout, scrunching your hands into fists over the berry. His features shift into mild shock, or surprise. “You can…talk.”

You don’t lessen your glare, instead you make it harder. “Of course I can talk, you blithering idiot! Why wouldn’t I be able to talk?” You snap furiously, nails sinking into your palms. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, bracing his fingers on the table. Your eyes dart to his hands, cringing further back against the glass.

He lowers his hands, and you stop trying to push through the jar.

“You…what are you?” He asks, settling his hands on the wooden chair arms. Your nose wrinkles as you stare at him for a long moment. Then, “I’m a Borrower,” you spit out, “and you have no right to keep me here. None. So let me go.”

Again, he shifts in his chair, those great, powerful wings at his back catching in the light, showing off the gilt looking membrane of the inner skin. “You’re a what?” He asks slowly, as if your size would somehow interfere with the speed you hear. “I’m a Borrower. And I’m not dim. I can hear you perfectly fine. Just a bit muffled through the glass,” you snap pointedly, eyeing the confinement he’s trapped you in.

He’s quiet for a while, and your heart spikes. What’s he going to do with you? With his size, and shadows, a number of cruel fates await, all because you’re a little too small for him to consider a life form. He raises his hand to rub over his mouth, appearing in thought. Then, “you’re the creature the made those little footprints, aren’t you.”

You blink, caught of guard, “I— What?” He nods his head, as if confirming something. “You got stuck in the gravy, didn’t you? That’s where those marks came from.” You flush with embarrassment, baring your teeth at him, “it’s your damn fault for swamping your food in that rutting sauce,” you snarl viciously, remembering how the gloopy liquid had come up to your thighs in some places. It had taken a lot of work to get clean again.

He nods quietly, watching you with those piercing hazel eyes of his that make you want to curl up in your candle pot. “I’m Azriel,” he says at last, making you jump. “What’s your name? Or are you just called Borrower?” He inquires, seemingly earnestly. It doesn’t stop the fumes pouring from your pointed ears, “is my name Borrower?” You repeat, rage building in the pit of your belly.

“Insolent! Arrogant! The lot of you!” You shout at him through the glass, magic flaring in your palms, but you tamp it down. “We have names, just like you. How would you like it if we all insisted on calling you by your kind’s name?” You snap aggressively. His brows raise a little at your outburst, raising his palms in what you guess is supposed to be a calming gesture. Red tints your vision, “don’t you try and placate me! Condescending brute!”

“I meant no harm,” he says, “but I want your name. So I know what to call you.”

You hesitate, pausing your rampage. “Why should I tell you my name?” You ask, eyes narrowing on the male. He makes another calming gesture, and you settle a little, “I’m not trying to antagonise you—you’re a creature I’ve never even heard of before, so I’m going about this as logically as possible,” he replies smoothly. You deflate a little at how genuine he sounds. “So,” he says, sensing your mood calm, “what is your name?"

Your head dips down for a moment, hands wringing in your lap as you keep near your berry. “I…I don’t know,” you stammer, softly. His brow furrows in confusion, “what do you mean you don’t know?” Your eyes flit about, darting away from his. “My mother… I can’t read. She wrote my name down for me, so I would never forget it, but I was never told what it was.” You laugh quietly to yourself, “three hundred years, and I’ve never gotten the chance to learn. Or ask…” His eyes soften at your harrowing tale.

“I could read it,” he offers. You peer up at him with wide eyes. “Provided it’s in a language I know,” he adds, hastily. You suppress the urge to snap at him that you have the same language, why would it be written differently? Instead dip your head almost imperceptibly.

You get to your feet, hesitantly making your way to the front of the clear glass jar. He leans in closer to be able to see and you reach into one of your pockets, then pull out your fisted hand, holding it out toward the glass. Azriel squints a little as he peers closer, hoping to at least give you the knowledge of your name…and after three hundred years, too.

Daintily, you raise your middle finger, effectively flipping him off, “eat shit and die, asshole.”

Silence stretches between you, a storm brewing in the air, and you tense, waiting for him to break upon you. But then he huffs out a puff of air, and his eyes are crinkling and he’s laughing, chuckling softly to himself. You stare with wide eyes, tiny finger still raised in defiance as he laughs to himself.

You flush with indignation—he should be furious! “Hey!” You snap. “I don’t know what the hell you’re laughing at. It’s not funny.” He laughs harder, hiding his face in his the crook of his elbow and you watch his shoulders tremble as he attempts to control himself. “Hey!” You repeat, a little bewildered, “Azriel!”

After a few moments, and a few more deep breaths, he raises his head so he can peer at you. You take a few shuffling steps back away from him, returning to your berry. “If you won’t tell me your name,” he says, smiling faintly, “will you at least tell me what you were getting into a scrap about with my shadows?”

“They attacked me first,” you snap at him, scowling. His eyes flick over your bloody nose, “you were stealing my food.” You narrow your eyes at him, “I was hungry.”

“So you thought stealing was a good idea?”

“You shouldn’t leave food out where nasty little Borrowers can get their grubby little hands on it,” you counter, folding your arms over your chest.

He pauses, eyes running over you properly. “Why are you in my room?” You know he marks the way you stiffen, but you force every ounce of nonchalance you have into your body as you shift your weight to one hip, examining your nails that aren’t as clean as you would like. “Because I seem to come by a lot of free meals.”

It’s his turn to furrow his brows, leaning closer, examining you, “how long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to know you’re a cranky old bastard who’s so obsessed with his work he’s unable to notice when a little thing like me sneaks in,” you reply smoothly, holding your own as he stares at you. He nods again, “a while, then.” You nod, giving him a smarmy little smile.

He leans forward more, resting his cheek on his forearm as he looks at you sidewards. Gods—he’s so much bigger than you. “Where have you been relieving yourself, then?” You’re stunned for a moment, before you dig your nails into your palms, stomping forward to the edge of the glass cage. “In your food,” you snarl angrily, flushing at the rude question. His lips quirk up at that, crossing his arms over the desk as he rests his chin on the table, “I’d been wondering what that sweet flavour was.”

“You crass, brazen, pig,” you snap indignantly, absolutely appalled.

He chuckles again, seemingly enjoying getting under your skin. “You Big Ones are all the same,” you hiss. “You’re rude, disgusting, and have no concept of manners.” He blinks as you blow off some steam, going on a rant that matches your size. “Big Ones?” He asks, “is that your name for my kind?” You nod in response, a stern dip of your chin. “So are you a Little One, then?” He asks, mildly pleased when your lip curls back from your teeth. How can something so small carry so much anger in her little body? He’s surprised you can fit it all in. “Don’t call me that,” you snap, plumes of smoke practically shooting from your little ears, “it is rude.”

His smirk widens, “what about Tiny? Or Goblin?” Your lips part in astonishment, “I am not a goblin.” A tiny foot stomps down on the desk. “You might be a goblin,” he says, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes. “They’re old wives tales. Folklore, nothing more,” you snap indignantly, tapping a tiny, impatient foot on the wood. “I don’t know what they look like,” he reasons.

You scowl at him, “they’re ugly little things.” He smiles a little, a single dimple appearing beside the edge of his mouth, “they could be lovely, little things with ugly tempers.” You snarl at the taunt, practically vibrating with anger.

“Is this how you’re going to torture me? By boring me to death? Pretty unimaginative, if you ask me,” you snarl, nails digging into your palms as you glare at him. He regards you silently; it’s an effort not to shift beneath his gaze. “What makes you think I’ll hurt you?” He asks softly, watching from beneath dark, silky locks that curl over his brow. You narrow your eyes at the male suspiciously, “it’s what you do. Don’t try and make a fool out of me. I know your kind’s tricks.”

His frown deepens, watching you in his glass jar. “I’m not going to hurt you, or torture you, for that matter,” he says at last. It’s your turn to frown, “you’re letting me go?” His eyes narrow a little as he peers at you closely. “Do you want to stay?” You take a subconscious step away from the edge of the jar, then shake your head.

Azriel sighs, then removes the confinement, releasing you back into the world. “Go on,” he says, nodding to the window. “Get a move on.” You flush, eyeing the distance from the opening far above to the level of his desk—to your eyes, at least. Turning back to him, you scowl, “I’m not even allowed my food?” He arches a single brow, lips quirking at their corners, “I would have thought you’d be leaping at the chance of freedom.”

“Well, I don’t want you watching me,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest standoffishly. He smirks, “oh yeah?”

You scowl. “Yes.”

He leans back in his seat, wings flexing at his back, making your working one twitch in response. “So it’s nothing to do with the bandage around you wing, there?” He points, and you try to tuck them in tight, but a spike of pain licks up your spine, making you bite your lip. You shake your head adamantly, “I’m fine.”

He hums in response, and before you know it, his shadows have you by the waist, the ankles—everywhere. You shriek with anger as he lifts you into the air, depositing you back into the jar, this time with it the correct way up. His shadows give you an unfriendly shove once you’ve settled, and you snap your jaws at them, making them hurriedly scuttle away.

“So if I leave you now, you’ll be gone when I return?” He asks, brow raised in silent taunt—he knows something’s wrong. You narrow your eyes, but say nothing. Amusement gleams in his gaze, triumph and satisfaction quietly mocking you as you scowl.

He rolls his shoulders, muscle shifting beneath his leathers, “I don’t think I can trust you not to go through my things, or to try and escape only to get yourself killed in the process…” He drawls. “How long until it’s healed? You can stay until you’re ready for flight.”

You’re too stunned to speak.

He’s offering to…help you?

Can’t be.

“In exchange for what, exactly?” You ask warily, squinting at him. He laughs a little at that, and you’re confused why. “Can’t it just be for the pleasure of your wonderful company?” He asks, deep voice lilting with mirth. Still, your brow narrows into a scathing glare, “you want me for your pleasure? Is that it?” You spit out, feigning fury even as terror warms your lower belly.

His grin widens, “with your size? What could I ever do with you?” He inquires, laughing, “have you run up and down my skin with those tiny, bare feet of yours?”

A wild flush warms your cheeks at the image, making you snarl. “Laugh all you want. I know what your kind is like.” He gives you a challenging look, “pray tell.”

“You’re crass, cruel, and lewd. You won’t trick me,” you declare.

“‘Crass, cruel, and lewd,’ huh?” He repeats, smiling faintly, leaning in a little, “sounds like a good night, to me.”

Your jaw drops open, rendered speechless. Then red is seeping in, and magic coats your hands as tiny fists slam into the glass. “Big! Arrogant!” You snarl, fractures spiderwebbing through the jar.

“You’re going to rot in hell for that, Azriel!”

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

#Azriel #Azriel x reader #Azriel shadowsinger #The Secret World Of Borrowing #TSWOB #TSWOB Part 1

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nexusnyx · 1 year

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i'll tell you my sins | b.b.

SUMMARY: If religion was the safe haven where Bucky found reasons to be alive and see the good in this world again, loving you was where he found the freedom to be more than just expectations once again. Human emotion, connection and need more than anything else. Also, devotion. Bucky already understood that one, but with you, it reached heights he never dreamt of before.

⚠️ This work is intended for 18+ audiences. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex. Religious theme. Smut. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, or reuploaded on any other platform. | WC: [7.2k]

part one

The sound of a storm, pouring heavily outside with wind howling, knocking against the windows, and being as loud as the skies allow, it was now tainted. Painted. It would never be the same for you.

Not when it was the soundtrack to Bucky standing right behind you, his whole body's front glued to your back, one arm wrapped around your shoulder as his hand held your face in his hand, and the other arm wrapping around your middle, his other hand busy making a mess of every cell in your body. Touching you. Buried inside your panties, his fingers circling your clit or dipping inside of you.

His breath on your ear and the stubble rubbed on your neck and cheeks turned you delirious. A whole month of doing nothing more than a few kisses and in one night, he does this.

In your ear, Bucky groans. "So good like this. I missed hearin' the little noises you make," his mouth kisses the part that it can reach of your face, and you want to tell him to speed up, but then remember what brought you to be bent over his kitchen counter with Bucky turning your reality to something mellow, and red, and sinful:

"I just wanna see you feel good for a little. I wanna touch you. Can I? Can I take my time just... touching you?"

That's when you learned Father James would be the death of you.

It all started because you decided to help him clean after the Church's latest event instead of going home.

Bucky accepted your help, and you two managed to update one another on your week as you helped him around the Church. Outside, the sky did its watercolor dance throughout the last hours of the daylight, and you two smiled and flirted while moving boxes, cleaning the kitchen, and discussing yourself as well as others.

After what happened at the confessional, Bucky had done what he said he would:

Took you on dates. Picked you up, asked you more questions now that were not only about the world and the wonders, and 'did things the right way'. For the past month, you got to know more of him than you did in a whole year.

It was fun. Exciting, emotional, and nerve-wracking.

Bucky's eyes on you made you feel things you thought could only be felt in books or movies—the way he looked at you sometimes did that.

The things he said.

"It's kinda hard for me to let... people in. Most of the time. But not with you."

"I like it when you tell me these things that go through your mind. No, really—don't look at me like that. I do. I meant it when I said I liked you, and you are who you are with all those things. Knowing what goes on inside that pretty head makes me... happy. ... Even if you can be a cute lil' weirdo sometimes."

All those things—the dates, phone calls, the kissing.

Bucky deserved for you to try and do the impossible too and allow yourself to try.

That's what you're thinking about when the noise amplifies out of nowhere outside the heavy wooden doors.

Not expecting a flood pouring from the sky, both of you are caught off guard:

Bucky only takes public transportation, you came with a ride: the only solution is to go for it; you two run until the bus stop and, soaked to your bones, opt for you two to get down at his place which is closer than yours.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder right there, in the middle of the bus where anyone could see, and got as close to you as possible.

"Your mouth's so pale," he told you. It made your gaze drop to his lips, too, and you understood what he meant.

You nodded. "Yup." Yours too.

Bucky chuckles then kisses your temple. "My bad. You stayed to help me."

Even with the chill in the air freezing your fingertips, your chest warms up for a second. "It's ok, Buck. I stayed 'cause I wanted to."

"Thanks, dove."

Fuck. He used the nickname so rarely now that you shuddered when it came, and you were thankful you could blame it on the cold. If Bucky noticed the electricity running higher in you for a second, he kept quiet about it.

You should have seen it then on the bus.

The way the world diminished until only the two of you existed.

You'd been there before and yet, you missed it.

Too lost in how cozy Bucky's words and gesture of holding you made you feel, you missed all the cues, and when you realized that both of you had set up and walked into the Universe's trap again, it was too late.

Bucky welcomed you into his house with you two shaking so violently that all you wanted was some whiskey, to be quite honest.

"Stay put," he told you the minute you two walked in.

Then, he started removing as many clothes as possible right at the door.

Right, you remembered. My little neat freak.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you ignored it. Bucky took off his black pants, sweater, t-shirt, and socks, leaving nothing but his underwear on, and put down his shoulderbag there with all the wet clothes, then padded softly upstairs.

That's my cue, I guess.

You did the same as him after waiting a few minutes, giving him time to switch to warm and dry clothes and pick out some for you.

After you two were changed and the wet clothes were in the dryer, Bucky looked at you standing there in front of the door still.

He frowned.

Then you realized you never really came inside his house.

You two always hanged outside, or in the year.

When Bucky extended his hand, you walked in trying not to be too obvious about how giddy it made you feel.

"I'll heat up some of yesterday's leftover. Is that okay?" He asked.

"Sure." You felt like a caterpillar trapped in the blanket cocoon. Sitting on the chair, you looked around as he rummaged through his kitchen. "I didn't expect this many... stars," you commented.

His house was filled with space things.

Bucky looked over his shoulder and smiled at you. "You're never getting inside my room," he laughed.

You rolled your eyes. The teasing was obvious in his face. "Duly noted, Father.

"D'you want anything else?" He asked.

There was nothing religious-themed in his house, and you felt weirdly relieved as you looked around. "Uh—do you have whiskey?" If there were Jesuses staring down at you from everywhere, you'd reluctantly pick to hang outside every time you came over.

Bucky closed the fridge with his foot, and you learned another neat trick of his crazy moby mobility.

He sometimes did stuff without even looking at them, like he had perfect air.

"You're for real?" He asked, making you look away from the constellation painting he has hanging up on the wall behind you.

"Yeah," you nodded. You gave him a cheeky smile. "Gotta warm my insides."

He gestured dramatically to the leftovers he was putting inside the pan. "What's this?"

"Sustenance," you answered. The smile widened. "I need hot."

In a rare display of cockiness, Bucky gestured at his own body.

Your cheeks flamed, and he laughed at you.

"No fair," you mumbled. It's not like you're giving it to me, a bratty voice said in your brain.

"I'll give you a shot, you pouty thing," Bucky said when he was done laughing. "Gimme a moment."

When you weren't thinking about all the cool things you did know and were learning about him, your mind diverged to his past which he disliked so much and hid in his mind attic.

Where was he from?

Bucky's accent was definitely not from here.

He had an easiness to his step that said big town, too—his cheekiness told you that Bucky's years had been well lived.

Even his leftovers tasted amazing.

What kind of man knew how to take care of themselves so well? Not many, that's who.

"D'you like it?" He asked.

You two sat on the couch finishing your food, and after the two shots of whiskey you both shared, the deluge outside was just great soundtrack.

Bucky's legs tangled in yours underneath the blankets moved a little and his foot poked your thigh. "Answer me," he said, smiling on the corner of his mouth.

As if you hadn't told him already you liked it.

Bucky loved the praise.

"Shut up," you whined, laughing with a mouth full of food. "I'm eating."

He nudged your thigh again, moving your plate. "Your cheeks are red."

"That was really good whiskey."

He did the foot thing again and you yelped when he moved your plate a little too much. "Tell me it's good—"

"Father James if you put that foot against my leg one more time I will bite it." He burst out laughing. "You're gonna make me drop my plate. That's blasphemy."

He laughed harder. "You're impossible."

"And you're a good cook, now shush and let me eat," you said.

He nodded, pleased, and put his empty plate on the center table.

Bucky watched you eat — like a weirdo! your brat teased — and made a few comments every now and then that you agreed with a hum or disagreed with a nose scrunch, and when the food was over, he pulled you to his lap, adjusting your legs on either side of them.

It was the most compromising position you two had been in weeks.

And then he used it to kiss your nose, and ask you, "'You warm, dove?" in a low whisper.

God.

"Yes, I am."

"Good," Bucky leaned his head up, angling for a kiss. "Gimme a kiss and I'll make you hot chocolate."

You felt even warmer if that was possible, but in more than just one place.

His face was so gorgeous.

Flashes of that closed booth and that pretty face between your legs made you shiver.

You hid in a kiss that you tried your best to keep innocent.

Four weeks ago, Bucky had told you, "I wanna take it... slow. So we can... think better, getting into this. Is that ok?" and yes, it was.

But at the same time—hmnm.

He tasted so fine.

When he pulled back from the kiss and smiled, you whined.

"Ah—don't," he warned. "I'm making you hot chocolate even though you're bad and told me my place is decorated like a ten-year-old with a Nasa obsession. No whining."

You snorted, trying to not laugh.

"You're so bad," he said, unable to hide his own smile.

That's how you two ended up in the kitchen for the second time.

You followed him there, too cozy in his presence to be too many feet away from it, and watched as he separated the ingredients: the milk, chocolate — which he was going to grate — and everything else.

You picked up your phone from where it was charging when you arrived and took some pictures. Then, you played some music while he stirred the pot, and you retired the blanket over the back of the couch, not feeling cold anymore.

When the mugs were served, Bucky opened his cabinet, put on the marshmallows in it and slapped your hand away when you tried to pick up yours.

"Ah. It's hot," he warned you off.

You rubbed the sting away from your hand, and stared at him. "Outch," you said.

Bucky was leaning against the kitchen counter.

The black sweatpants were identical to yours, but his navy Harley looked way cooler on him than the black one looked on you.

At least you thought so.

"—enough for you?" Bucky's voice finishes.

Fuck. You were staring.

Licking your lips, you look away from his body. "Huh?"

Bucky arches one eyebrow up. "You didn't hear me?"

Double fuck. You shook your head, feeling hotter out of nowhere.

Bucky nods. "Hm." His eyes rake you up and down. "I said... I know of your sweet tooth, so I wonder if this one will be sweet enough for you?"

There was a lump in your throat.

The energy this man radiated made you weak in the knees. "I'm sure it will," you replied with a weak smile.

On his face, a smile grew like a flower blossoming at night. "So polite out of nowhere..." he comments, feigning wonder. Bucky's head tilts to the side. "No one would believe you mean you were to me on that phone call yesterday."

Shit. Shit, shit shit—you thought Bucky's grunts and extended silences as you got ready to go out with your friends with him on the other side of the phone right after you shower, lotioning up your body, and talking about which outfits you'd wear were just him playing. He talked normally most of the time. You thought he was just going along with your teasings.

(You might've had too much wine before the shower. No one could blame you for teasing him.)

Right now, he looked like he was enjoying something.

You.

"That was me being nice," you said. it came off in a whisper.

Bucky stayed in silence for a second, his eyes on your face and his hands gripping the counter behind him. "C'mere," he said.

You walked over, and he held you close to him. One hand on your waist, the other holding your face.

His hand caressed your cheek and time started moving differently as you gazed into each other's eyes.

The air got a little thicker. Static.

Your eyes closed, and your face leaned into the touch.

"I like seeing you happy, dove," he whispered.

Whether it was the nickname or the sentiment behind his words that hit you harder, you were unaware, but the feeling took over at the speed of light: happiness, all over and around you. "Bucky," your whole body dropped against his, and you angled your head in search of a kiss. "You make me so happy."

His lips on his were his answer.

The short, weak grunt on his mouth as he kissed you hard, lips smashed on yours.

He pulls back only to say, "You make me happy too, dove," then he dives right in.

It had been so many days without kissing him like this that you forgot what it was like.

The power that he could have.

The way his kiss deepened with each stroke of his tongue on yours, and how the deeper and more in the rhythm that you two were with one another, the more his body came alive, limb by limb.

First, Bucky stood up straighter, cupping your face in both of his hands, and moving your head to his wish, opening your jaw wider. Then, his hand flew to your hair, and the other started exploring your body.

It was exactly like the rain pouring outside.

When it all started, it was too late already.

You moan so loud when Bucky pulls your hips to his with force and grips your hair in his fist that it's all fucked from the start.

"Oh," he mutters, a single inch and a string of saliva separating your lips. "Y/n."

"Bucky," his name already sounds like a prayer.

He closes his eyes, and nudges his nose on your face. "Baby..."

The way he extends the word makes you realize how hard you're holding onto him. Your hands grip his shoulders so tight that your fingertips hurt a little, but all you want is a little more.

Then, Bucky whispers. "Dreamt so much of you these weeks." He takes a step forward, guiding your body to where he wants. "It was so hard. So—fucking—difficult," the last three words he punctuates by caging your body against the counter instead of his, then pulling you up by your waist to sit on it, then pulling you by your ass to fit against his body.

You lunge forward like a starving madwoman.

Bucky takes it very well.

He gives back, much to your relief, and to your utmost pleasure.

With his mouth, Bucky manages to answer all the doubts you have not even dared ask yourself, and he tells you his secrets with his hands as they roam you, as desperate for a feeling of your burning skin as you are for him.

When he pulls back, Bucky holds you by the hand fisting your hair at the nape, and the sight of his swollen pink lips is a bit much.

"Dove," he groans.

"What?"

"I'm... I don't know if I'm ready to do anything, but—are you? Because—fuck, I miss touching you so much. It was only once but I miss my hands on you—making you feel good."

"Bucky, please," you nod, desperately. "Please."

He smiles, and nods too. "Yeah?" He confirms. "I just wanna see you feel good for a little," he says, starting to leave a trail of kisses on your neck. "I wanna touch you," he licks your earlobe in his mouth and hears chuckles when you whine like a cat made of puddy in his hands. "Can I? Can I take my time just... touching you?"

"Please," you beg.

"Okay, dove." There's one more kiss on your neck before he pulls you down from the counter. "C'mere."

That's when Bucky turns you around and presses your back against his front, bending you over the counter a little. He holds your upper body up with his left arm wrapped around your shoulders, his left hand gripping your chin and moving to his waiting lips while his right hand is doing the most.

On your sides, under his shirt, and on your breasts, getting a feel of them, pinching and grazing your nipples like a feather right next.

There's thunder and lightning, and then there's you, whining and moaning like you're in heat before his hand even drops to your panties.

Your soaked through panties.

"Oh, god, oh my god," Bucky mutters under his breath.

Bucky can fit one and then two fingers between your folds with ease due to how wet you are.

He tells you as much. "All of this for me, dove?" He asks, breathless. Your neck is going to be a red mess tomorrow—his kisses, teeth sinking on your neck and shoulders, the beard he keeps rubbing on you like he's a wolf and you're his to mark—it'll be a mess, and you whine even louder at the thought of it.

He takes that as your confirmation.

"So good for me," Bucky kisses your cheeks like he's thanking you. "Still your hips. I'm in no rush," he laughs.

He sounds like he's having so much fun. If it's possible, that aids in making you even wetter.

You can feel the outline of his cock through both the sweatpants pressing against your ass, and Bucky's hips buckle sometimes, grinding minimally against you.

If there's one thing to get on your knees for and thank this evening is how strong this man is underneath all his clothes.

Bucky spreads your legs apart wider with his feet and then goes to town.

He starts on your clit, with a light, but speedy touch. It's certainly a quick way to get your pussy clenching and begging for more in minutes. It makes your hardened nub so sensitive that you start begging under your breath for more, and Bucky ignores you for a couple of minutes until out of nowhere, he slips a finger inside of you.

You moan, happily, leaning your weight on his arm, in the direction of the counter.

Bucky's hips grind on you again, and then there's one more. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, fucking you with them properly until he stops, pulls them out and grabs your cunt with his whole hand, getting a feel of how drenched you are. Spreading your slick on his palm.

His breath on your ear and the stubble rubbed on your neck and cheeks turned you delirious. A whole month of doing nothing more than a few kisses and in one night, he does this.

In your ear, Bucky groans. "So good like this. I missed hearin' the little noises you make," his mouth kisses the part that it can reach of your face, and you feel like you're gonna cry.

He circles your clit more, and you want to grind back against them, but even in your delirious state, you remember what he said.

"Please," you cry. The only thing holding you up is his arm and his hand between your legs. "Please."

"Please what?" He says as he slowly pushes his middle finger in, curling it in the perfect spot.

"Fuck!"

Bucky sighs happily on your neck, and goes, "Hmhm," with another chuckle.

He enjoys this, and it's in the next few minutes you understand why:

In this position, Bucky can take all the time in the world.

He can go back and forth between fucking two or three fingers deep inside your cunt, moaning alongside you when you start filling his kitchen with your pleas of his name and your near-screams and then playing with your clit as he pulls you back from an impending orgasm.

His hand won't get tired like this; his wrist won't crane in a weird direction.

When your orgasm comes, it's a tsunami.

Bucky edges you three times before your body can't take it and you cum with a scream, chanting his name as your body convulses, legs shaking violently as you cum, probably more than once with how he doesn't stop.

He lets you come down from your high.

Bucky holds you up with his arm around your waist, pressing several kisses on your nape, and down your back.

The whispers of, "Did so good for me. You're amazing," are repeated until you hear them.

Bucky waits until you look back over your shoulder before he pulls his hands from inside the pants, and instead of going to wash them, he licks them.

"Oh my god," you whisper.

He shrugs his shoulder at you, and licks his fingers clean. "Hmmm," he hums. Don't say it, don't say— "You taste good."

Your cunt pulses at the words, and you hate yourself for wanting even more.

Can your legs move? No. Do you still wish to wrap them around his waist and sit on him, again?

"Shut up, Father."

Bucky laughs, "Alright. I see how it is," he kisses your cheek, and your lips. "I—" he takes a deep breath. "Am going to shower. You—hot chocolate. Drink it." He kisses your nose. "I'll be back."

You nod. "Ok."

Don't look, don't look, don't look.

You have to repeat the words to yourself as Bucky walks away to take care of his own problem. You'd call it 'little problem' if you hadn't felt that problem inside of you, and knew that there was nothing little about it.

Or about how much of a problem he was. To your health, at least—feeling this hot shouldn't be normal.

You get your mug of hot cocoa and put his inside the microwave for when he comes out, then go back to sit on the couch.

With your brain too fuzzy from the orgasm, most of Bucky's absence goes into white noise. Then, when you hear the shower turning off, your brain turns on.

It doesn't shut up when he comes back, or when he heats up his cocoa and sits behind you on the couch again.

"Watch something?" He asks, making himself comfortable as your couch pillow.

You shake your head. "Hm." If he loves hearing the thoughts in your brain so much, then he might not hate you for asking this. "Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I do something... wrong... that day?" You ask.

Bucky lowers his drink, and he has a hot cocoa mustache. "What?"

You wipe it off with your thumb, sucking it in your mouth. "That day. Confessional day."

Bucky puts his mug on the table and turns your body to the side a little so you two can look at each other. "You did absolutely nothing wrong that day. Why would you think that?"

"Because... my head likes to overthink?"

He narrows his eyes, but within a second, a look of realization dawns on him. "Right. Y/n—me wanting to take it slow has nothing to do with you, dove." He cups your face in his hands. "Please don't think that. I promise you it doesn't. It's gotta do with me."

"And I can't help you with it?"

He shakes his head. "Not really, no."

"How are you so sure of it?"

"Because you can't change the way my brain's wired, cute thing," he chuckles. His fingers caress your cheeks, then tuck your hair behind your ear. Bucky likes to touch you as he thinks. "I can, though. And I'm trying to."

Still feeling lost, you frown. "What's wrong with your brain's wiring?"

Bucky takes a moment to look at you before he answers the question, searching for something in your eyes. If you mean the question, you imagine. When he nods, all serious and taking a deep breath, you know you were right.

"A lot," he chuckles, deprecatingly. "But when it comes to this—to sex, it was never so bad. At least I think not. See... I wasn't interested in many people in my life, but I guess that even with the ones that were just a fling, I was always a bit... aggressive. Dunno if that's the word. Rough, maybe. And I know all of them liked it—I'm not—you know. They asked for it." Like you did, your mind provides. "But I always wondered why I didn't wanna all that sweet love-making stuff most people do. Never thought too much about it. Just enough to feel a little like a dick sometimes. Now... I don't wanna be like that with you, dove." He pierces you with his blue oceans, looking at you earnestly. "You mean too much for me to think about you and my brain to just use these—these degrading shit. You know?"

The words sink in slowly, like a body at the sea.

As they do, one single thought forms in your brain:

Am I this man's damnation?

To put it simply, you're turned on once again.

"Bucky..." give me a second to think.

He does it without you even asking for it.

It's a power he has—delivering your needs regardless of words.

"Okay." You take a deep breath, too, and then sit face to face with him, both of your hands laid on his chest. "I'm gonna try to... explain the way I see things, and then you tell me if they make sense to you, okay?"

Bucky takes a moment, then nods. "I'm listening."

Good. You swallow the knot his words twisted in your throat. "Bucky, I feel like... there's a lot of negative connotations on certain feelings we have, and they were placed there by people who want to weaponize our very fucking... human experience. You know? Like—how we're not allowed to be too curious, or how they make being educated so difficult, and how sexuality which is the most normal thing in our species became an issue, and then a... thing to repress." You swallow an even thicker knot, this time for being talking about the very institution for which he works. "Does that make sense to you?" Because continuing if that doesn't would be hard.

You see Bucky licking his lips, eyes going around his living room, but as they come back to you, there's knowledge there. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

"Okay. Good. See—I hated myself for years growing up because I was never a very 'sexual' person or whatever the fuck that means, and I had to deal with everyone judging me for it. 'Prude', or 'virgin', or 'is there something wrong with you' or whatever. And then!" You laugh, humorlessly. "Then, when I started to be active because I wanted to and I found who and what makes me feel good, I was judged again. For being sexual, and for being safe about it, and for educating myself and other people around me on it. And then it hit me! They're gonna fucking hate me no matter what."

And I won't live like that.

You touch Bucky's cheek, running your fingers on his bear. "I'll never ask you for anything you don't want to give me. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. Here's the bottom line: what you want to give me, is mine to accept or not, Father James," you whisper. "I don't care if you think... I wanna ruin her. I don't care if you wanna wrap your hands and choke me 'till I can't breathe when you're manhandling me around like I'm a doll—like I'm yours, because if you're doing that, I wanted it too."

The blue that once was the majority is now nothing but a string.

There's very little light streaming through his tiny glass windows so high above in the living room, most of the illumination coming from the kitchen, but you can still see it.

He closes his eyes, shaking his head at you, and the knots start spreading to your stomach before Bucky leans in closer. "How on earth did I find you."

From the way it comes out, it sounds more like he's talking to himself than to you.

"Do you get what I mean?" you ask, feeling his breath on your face. "Those things can't be bad, or your 'brain wired wrong'. They're just—desire. A lot of it," you chuckle, breathless. You can feel it between your bodies—desire, licking its way up like the heat of the sun permeating through the skin. "And I want you too. If you ask me and I'm being honest here... I wanna ruin you sometimes."

Faster than you can catch, Bucky's lips are on yours and he's got your body in his hold.

The kiss is something so desperate that it's more you two biting and licking each other's mouths and kissing, but it's what you two as Bucky holds your legs around his waist and guides you to his room.

He had piggybacked you before.

"Aren't I a little to heavy for this?"

The deadpanned look he threw you almost made you whimper. "Y/n. I carried a backpack with your weight for hours roaming the desert with an arm almost as tall as you on my front. Hop on my back and shush, please."

"What?"

"Your feet's getting more swollen. Hop on, dove, Jesus Christ."

That had been how you discovered his past involved being drafted. It made you shut up now at least whenever he wanted to carry you.

There's no time for you to tease him about any decor because you're too busy pushing him against the wall and dropping to your knees the second he walks in and shuts the door behind him.

"Fuck," he looks up, rubbing his face with his hands. "I thought I couldn't get hard this fast anymore," he laughs at himself.

The hushed reminder that Bucky's in his forties hits you in the face.

So does how hard his cock is in his sweatpants.

He had taken care of his erection earlier on in the shower — you presume — and that thought brings you joy because it means you can taste him as much as you can, and he probably won't cum from it.

"You wanna do this?" Bucky asks as he watches you pull his dick free, sucking air between his teeth. "Fuck."

"I really wanna do this."

"Okay," he nods. "Here. I'll hold it for you," he grabs all of your hair, gathers it in one hand, and then secures it in his grip.

You guide the tip of his cock to your lips and it's inevitable.

His cock is so pretty. Dicks can be so ugly, but Bucky is so damn thick, and he's long — but not long enough that it feels like he's poking your stomach — and the tip starts leaking with your kitten licks on it.

Bucky's great at receiving head just like he's great at giving it.

He keeps his hips still at the start as a gentleman's courtesy: he gives you time to get all of his cock wet with your licks, sucking it into your mouth and pooling drool on your tongue for a better glide. You like this wet, and messy, and if his increasing groans are an indicator, so does he.

The praise doesn't lie, either.

"Look at you, dove." You love how awed he sounds. "Oh. You suck dick as well as you take it—yeah, like that." He looks at you, but sometimes gets lost when you start bobbing your head; his neck cranes back, and he groans to the ceiling. "F-Fuck—oh, your mouth's so wet. No, no—slower... yeah, like that. Wanna feel the tip sliding down your throat. Sounds so good. Suck harder—o-oh my fucking god, you take instructions so—fucking—well."

Bucky fucking your throat makes your hand fly between your legs in a desperate search for some relief, but he catches the motion somehow even with his eyes closed and he laughs.

"Nuh-uh, you better take that hand off." Bucky pulls his cock out of your lips and holds it an inch away from your face. "Did I tell you that you could touch yourself?"

Fuck.

"No, Father."

Bucky's dick twitches right in front of your face. He sighs, angrily, and lets go of his dick to grip your chin and make you look up to his face. "Then don't do it. I'm the only one to touch that cunt. That's all mine, dove. To make it cum, to touch, to make it feel good. Mine. Understand?"

You nod, "Yes, Father."

"Good, precious thing." His hips move slightest, and his dick is close enough that you can guide it back to your lips. "Yes," he groans, loudly. "Suck me really nicely, dove, and I'll ruin you like I've dreamt of."

If there is one truth, it's what James said: you are very good at taking directions and orders.

Guided by the grip he has on your hair, you let Bucky dictate how deep you should be and serve the purpose of being on your knees like this: eyes closed, sucking and bobbing your head on his cock with tears pooling in the corner of your eyes when you hear him lose himself in the pleasure and moan brokenly, calling your name.

It sounds divine.

When Bucky gets enough, he pulls all the way out, and then looks at you with drool running down your chin and your eyes teary and glazed, and he smiles.

"So beautiful," he whispers.

You close your eyes at the praise, clenching your thighs together.

"Get on the bed, dove."

Getting up on wobbly legs is difficult, but you manage. His bed is a queen size, thankfully, and when you lay on his white sheets, Bucky climbs between your legs, stripping you item by item.

"You have no clue how much I missed feeling you," he tells you.

"I do, I have," you whine.

"Poor dove," he coos. "You missed me, hm? Missed feeling my hands on you making you feel so good your smart brain goes a little stupid? Missed me stretching you out so nice you can't think?" When he has you naked and writhing on the bed, he starts taking his own clothes. "We were so irresponsible last time, dove. I just gave you all my cum because you asked so nicely, and I shouldn't have. Not without us talking first. I have condoms here, and also my latest medical check if you wanna confirm that I'm clean for—"

"I believe you," you tell him, sounding desperate. "I do. Please? I don't wanna hear a sermon, Father. I wanna feel you."

You notice the mistake of your words as soon as they're out and Bucky's eyes darken even further.

"What did you just say?" he asks in a lower, interested tone. Bucky kicks his pants outside of the bed and climbs on top of you. "Repeat."

Fucked before you're even fucked. "I—I said I wanna feel you."

Bucky grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him, and slaps your right ass cheek, hard. "Don't be a smartass with me."

It burns, and you moan. "I said I don't wanna hear a sermon, Father James. Want you inside me," you finish in a pathetic whimper.

Bucky takes a deep breath, and you hear him going tsk tsk close to your face. You open your eyes to see his smile.

"Get on all fours," he commands in a whisper, one hand cupping your face.

It takes you a second to digest it, but you do as he asks.

Bucky gets behind you, much like he was in the kitchen a couple of hours ago. Oh, how far we've come. He nudges your body until you're close to the headboard of the bed, and places all his pillows in front of you.

"Hands flat against the headboard," he whispers in the shell of your ear.

You place them there, your whole body tingling with the anticipation.

"Now, repeat after me: I should not be a fucking brat."

"What?" you ask, breathless.

The head of Bucky's cock brushes between your folds, and you see his other arm coming up, the hand gripping the headboard.

"If you don't repeat my sermon, there's no fucking, dove," he tells you.

Looking over your shoulder, you see he means it.

Bucky would give you both blue balls right now.

"I should not be a brat," you whisper.

He nods, very pleased. You feel the head pushing in, and both of you moan.

"Oh, I missed you," he mutters.

Bucky's got the same courtesy with his hips now as he did with his dick in your mouth—he knows he's thick and you need a minute, which he gives.

His movements start small and slow, gentle rocking of his hips back and forth until he's seated almost all the way in.

When he bottoms out, Bucky covers your back with his chest and you hear his delighted groan coming to rest on your ear shell again. "Say: I'll be good for you, Father."

Your moan comes out choked. "I'll be good for you, Father."

Bucky pulls out, and slams his cock back in.

"Do you want me to ruin you?" He asks, slamming in again.

"Yes!"

"Then say it."

"I want you to ruin me, Father," you beg, arching your back to him and whining like the heat has taken over your brain and fried it to dust.

"Oh, god," this one sounds earnest and honest, and it drapes over your skin like praise that Bucky is affected by this, too. "Say: Fuck the words out of me."

Whimpering, you say, nodding, "Fuck the words out of me. Please, please—"

Bucky does.

He holds onto the headboard of the bed and starts his hard thrusts with a pause between them, but the more you fuck yourself back on his cock, the faster he goes.

Bucky's hand that's on your waist suddenly comes up to your shoulder again, and you moan with nothing but pleasure clouding your brain for the second time that night: it's the same position as earlier, except instead of toying with your cunt, he's getting leverage on his bed to fuck the life out of you.

The words out of you.

"Say: Nothing feels better than this," he demands in your ear, slowing his pace a little.

"Nothing feels better than this—faster, please, please—"

"That's not what I said," he pulls almost all the way out, only his head still inside of you.

You cry, and arching again, your neck leaning on the touch of his hand, you mumble, "Nothing feels better than this," now please.

"Yes," Bucky goes back to fucking you, and neither one is able to stop this time.

He takes out his cock sometimes to slap your pussy and clit with it, and the filthy, wet sounds it makes are perhaps worse than your desperate moaning.

The next time Bucky asks for you to repeat his words, all that comes out is his name and please.

Your favorite prayer.

"Have I done—oh—done it, dove?" He sounds so far gone. His hips are faltering. "You close?"

"Bucky, yes!"

"Good. I wanna see it. Cum on my cock and I'll paint your back with mine."

"Nononono, want it inside me—"

The sharp slap makes you scream. "Don't. Y/n, please—"

"Bucky it feels so good," you babble. "Please, please? Don't wanna feel it? I want it—I need it."

"Fuckfuck," Bucky's hips starts hammering you, and your moans turn into screams. "Want me to breed you, dove? I fucking will."

"YES!"

"Then cum for it. Tell me you're gonna cum," he says over the sound of his hips slapping against your ass.

"I'm gonna cum!" You felt it, coiling around your belly and starting to zap in your brain. "Oh—FUCK! I'm gonna cum, James, James—"

"Do it."

You cum in a scream, and you grip the pillows as tight as your cunt grips his cock when it happens. You feel a few more harsh thrusts inside following but it's so tight that all that Bucky says is, "So—fucking—tight—all mine," before he cums too, deep inside you.

Heaven.

Divine.

All you can do is lay and feel it. So holy.

His touch makes you ascend to places you've never been.

When you come down from the white noise that's inside your brain, you realize you haven't moved.

Bucky has. He's gotten a wet cloth and is cleaning between your legs, and he looks at you peeking at him over your shoulder, smiling at you, shyly.

The audacity.

He goes to his bathroom to throw the towel in the washing bin. He removed all the clothes from the floor too and folded them.

Neat freak.

He lies in bed with you, and pulls you to lay on his chest. "You know, you gotta stop doing that—unless; wait. Do you want babies? Like, now?"

Your eyes go wide and you are suddenly very awake. "No!"

"Oh. Good," he laughs. "Then stop being a menace," he tells you, kissing your lips sweetly.

"It feels good," you mumble weakly.

"Oh, I know." He chuckles, kissing your cheeks and forehead. "We can pretend, though. Don't wanna do stuff we'll regret, dove."

He's right, you think. And you shouldn't take him by surprise.

"Bucky?"

"Hm?"

"Was that... good for you?"

Bucky feels the seriousness in your tone and lifts your chin with a finger.

He smiles, all ocean blue eyes, sedated smile, and pink cheeks. "You make me the happiest I've been, Y/n. And that was heavens above 'good' and you know it," he says.

It makes your chest breathe easy. "Okay... good."

"Now sleep. I'll wake us up tomorrow," he says.

With the rain still falling and him wrapping himself around you like an octopus, that's the easiest thing you had to do all day.

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ventique18 · 1 year

Text

Dreamlike

Malleus x Yuu♀️ (nameless) short one shot.

⚠️ Suggestive warning!

It's a hot summer. For Lilia, summer always makes him think of very specific things: beaches, watermelons, swimsuits. It's the perfect time to enjoy one's youth. Now, he's not actually young anymore to be bothered by such frivolities, but he is bothered anyway. It's because his young master, who is quite literally young and should, indeed, enjoy his youth, is instead spending time cooped up in his musty old library and eating nuts instead of watermelons or mangoes or coconuts.

That simply won't do. So, with the power vested in him as the boy's guardian, he manages to forc--convince him to join a youth summer camp.

Malleus Draconia isn't particularly pleased. But since he's getting bored of the same tomes and scriptures anyway (the scheduled procurement of new books isn't until a few months more), he accepts and uses it as an excuse to loiter around the mountains by his lonesome.

Until one night he isn't quite alone. He isn't sure if it's good or bad fortune, but for the first time in his traditionalist life, he experiences something truly shocking.

He walks in on a woman bathing. In a river, by the forest. Completely, utterly, naked. He watches her a second too long, he's ashamed to confess.

"Like what you're seeing?"

That snaps him back to reality. Flustered, he blinks and his mouth babbles and his hands shift in many different combinations of poses that he dreads the woman might think he's performing an odd sort of avian mating dance.

"No," He speaks quickly, "What I mean is, please do not misunderstand and think that I find you foul or, unattractive. I don't. I do think you're rather fascinating. But it's not that I'm watching you deliberately, goodness no. Please do not be afraid as I do not plan on doing anything more than look. I mean,"

He sucks in a sharp breath. He's not making any rational sense, and he's sounding like a creep, "I am merely curious."

For all his attempts at sincerity, he's failing horribly as he just cannot take his eyes off her.

But she laughs, and with a shake of her head, asks him playfully, "Alright stranger, can you hand me my towel?"

He does, and he almost stumbles from how shaken he is from this whole ordeal.

Much to his surprise, the woman does not think badly of him at all. She, in fact, asks him to come back tomorrow night. Same place, same time. Now, he's no fool and knows better than to fall for such suspicious traps, so he ignores her request and walks through a different trail the following night.

... Until he circles back and finds his feet perching on a familiar stony path; soles drenched and socks dampened by the moonlit water.

There she is, swaying languidly in the clear river. He can fully see every inch and curve of her alluring body, yet she does not bother to hide herself nor reprimand him for his obviously captivated gaze. And whether by pure curiosity or something else entirely, he finds himself wading through the waters and towards her, when she smiles and gestures for him to come a bit closer.

Nothing much happens that night, except for her asking what kind of flower he likes. He answers and asks her in turn if she likes berries, and if she prefers strawberries or blueberries or any other berry. What's your favorite color? Do you take care of any pet? As odd as the situation is, he catches himself looking less and less at the soft slopes of her womanly body and more on the tugs of emotions at the corners of her mouth.

He finds himself visiting her again the following nights. They talk about anything and everything, and very soon he thinks she knows more about him than anyone else he's ever met in his life. He finds comfort in her, and he wonders if she feels the same. He becomes a bit confident that she does, when she asks to touch him a week later.

For the first time in his life, he undresses in front of another not to dress up, but to... simply undress. He cannot fathom what comes over him. But he lets her roam his body, from the tips of his fingers to the ridges of his peculiar horns. From the slope of his nose to the dip of his hip. She stops before she can cross the boundary of appropriate and inappropriate (though one can argue their circumstance is not a very usual one), but rather than taking a step back, she moves forward and asks him,

"Would you like to touch me too?"

He does not reply. He cannot think. And when the head refuses to function any more, it's the heart that takes over the body. He cannot hear anything but the loud thumping of his chest, but he nervously perseveres and places a palm upon her left breast.

Thump, thump, thump.

Is that the blood that runs through his veins, or is that her heart resonating with his, through the red that dusts her cheeks and the fingers that shakily reaches for his own?

Thump, thump, thump.

He doesn't know. He cannot think. Not when her smaller hands intertwine against his much larger ones. Not when her legs coil around his waist, arms wrapping tightly around his back and nails sinking deep across the skin above his spine. Not when his mind is occupied with the soft enamor of her thighs, his fingers squeezing her tightly as he pushes and pulls her against himself; sinful sweat washed away by the unsullied waters.

What a terrifying feeling. He's never felt so out of control. He knows not what he's doing, he has nothing planned out in his head. All he has is this strange electricity coursing through him-- a magnet that draws him to her. He doesn't want to let go. He cannot let go. Not even when a wave of ecstasy crashes through his entire body and threatens to knock him out cold. Not even when they settle on his lodgings and bury themselves in the warmth of sheets and blankets.

Even then, he buries himself in her warmth.

So when he wakes up to find her nowhere to be seen-- not in bed, not in his immediate surroundings-- he no longer feels out of control. He is not in control. The trip has come to an end, and so did his dreamlike encounter.

Only the wanton marks left on his skin are proof that it was, in fact, not a dream.

---

"Malleus, cheer up a bit, why don't you? You wouldn't want to scare your... let me check my notes... Ah yes, your 57th potential wife away, no?"

"And it's the 50th time I am telling you this: no one would ever want to waste an hour with me. Much less a lifetime. You would think the first seven were proof enough."

"Don't you say that! You're a handsome young man, if you would just learn to smile--"

"Enough, Lilia. This is the last time. If this still doesn't work out, I would rather let my bloodline die with me than suffer through any more humiliation."

*click* *creak*

"Hi there, stranger."

"..."

"Like what you're seeing?"

"... You have a lot of nerve, standing me up like that. And suddenly you show up-- out of nowhere-- with a cheeky little smile? This audacity calls for a fitting punishment, don't you think?"

"Ohh, scary. I like it. Lay it on me. Or would you prefer it in me?"

"Witch. You deserve a life sentence. Lilia, take out the marriage papers."

💖💖💖💖

Notes: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ONE PARAGRAPH LMAOOO! I just wanted to share that I like cheesy cliche stories with a bit of sensual flavor and was just gonna share a rough plot. Somehow it turned into a short fanfic HAHAHA

I really really like the thought of Malleus catching Yuu bathing and doesn't really do anything to hide his interest. He's an honest man. It's a staple in any of the MalleYuu AUs in my brain.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twst fanfic

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undreaming-fanfiction · 1 year

Text

A companion piece to my previous Shinedown Steddie thingy.

Eddie's last year was...

Yeah, it just was. It existed. That's the best he can say about it.

Sure, there was a ton of touring, awards, interviews and he really tried to keep it together, he really did. But ignoring that he and Steve were no longer together was about as easy as ignoring he was missing an arm or a leg. Sometimes he wishes he actually lost a body part instead of Steve's love.

But that wasn't exactly true, was it? Because Steve told him he still loved him when he left. And hell, if he didn't feel the same. Still does.

Eddie keeps dodging questions about Steve in interviews. Asks for privacy, for space, but never refuses to answer the simplest question - does he still love Steve? "At this point, I'm pretty sure loving Steve is a part of my DNA," he smiles at the interviewer. "I can't even imagine not loving him, not caring for him. So yes, um...the answer to your question is still yes. It will always be yes."

It took him a while to actually get back to working. The first weeks were something Eddie had never felt before, and he's felt a lot of pain in his life. This? This was almost worse, because instead of something sharp and burning he could focus on, there was just ever-stretching emptiness, with no promise of ending, not now, not ever.

When Gareth basically forced himself through the door of his (and Steve's former) home, he found Eddie curled up in a ball on the bed, smelling like unwashed laundry, dirt and misery. He hadn't showered in about a week or so, only sometimes got up to drink, Steve's voice still ringing in his head - "please don't blame yourself, Eddie. And take care of yourself, okay? I still care about you and I need to know you're going to eat something healthy, drink enough water and sleep. Please, don't take this out on yourself." So that's what Eddie did - once in a while he got up, got a glass of water, nibbled on a cereal bar if he felt like it and tossed the rest in the trash. Then he curled up back in bed, surrounded by the books he loved, used to love, but now couldn't read a single paragraph. He cried the lot the first day, the second too, then less. After a while, he wasn't even sobbing anymore, his tears just did whatever they wanted and the most he was willing to do was flip the pillow so he didn't constantly lie on a wet fabric.

Gareth saved him. It sounds dramatic now, but he really did. He forced Eddie out of bed, opened the curtains and the windows to let fresh air in and sent him to the shower while he ordered pizza. Not the most gourmet and nutritious dish and Eddie kept chewing on his two slices until they grew cold and soggy, but at least he got something warm in his stomach. And as Gareth sat next to him and patiently waited for Eddie to take another bite, come on, just one, he felt a pang of guilt - this was his friend, not just his bandmate. And if Eddie didn't start doing something, he could hurt someone else he loved, their careers, livelihoods.

He promised Gareth to stop by the next day despite Gareth's insistence that he could take as much time as he needed. But Eddie doesn't want to. Steve was already gone so he just had one thing to live for. Well, and Wayne and the kids. But abandoning his work felt like the whole breakup was meaningless and he knew Steve didn't want him to give up on his dream. So he dove back into work and didn't resurface until months later.

The words didn't come at first, but Eddie willed them to, waited for hours over an empty notebook until they seeped through his barriers, bleeding onto the paper. His previous songs were about anger, rebellion, joy of being different. The new ones? They spoke about regret, lost tenderness and love transcending time. He was worried to present them to the band, but they give it a shot and surprisingly, their manager sees the potential. So they go along with it.

During one of their tours, Eddie read the news and his heart did that thing where it squeezed so tight he thought he'd faint. There was a mass accident near the area Steve lived now - Dustin kept updating him, always so convinced they'd find their way back together - and Eddie wondered what if Steve got caught up in it, what if he's one of the victims, what if he'll never get to make things right-

He knew he shouldn't, but he grasped his cellphone in shaky hands and quickly typed.

So sorry, I know I probably don't want me contacting you but I read the news and I got worried. Are you OK?

Just a simple OK is enough

please

just let me know you're fine Stevie

Minutes and hours stretched insufferably and Eddie was already going through the worst case scenarios, but then his phone beeped. He nearly dropped it, but when he read the message, he choked out a relieved sob.

I'm okay

Thank you for checking in, Eddie. Sorry for making you worry

I was helping at the scene, just got home now

Are you okay too?

After that, they kept in touch. Just brief messages, ensuring each other was fine, that Eddie safely landed wherever the tour took him and that Steve wasn't too stressed out from his job and studies, didn't get too much in his head. Small, supportive messages, careful but loving.

And so they're here, almost a year later.

The hole in Eddie's chest is still massive, still bleeding, but he thinks that having Steve in his in any capacity is better than not having him at all. And he'll take anything he can get.

He pours his adoration into his songs, never sending them to Steve, not wanting to pressure him or make him feel guilty, but all the love he still has for him needs an outlet. "The Crow and the Butterfly" just came out and it does fairly well. It makes Eddie feel a bit weird, to expose his feelings so openly, but he will never be ashamed for loving someone. Especially someone as amazing as Steve.

It's late evening and he's home now, even if it still feels half-empty. Working is the only thing that makes sense now and so he's spending his free time perfecting one of the last songs that feels like a small personal breakthrough for him, he feels like he's getting somewhere, maybe closer to acceptance, understanding.

He strums on his acoustic guitar and sings.

Wrap me in a bolt of lightning

Send me on my way still smiling

Maybe that's the way I should go

Straight into the mouth of the unknown

I left the spare key on the table

Never really thought I'd be able

To say that I'll visit on the weekend

I lost my whole life and a dear friend

I've said it so many times

I would change my ways no never mind

God knows I tried!

Call me a sinner, call me a saint

Tell me it's over, I'll still love you the same

Call me your favorite

Call me the worst

Tell me it's over I don't want you to hurt

It's all that I can say

So I'll be on my way

I finally put it all together, nothing really lasts forever

I had to make a choice that was not mine

I had to say goodbye for the last time

I put my life in a suitcase

Never really stayed in one place

Maybe that's the way it should be

You know I've lived my life like a gypsy

I've said it so many times

I would change my ways, no never mind

God knows I tried

Call me a sinner, call me a saint

Tell me it's over, I'll still love you the same

Call me your favorite

Call me the worst

Tell me it's over I don't want you to hurt

It's all that I can say

So I'll be on my way

I'll always keep you inside

You healed my heart and my life

And you know I've tried

Call me a sinner, call me a saint

Tell me it's over, I'll still love you the same

Call me your favorite

Call me the worst

Tell me it's over I don't want you to hurt

It's all that I can say

So I'll be on my way

The tones finish but he's still staring into space, wondering if this is really it, all his life will be.

And then his phone beeps.

Eddie doesn't really want to answer anything or anyone, but he knows Steve had an important exam a few days back so maybe he has the results. And he won't make him wait ever again.

He sees the text and blinks, frozen in place.

What if I told you that you aren't too late, crow?

He can't believe it. But it's Steve's number, it's him, and Eddie is laughing like a madman now, tears streaming freely from his eyes. It isn't a victory, still pretty far from it, but it's like a first stitch for his wound, a promise of healing.

He grabs his phone and quickly types back.

I'd tell you that I'd chase you forever, butterfly, I'd wait as long as you needed. Do you need me to wait longer?

In seconds after answering, his phone makes a sound again, but it's not a message this time, it's a call.

Eddie has never answered a call this quickly in his life.

"Hi," he chokes out and holds the small lifeline to his ear with both hands, as something incredibly fragile and precious.

"No more waiting, Eddie," says Steve and maybe he's crying a little too, from the soft shift in his voice that only Eddie knows from evenings spent together, romantic tragedies and broken friendships on screen giving Steve the same vulnerable tone. "You've finally caught me and I'm...I think I'm ready to be caught, too. If you still want me."

The "yes" that Eddie gives is the first of the two most important ones in his life.

Even if he doesn't know it yet, he will give the same answer two years from now, to kneeling Steve. But that's another story and another song.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie songfic #steddie song rec #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #Spotify

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 11 months

Text

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Prologue

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Prologue Word Count: 4001 Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

~~~

You released a tired, relieved sigh as you and the rest of the team exited the elevator and walked back into the bullpen. You'd just landed back after a week in Utah chasing a serial killer who turned out to be a mormon. He killed in the name of burning out the false children of God from humanity - literally. The Unsub managed to burn six innocent people alive before they apprehended him.

'I cannot wait to go home for a hot bath and a good glass of scotch,' Rossi said, rubbing at the kink in his neck from the sleep home on the plane.

'Ditto,' Alex said. 'James is home for the weekend, and he has promised me some home made pie that I am very much looking forward to.'

You smiled as you reached your desk, the echo of the others adding to the conversation of what they were looking forward to when they got home warming the usually busy room as they passed you. A sense of comfort and relief washed over you as you placed your go-bag on your desk. Hearing all your friends' voices back in the office after a mission was never a guarantee, so you relished every time you heard them, regardless of the conversation.

You looked up when a figure entered your peripheral vision, and that comfort and warm feeling spread further through you when you saw who it was.

'What about you, Y/N?' Spencer said by way of greeting, a soft smile gracing his own tired features. 'What is waiting for you at home on this fine Friday evening?'

You paused to think about it for a second, a content smile tugging at your lips at the thought. 'Well, unless I've been robbed in the last few days, I will be enjoying a nice glass of moscato while I order pasta from the restaurant below my apartment, and snuggle in with my book that I've spent literally months trying to finish,' you said dreamily, the thought of good food and good wine and a good book sounding almost too good to be true. But Garcia had informed the team before landing that no new cases had been submitted and so you had the weekend to yourselves.

'That all?' he asked, amusement dancing on his lips.

You chuckled, shaking your head. 'I know. First Friday night home in DC in a while and I am choosing to stay at home instead. The utter shame of it all.'

You both laughed, and it pleased you to see his amber eyes light up after the long week you'd had.

'I didn't mean that as a bad thing,' Spencer said, brushing a stray curl from out of his eyes. Even though it was the shortest length it'd ever been, some rogue curls still managed to dangle out of confinement every once in a while. 'What book are you reading?'

'Don't laugh at me, but... The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.'

Spencer's brow furrowed curiously. 'Why would I laugh? I love Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's work.'

You shrugged, casually leaning against your desk as you crossed your arms. 'I know, it just seems a little silly that a federal agent is reading some old detective stories.'

'Actually, Doyle was one of the forefathers of detective fiction, as he brought in the concept that the science of deduction isn't just physical evidence but psychological observations. He created a space where all the sciences we know today can help in solving crime, and actually paved the way for more psychological avenues to be taken more seriously in academia and law enforcement. If you think about it, without Sherlock, you and I may not have our jobs as profilers right now.' Spencer paused when he realised he was rambling, and despite your soft, encouraging smile, he saw the tired blankness in your eyes.

Spencer licked his lips before speaking again. 'What I'm trying to say is... I don't think it's silly at all.'

You nodded your thanks although you knew you didn't need to. 'So what about you?', you asked in return. 'What will entertain Dr. Spencer Reid on this "fine Friday evening"?'

His words repeated back to him kept the smile on his face, more importantly the life in his eyes. But he began to fiddle with the strap of his satchel bag, and you couldn't help but notice he slightly swayed. Like he was nervous or something. It was cute.

He was cute.

You forced the rising heat in your cheeks to stay underneath the surface to not give away your embarrassment or your inner thoughts. Thoughts you'd been having since the day you'd met him six years ago. Thoughts that you'd suppressed so as to not interfere with your work, and then later so it wouldn't ruin your hard-built friendship.

When he told you about Maeve, you'd had mixed feelings. Of course, you'd been ecstatic for him that he'd found someone he could be himself with, and even more so when he disclosed to you that no one else knew about her - just you. But you couldn't deny the twinge of sadness that pulled at your heart knowing that that someone he could be himself with wasn't you.

But you hadn't hesitated, hadn't faltered when he'd needed a shoulder to cry on when Maeve was killed. Once he decided to open up and accept help, you were first in line to help keep the young doctor afloat in his sea of grief and loss.

It's been over a year since Maeve's death now, and while she would always remain important in his heart, he had, for the most part, moved on, slowly getting back to be his usual, quirky, logical self.

The past year and a bit has only brought you two closer together, and as much as you have tried to hide how amazing that makes you feel, you've had plenty of conversations with Penelope and others on the team about finally asking the boy wonder out. It's not like you didn't want to, but if Maeve was his type of girl, you just weren't sure you were what Spencer was looking for in a romantic partner. Besides, you were happy with your friendship.

It was by far the most precious relationship you had aside from your family - why ruin it?

You quickly realised you'd both been silent for a while, Spencer still not having answered your question yet. 'Spence?' you prompted gently.

The cute doctor managed to grasp his satchel strap fiercely and ground himself back in the present. 'R-Right. I too have a book at home. The one you got me for my birthday, actually.'

'Oh yes!' The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes. You'd been hooked from the first line, and by the time you finished, all you could think about was how much you thought Spencer would enjoy it. So you instantly wrapped up your own personal copy and waited for Spencer's birthday to roll around. You never told him it was yours, you just hoped he didn't notice the slight bend in the spine or minuscule tears in some pages from you flipping them too quickly. 'I've been meaning to ask you if you enjoyed it or not. I just assumed you'd read it already.'

'We've just been so busy with cases lately. I haven't had time to even consider picking it up.'

You rolled your eyes. 'Come on, we both know you could've finished that book on one of our plane rides.'

He shrugged, eyes dipping for a moment before landing back on you. 'I know. I guess... I just wanted to give it the time and attention it deserved,' he settled on, and the honesty in both his words and his eyes threatened to steal your breath.

A silence that rested between comfortable and awkward settled upon you two. This had happened many times in recent weeks although you weren't quite sure why. Regardless of your hidden feelings and the tragedy of Maeve, neither of you lost your comfortability with one another.

'So... we've both got book dates tonight,' you said in an attempt to break the silence. The rest of the team was still chatting just a little away from them, but it felt like it was just the two of you sometimes when you talked.

'Well, actually, maybe...' Spencer started, and his fingers were twitching again. 'I was wondering if maybe you'd want t-to bring your book over and... join me, tonight.'

The request wasn't an unusual one. In fact, you'd conducted your own mini book club between the two of you on plenty of occasions. Mainly because you both found out you were the kind of people that liked your personal time and space, but didn't like the thought of being completely alone. This wasn't new, but it warmed your heart all the same at the gesture.

'That sounds great, Spence!' you said heartily. 'Give me half an hour and I'll be around at yours-'

'Actually,' Spencer interrupted, 'I was thinking we could grab some dinner together first. You know, like at a restaurant or some place you can sit in at.'

'...Like a date?' you asked softly, breathlessly. The words just kind of slipped from you before you even contemplated how they would affect Spencer. It just felt natural and right.

Your heart pounded like a jackhammer between your ribs, but you were more concerned at what expression Spencer would pull in the next five seconds.

To your relief, he smiled that small little smile of his that spoke volumes of his insecurity but also of his genuine intentions. 'Yeah. I guess it is like a date,' he finally replied.

Oh my goodness. He was nervous. His words were rushed and higher-pitched in tone. but you still managed to understand him, as well as what dinner implied.

A half-smile pulled at your lips. 'Dr. Spencer Reid,' you began softly, half-scared, half-excited to speak the words you'd been holding back for so long. 'Are you asking me out on a date right now?'

At your words, his anxiety seemed to disappear, as he stopped fidgeting with the satchel strap and took a daring step closer to you. 'I guess I am.'

You couldn't stop it now, the smile of pure joy you'd been holding back from splitting your face open. After years of suffering silently, of repressing the truth, it was all worth it for that one question.

'So what do you say, SSA Y/N L/N,' he quipped cheekily. 'Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?'

The answer was right there in the tip of your tongue, almost spewing from you, when your name was called out across the bullpen for all to hear.

The globe of silence and serenity that had built around Spencer and yourself suddenly shattered as you both, alongside the rest of the team, turned to Hotch standing in his office doorway. But while you all looked at him, his hard gaze was honed in on you.

'L/N,' he called again, having your attention now. 'Can I see you in my office, please?'

You looked between him and Spencer, unsure who to answer first. In the end, you were still technically on the clock so you nodded at your boss and said, 'Sure, I'll be in there shortly.'

'This can't wait, I'm sorry.'

It was the seriousness and discomfort in his voice that caused you to throw aside your personal agenda, giving Spencer an apologetic look before quickly making your way through the bullpen, up the stairs and into his office. You tried not to look at your team too much as you did, but you felt their gazes on the back of your head nevertheless.

They were just as confused as you were, then.

'Close the door,' Hotch instructed gently, to which you obliged. He pointed to the seat on the other side of his desk. 'Have a seat.'

'Everything okay, Hotch?' you asked, taking a seat in the chair. 'Oh no. Did I make an error in one of my reports again?'

'No, nothing like that,' he reassured you, which didn't help your already built up worry. For a moment, it was just you two sitting in his office in silence; you waited for him to explain his mysterious actions, while he seemed to struggle to find the right words.

He never struggled to find the right words.

You leaned forward in your seat, worry furrowing your brow. 'Hotch. What's wrong?'

'Nothing is wrong, so to say,' he insisted, but his frown remained. 'I've just been in contact with your old unit chief from Organised Crime. They believe there is an underground operation being conducted by gang leaders in Manhattan that involves the transporting, selling and purchasing of girls and women in the prostitute industry.'

'Okay,' you drawled out, more confused than ever. 'What has this got to do with us?'

'It doesn't,' Hotch answered immediately. 'Just you. Your old unit chief wants you back to go undercover in the case.'

'What?' You stood up from your seat instead of shouting, but goodness it took all your strength not to. 'Why do they need me? They have a whole squadron of agents to choose from.'

'They want a profiler to help them find out who these people are first, then go undercover and become part of the operation's inner circle and report back to them,' Hotch explained, although his tone displayed his displeasure in saying so. 'Y/N, you have more experience in undercover missions than anyone else on this team, even before you joined us as a profiler.'

You knew his words to be true, but the reality of it all was an ever-growing weight on your chest. 'What they are asking, Hotch, could take weeks, months even. Those kind of people will not trust so easily,' you tried reasoning with him.

You couldn't help but look through the blinds to your team still standing and talking outside in the bullpen. To Spencer, who had joined the team since you had left, but just looked at the window as if he could find out what was going on behind the glass and blinds if he looked long enough. It broke your heart to think you wouldn't see him for months, maybe even years.

Because that was the thing with undercover missions. Once you assumed the life of someone else, your old life became non-existent. That meant no contact with anyone outside of the case as a safety precaution.

That meant no talking to Spencer, or anyone in the BAU, until the case ended. Or unless you were killed, in which case you wouldn't be able to do a lot of talking anyways.

You turned back around at the sound of Hotch standing from his seat and coming around the desk to speak directly in front of you, no walls to hide behind. 'You know I wouldn't be asking if I hadn't tried to change their mind first. But even I can't argue that you are the best agent for the job.'

You nodded your understanding even if you hated to admit he was right. 'I guess it's not one of those jobs that I can decline, is it?'

Hotch shook his head regrettably. 'Head Chief requested for you personally. You've already been taken off the roster here at the BAU so you're not disturbed by other cases.'

Hearing that was just rubbing salt in the wound, and you hated the burning feeling of tears rising at the back of your eyes. You were already gone from here, like a ghost that didn't realise she was one to begin with.

Hotch's hand rested heavy on your shoulder as he comforted you. 'We can discuss your return to work when your mission is over. You will always have a place with us, Y/N.'

You attempted a smile, but it was strained as you tried to force back tears. You wiped at the strays that dribbled down your cheeks, pulling yourself back together before speaking again. 'All right. How long do I have before I am expected in the Big Apple?'

'There's someone waiting for you at your apartment already. They'll take you to their headquarters when you're done packing tonight.'

You sucked in air as you felt your whole world tilt unstably. Tonight. You had to leave tonight. Again, you found yourself seeking out Spencer through the half-closed blinds.

'So what do you say, SSA Y/N L/N? Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?'

You bit your lip as you blinked your tears away, trying but failing to ignore the cry of your heart as its strings were pulled harshly. 'Tonight?' you asked in the hope you'd misheard.

But no such hope existed, unfortunately.

'Yes,' Hotch said, that one word the final nail in the coffin of your impending suffering. 'I'm sorry. This goes without saying, but don't mention any of this to the team as you leave. Only myself and Section Chief Cruz will know where you are and the details of your mission.'

You huffed out a joyless laugh. 'Hiding truths from a team of profilers is like playing poker with a mirror attached to your face,' you said, and you didn't bother to hide your displeasure and sadness when you did. 'They're going to ask questions, and they will find out the truth eventually.'

'Let me worry about that,' Hotch said gently, letting go of you and leaving a cold mark where his hand once was. 'You've got bags to pack.'

'Right.' You sucked in a few deep breaths before making your way to the door. tears burned at your eyes again but you couldn't let the team see you like this. You couldn't let Spencer see you like this.

Because you had a job to do. And you always finished a job.

Before you could open the door handle, however, Hotch stopped you once more. 'Y/N.'

You looked at him, forcing an expression of blankness and indifference. 'Yes, sir?'

He must've seen your inner struggle, as he offered one of those genuine smiles of his that were oh so rare. 'We'll see you when you get back,' he said.

It wasn't a promise or a done deal, but it was the most hope you could ask for right now. So you smiled your thanks, nodded your goodbye, and opened the door back into the bullpen.

Immediately, all eyes set upon you and the room grew quiet. Your first instinct was to cry, then to run, then to blurt everything out because you hated keeping secrets. But you remembered what had just been said, and you whipped a bright smile onto your face to hide your despair.

'Don't you guys have homes to go to?' you asked cheerily, walking down the stairs as casually as possibly. You would've bee-lined for your bag, but if you moved too quickly they would suspect something. 'I recall hot baths and scotch were awaiting most of us, are they not?'

Thankfully Rossi took the bait, and picked up his go-bag in a huge huff. 'The lady is right. I spend enough time with you people as is, I am not wasting anymore not drinking and soaking.'

'Soaking in what? The bath or scotch?' JJ asked, also picking up her go-bag to make her way back to the elevator.

The group devolved into laughs and other jests, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you picked up your go-bag and followed them. Before you could though, a gentle call of your name halted you in your tracks, out of both politeness and frozen fear.

'Hey,' Spencer started, looking between you and Hotch's office. 'What was all that about?'

'Oh, uh, nothing super important,' you said, scrambled as you words were. 'Just a paperwork issue. Again.'

He broke out in smile that set your heart aflutter despite your inner turmoil. 'You know, you really shouldn't do paperwork on the plane when you're tired if you're just going to make a mistake. You're better off leaving it to the morning when your brain and body has rested enough to comprehend what the paperwork is asking of you.'

'Well sorry if I don't want to do a mountain of paperwork when I come back into the office,' you countered, grateful for the playful distraction as you made it over to the elevator. The others were just piling in when Spencer halted you again.

'So...' he dragged out, eyes flickering between you and teh floor nervously, '...what do you say?'

'To what?' you asked.

'To dinner. You didn't have time to give me an answer before.'

Shit. Your voice failed you now as you grasped at words - any words - to tell him. Your heart screamed yes, but there was someone waiting for you back home. A home you wouldn't be visiting for who knows how long.

Capitalising on your gaping mouth, you forced out a yawn and feigned covering it up out of embarrassment. 'Oh my goodness, sorry about that. Um, actually, now that you mention it, I am pretty beat. I'm just... going to go home and sleep it off if that's all right.'

It pained you to see his smile drop at your words, to see the hope leave his beautiful eyes at your rejection. And you knew you shouldn't say anything or make promises you couldn't keep, but you couldn't just leave him with no hope.

'Maybe next week sometime,' you offered, hoping your smile could bring some of that light back. 'You know, you've never tried the Italian Restaurant under my apartment before. We could go there. On me.'

Instinctively, you reached for his hand, relishing in the warmth it held and brought into you. To your relief, he didn't pull away. Instead, you got your smile back, and a little light returned to his eyes. You were kind of glad you wouldn't be around when the light left him completely.

'Okay,' he said softly, surprising you with a gentle squeeze of your hand in his. 'It's a date.'

'Yeah,' you replied, trying and failing to push aside the fluttering sensation his words gave your heart. You were only prolonging not only your pain, but his.

Selfish. So selfish.

'Come on, you two,' Derek called out from the elevator. 'I can't hold these doors open forever. Savannah will kill me if I miss our dinner reservations.'

You both quickly made it in to the elevator before Derek let them close on you, and then you were caught up in the chaos that was your team. You weren't sure how you got onto the topic of what scotch goes best with what foods, but you didn't care. It made you happy to know they never let the weight of a dark case get in the way of living their own lives to them fullest.

You all reached the car park and before you could make a run for your car, Spencer called out to you. 'See you Monday, Y/N!'

You turned back around to face not only him, but Derek, JJ, Penelope, Alex, and David as they all slowly went for their cars too.

You caught yourself staring at them, taking their happy faces in one last time before you left them behind. Hotch said you'd always have a place with the BAU, but you weren't sure how long this mission would take. And if you'd be replaced by then.

You forced a smile onto your face and waved them farewell. 'Yeah, see you then.'

You hated the bitter taste the lie brought to your mouth, but you managed to keep it together long enough that you got in your car and drove out of the car park without any more issues. That's when the tears came.

You wouldn't be there next Monday, and were not getting that date with Spencer next week.

It hurt you more to think that you may not get that date at all.

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v-ternus · 7 months

Text

the lost myth of true love

Day 2 of Kinktober- Tail Play

[prompts courtesy of the lovely @kroas-adtam ]

Explicit | Mountain and tWaterDew

Summary: Mountain introduces Dew to a new world

below for your consumption :)

Its a perfect late afternoon, Mountain thinks. He’d managed to finish his work in the greenhouse earlier than expected and he got to watch the start of the sunset as he was locking things up. On his way back to the ghoul wing, he got to watch some of the ministry children play in the courtyard– hopscotch is what they said when he had wandered over and asked. As he weaved through the hallways, a nice cool breeze followed and carried with it, the decadent smell of Aether’s workings in the kitchen. It was all peaceful, and it was some much needed calm.

But what really tops the cake for Mountain is what’s waiting for him just atop his nest. He cracks his door open to see the new water ghoul leaning against his pile of furs and cushions with a book in his hands. He recognizes it almost immediately– a hardbound edition of Metamorphoses by Ovid. Dew looks up at the earth ghoul and his face warms with a smile.

The two had gotten very accustomed to each other in the months since Dew’s summoning. The way their elements entwined made things easier– they just both got each other. They knew how to coexist together in perfect harmony and neither could be happier. Where things changed was during one stormy night, a mere few weeks since Dew had come topside.

Mountain had peered into Dew’s room that night after he heard small whimpers. He saw Dew’s skin, slick with sweat and he felt so hot he was almost burning. When Dew moaned as Mountain’s fingers met his skin, Mountain knew what was happening. He helped him through that night, his first heat. He held him close to his chest as he buried himself deep. He listened closely to each moan and each high pitched whine whenever he prodded at that special spot that made Dew see stars. Everything from that night is burned so deeply into his mind– and he wants to give Dew more. He’d give Dew his heart if he could.

“Where are you at now?” Mountain asks as he rids himself of his work clothes, stripping down to his boxers and a white sleep shirt.

“Im just about through Orpheus and Eurydice.” He watches Mountain pad over as he sets the book down on the bedside table. The earth ghoul continues his stride until he’s crawling towards Dew. He straddles a pair of spindly thighs and reaches forward to cradle Dew’s cheeks in his hands. He places a chaste kiss on his lips.

“What do you think of it?” He brings their lips together, this time for a real kiss, not actually giving Dew any time to answer. His tongue slips in past Dew’s lips and he swallows the moan that rumbles from Dew’s chest. He pulls himself back from Dew to get a good look at his puffy lips and flushed cheeks. It takes Dew a second to remember that Mountain had asked him a question.

“He really loves her,” He says, breathless. “Really, really loves her.” He knows that it sounds juvenile, hell it even feels that way too, but Dew can't find any other word to describe it. Orpheus loved Eurydice so much, enough to descend into the underworld for her. His love was so grand, so intense that it swayed gods. It was impossible for Dew to even describe a fraction of that with mortal words, they just wouldn't do it any justice.

“Yeah he does droplet.” Mountain punctuates his words with carefully placed kisses right over Dew’s eyelids. Then his nose. Then the sharp angles of his cheekbones. He keeps going, doing his best to touch his lips to every atom that makes up his love.

“Does he remind you of anyone?” There’s a joking tone to Mountain’s voice. Dew just gives him a nice hum.

Of course he reminds me of someone Mount. He says the words to himself, lets them echo in his mind because he’s too nervous to speak them aloud. Instead, he crashes his lips back onto Mountain’s. He cant say it, but he’ll do his damn best to show it. He laps greedily against Mountain's mouth, pulling him impossibly closer. Dew drinks him down like he’s the first sip of water after 40 days and nights in the desert.

There’s no retreat in his efforts, and soon enough Mountain feels like he’s actually stealing the breath from his lungs, unable to take a proper breath with the way Dew seems intent on consuming him. He taps Dew’s neck, and it's enough of a gesture that it seems to pull Dew back from the edge.

Mountain takes in a few breaths to get his bearings before posing what should be some of the last coherent words of the evening. “Can I show you something?”

“Anything.”

Mountain peels himself out of Dew’s lap and situates himself against the headboard. He watches the confused look plastered across Dew’s face as he pats his hand on his leg.

“C’mere.” Dew keeps the confused look but follows the request, facing Mountain and straddling his thigh.

“You’ll tell me to stop if you don’t like it right?” In all of the moments they’ve shared like this, Mountain always asks.

“Always Mount. But what’re you talking about?” Dew knows that Mountain wouldn't do something to hurt him, but now knowing what awaits him has nerves twisting in his gut.

“Just give it a sec hmm?” Mountain says as he cradles Dew’s face again, drifting his thumbs over the delicate skin. “I need you to drop your glamor for this love.” Dew obliges, releasing the hold he has on his magic, ridding himself of the near constant tension at the crown of his head.

As he relaxes, the skin on his neck opens up to reveal his gills, glowing just like the bioluminescent swirls that paint the rest of his skin. His scales along his arms shimmer in the warm light of the sunset. The sight makes Mountain gasp. It's something truly special to witness Dew’s true form, and he savors it everytime.

Dew watches as Mountain lets his hands drift to his waist and squeeze at them affectionately. He stares at how far his fingers reach– Mountain’s fingers could wrap around his whole body with no effort. But what really gets Dew going is the quickly growing tent in Mountain’s boxers. He grinds down against Mountain’s leg then, searching for some type of friction now that he has an idea of what’s in store for him.

Mountain rocks Dew forward, making him lean flush to his chest. He brings a hand to the space between Dew’s bony shoulder blades and uses the grip to hold Dew close. His other hand laces itself into the soft, golden hair and tugs on it just enough to angle Dew’s face towards him. He gives one last kiss on the tip of Dew’s nose before tracing his finger down Dew’s spine. He feels each ridge and feels goosebumps form. He stops just above where a certain appendage juts out of their mortal vessels.

“You ever touch yourself here droplet?” He asks as his large hand wraps around the base of Dew’s tail. Dew mumbles a quiet no, almost as if he was embarrassed. What a shame, he thinks, Dew should know every bodily delight, especially considering how sensitive these human bodies are. A twisted pride blooms in Mountain, another addition to his ego. Another first for Dew, at his own hands.

“N– no,” Dew stutters, unable to pull in a full breath with the sudden fire coursing up his spine. “Fuck… that’s sensitive.”

“That it is bug.” This time, Mountain strokes it, starting at the base and gently tugging a few inches.

“It turns out shoving hellbeast into human bodies lands us in some fun situations. Some wires get crossed when we drop our glamours, the body doesn't know what to do with our tails.” He speaks almost aimlessly as he continues to tug at Dew’s tail.

“I remember when Zephyr first had me like this, they were my first too.” This time, Mountain lets a finger drift to the underside of Dew’s tail, stroking at the space between it and his tight hole. That was Mountain’s own spot. Even the slightest touches sent him hurtling towards the edge. What’s the harm in trying it on Dew?

It turns out, there’s a lot of harm. Dew just about lights on fire as Mountain skims the rough pad of his finger against him. It's too much and not enough at the same time. His brain cries out for it to stop, but it begs for Mountain at even the slightest suggestion of him slowing down.

“I was a little newer than you I think,” The gentle movement of his hand stills as he removes his finger and drags his thumb over the sensitive base instead. Dew feels like his face is about to melt off. He digs his head into Montain’s shoulder and exhales into the sturdy muscle. It doesn't work. He doesn't know how Mountain can stay this calm and collected as he falls apart in his lap.

He tries to coach himself through the fog, tries to breathe through each slow brush of Mountain’s hand. It proves just as futile.

“That’s a good boy,” The praise doesn't really make sense to him, he isn't doing anything, or at least that's what he thinks. “Take what you need baby.”

He realizes he’s been unknowingly grinding his still clothed cunt over Mountain’s thigh, coating it in slick that he’s sure is making a wet spot on the bed below. Mountain has been able to feel each twitch of Dew’s cock against him and it's done nothing but spur him on. It's almost become a mission to him, to pick Dew apart until he’s a bumbling mess.

“Mount, you gotta… wait. Fuck, hold on” Dew contests. He doesnt know how much longer he can last.

“Are you sure?” Dew knows how to make this stop, he knows exactly what word to say to get Mountain’s hands off of him.

“-yes. N–no. I dont know.” Dew sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, but Mountain knows they’ll be good ones. “Can I cum Mounty? Please?”

Mountain feels his heart bloom at the request. He weaves his free hand into the hair on the back of Dew’s head and runs his nails over his scalp, scratching at that spot that calms Dew down during thunderstorms and bad bus rides and turbulent flights. He comforts him, because what’s about to happen is going to hit him like a truck.

“Of course my love,” He thinks he’s more excited about this than Dew is, he’s always excited when he gets to make his siren feel good.

Mountain holds him to his chest tight, and spurs on each roll of his hips with a stream of ‘good boy’ and ‘there you go’ whispered against his temple.

“Get me nice and messy droplet, whenever you’re ready.” It doesnt take much more for Dew to tumble off the high cliff of his pleasure. One soft brush of Mountain’s finger against the underside of his tail has him cumming silently as he keeps rutting against Mountain’s thigh. To drive it home, Mountain wraps his hand around the base of his tail one last time and squeezes softly, just until he feels a wet gush against his leg.

“So good for me Dew, you did so well.” He whispers his praise as he pries his hands away from the now sensitive muscle and brings it up to Dew’s lower back. He feels each twitch of the small body on him, each jerk as his body works through the earth shattering orgasm. Underneath it all, he can feel the gentle rumbling of Dew purring.

Dew doesn't know how to express himself after that, and even if he could, the words wouldn't come out how he wanted them to.

“That… was. Mount, that–”

“I know.” Mountain says it so matter-of-factly that if he wasnt spreading gentle touches across Dew, he’d think that he was bored.

“You?” Dew asks. ‘What about you?’ is what he means to ask, but the words get lost between his brain and his lips.

Mountain chuckles at the fact that the first thing Dew does is ask about him. He always wants to check on everyone else, he wants to make sure they’re taken care of. Even if it means that sometimes, he’s set on the backburner, letting himself be burned by the flames.

“Im fine Dew.” Mountain insists, hoping its enough to convince Dew to relax for once. Stubborn as he is, the water ghoul doesnt let up. He musters up some strength, just enough to angle his head so that he’s almost face to face with Mountain.

“Let me help Mount, you didnt….” The worry that drips from his words makes Mountain’s heart swell. The love they have for eachother knows no bounds.

Mountain buries his nose into Dew’s hair and inhales the cool, crisp scent of his arousal. “I did bug. I did.”

#the band ghost #mountdew #mountain x dewdrop #water dewdrop #water ghoul #earth ghoul #dewdrop ghost #fire ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #ghost band #nameless ghouls #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #kinktober 2023 #kroas kinktober #ghostober 2023 #ghost kinktober 2023

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copperbadge · 6 months

Note

Sam, how did you find your therapist and build such a good working relationship? Every attempt I’ve made at therapy seems to fizzle out after a few months… and no therapist has ever understood the RSD aspect of my ADHD, which makes it all feel a little worse every time I try.

I mean, I think really we're still building it -- I haven't had her more than a couple of months and functionally it's been an every-two-weeks situation most of the time because we keep having to move/cancel. I don't know that I can really speak intelligently to building a relationship with a therapist because this is the first time I've ever done it where I was an adult and in control. As for finding one...

Chicago has a group called Clarity Clinic, which is like a WeWork for mental health professionals -- they offer scheduling, billing, and IT/office space to local people who I think are mostly independent operators otherwise. They have a directory that is highly filterable, so I found my psychiatrist there by filtering to stuff like Adult ADHD and medication management. He's great, but he didn't want to be my therapist and I didn't want him to. When I decided on therapy, I asked him if he knew anyone he could recommend, since he knew what my deal was in terms of personality, behavior, etc.

So he gave me a couple of names of fellow Clarity Clinic folks and I had a look on the website and chose the one that sounded like she'd get on best with me. I think I struck it lucky to be honest -- she's young (compared to me) and has ADHD, and she's very familiar with disability discourse, spoon theory, etc, even fandom to an extent. If I were to go looking today I might look more at therapists who specialize in twice-exceptional individuals, but she's good enough with what I'm aiming at that I don't want to change.

So the best advice I have is if you're being treated for other stuff by someone you trust I'd ask them, but also look for someone experienced with adult ADHD, and I'd look for someone on the younger side who's more likely to be understanding of neurodivergent needs. (I also recommend filtering to queer-friendly therapists if you can; I didn't necessarily need that but it means they're likely to be generally accepting and probably have more liberal politics. With the caveat that in shady places like BetterHealth, "LGBTQIA" counselors are sometimes homophobic creeps with an axe to grind.)

Building the relationship has taken proactivity on my part -- ensuring that I always have an appointment on the books (we book out about six weeks in advance now, because we know one of us will likely need to cancel/rebook at times), making sure that I have either an aim for treatment or at least something to talk about, etc. I think in your case probably having a list of things you want to deal with, so that you can check some boxes up top, might help.

I would definitely open with "I have ADHD and I need help with [aspects of that]; I also have RSD and I need to work with someone who respects that diagnosis and understands how to help with it." I went into mine saying "I have ADHD and I'm also struggling with some really big emotion, so I'm looking for help with those, but also like...I'm not really sure what therapy can offer. I've had some bad experiences in the past but they were all when I was a child, so I'm trying to explore some options." Her reaction was a combination of sympathy and a discussion of the kinds of things we might work on, which helped a great deal.

But yeah, I think it starts with establishing right from the jump what you want and need, and then spending time making sure that you both stay on top of that until you find a rhythm. We're still finding our rhythm, but it's getting easier as I'm learning to be clearer about what I want and more comfortable with being a participant instead of someone therapy just happens to.

#therapy #sam has adhd

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shaarlslec · 2 years

Text

you know me too well

part 2: the core memories of your relationship, the present

part 3: seeing him for the first time after your break-up, promises of the future

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

words: 6200 ish (hold on, this is going to have another part for sure);

warnings: full angst for most of this part (imagine breaking up with daniel??); daniel driving for mclaren; smut (just a tinsy bit);

masterlist

Breaking up with Daniel Ricciardo, the days and nights that followed and your meet-up four years ago.

THE BREAK-UP

Every love story ends in tragedy if you wait long enough.

Your relationship with Daniel was never perfect and you neither claimed it to be – and yet tabloids did so. You broke up with him once he got his McLaren seat and left Renault after another two excruciating years of you two being together while Daniel drove for Red bull. You despised the title of being a WAG for the entirety of your relationship. The only thing you have always wanted was to be Danny’s girl and with no intention whatsoever to be called yet another girlfriend of a high-profile sportsmen.

You wanted to make it work – you tried so hard to make it everything work out until the end. And yet, in between Daniel’s races and you building your own career back in Perth, calls eventually stopped and texts went dry, and everything went downhill from there ending your four-year relationship way ahead of its time and without you two even realizing that the rupture cannot be fixed giving the circumstances: distance and priorities.

The last four months of your relationship were horrendous as you were living two completely different lives that happened to meet occasionally when Daniel was back home at times you were not away from there. You were the one to put a hard stop on it not bearing any longer the coldness coming from Daniel being in his head all the time trying to prove his point as being worthy of the McLaren seat instead of letting you support him as you always had done before no matter how hard the times were wearing the dark blue suit or the bright black and yellow one.

“I am sorry, I will not be home for Christmas this year. There is an event in Paris for which I have been booked.” You told him over the phone in one of the rare times Daniel managed to pick up due to the different time-zones, “It is a huge deal offered by a large fashion company and it will help with my portfolio a lot.” You explained, nervously pressing your fingers down to your lap, “I am so sorry Danny, I should have told you weeks ago about it and I—”

Daniel interrupted you at the end of the call, “It is fine Y/N.” He breathed, and you could pretty much figure out that he was drained yet again by something that happened back in Woking just judging by the way Daniel breathed into the phone, “I do not really want to go home this year for holidays anyways, I need a break from anything and anyone familiar right now.” He then added with another heavy sigh, “I must go back into the meeting room. Text you later, alright?” Daniel finished, and you basically felt the curl into your stomach tightening.

You knew he will not text you later and that he will be probably beating himself over whatever was going on back in the McLaren HQs without telling you shit about what an awful day he had no matter how much you insisted for him to open to you again just as he did back when you were together-together. You took a full breath of fresh air in; Daniel was not even faking an interest in asking you about your gig in Paris, and as selfish as it sounded – you wanted him to care about you more than McLaren.

“This is not working anymore Daniel.” You blared the words out after a long pause from both you and Danny, “We both know that you will not text me back tonight and that you will regret it in the morning, you have not texted me back in days Daniel.” You paused, not wanting to continue anymore with the blaming speech when you knew you had your wrongs too in your relationship, “I know that you know it too.” You then spoke with a touching smile on your face waiting for Danny’s response while your neck went dry being hanged by a non-existent crown of thorns.

Your boyfriend’s breath was cut right in an instant, but Daniel managed to relearn how to breathe again after your tears rolled down your face and the runny nose along with the soft sobs were heard in the call, “Please don’t.” Daniel shortly managed to speak in a shaky tone knowing that you were crying at the other end, “Please do not let us break-up over the phone during a random Thursday afternoon, Y/N.” Danny pleased, and you exactly pictured how the man’s face looked at that moment and how all his facial expressions softened in nostalgia and sadness at once.

“You just said you need a break from anyone and anything familiar – I am giving you an out Daniel.” You continued in a sharp tone, wiping the tears from your cheeks as you talked and trying to calm that beating heart of your from jumping down the hills.

Daniel’s fingers tightened around the phone while on the other hand they tensed together in a fist, “Let’s talk about this after your gig in Paris, text me the details about it and I will fly to you.”

The promise has been kept and weeks later after barely managing to make time to call each other, Daniel flew to Paris and you two had two amazing remaining days together of your relationship. You barely talked about how the relationship was not working anymore the first time when you saw each other after months of not meeting, instead you just choose to laugh at all his silly jokes while Daniel chose to hold you as tight as he still could during what was your last waking-up together morning.

Arms holding you dearly as your head rested on the man’s chest, your fingers running above Daniel’s arm tattoos as your glare was fixed on Daniel’s fingers nervously playing with the bed sheets in between his knuckles. You knew Daniel, oh you knew him too well – and you knew exactly what was going through your boyfriend’s mind right then, believing that he knew what was going through yours as well. You stood in silence next to each other while both of you understood that that was your last time doing so.

“I am so sorry.” Daniel whispered into your ear, taking your hand in his and placing them on his beating chest so you could feel how his heart stopped for a split of a moment there as he spoke the words, “I will crowdedly take your out.” He then said, hardly pressing his mouth on the top of your head.

Closing your eyes as you felt Daniel’s warmth engulfing you whole, you sensed how the world shuttered for a while in one arm tightening around you and a heartfelt kiss instead of words. There was not a need for them, anyway.

You saw the end coming weeks ago, but now as you lived it you wished for you and Daniel to have meet sooner or later – not when your ambitions were higher than the present.

“I know.” You whispered back, looking up at him just to meet the sadness eyes you ever saw glaring at you back, “I am so sorry too.” You spoke, gently pressing your lips on Daniel’s for one last bittersweet clash of mouths.

So no, you did not break on a Thursday afternoon over the phone, but you did break-up on a Sunday morning almost naked in the same bed you spent your last night together in a withdrawn city from the one you met.

You stood like that for a while not saying anything after saying sorry as if you wanted to prolong a moment you knew you were not coming back to.

“Not to be insensitive or anything Danny,” You managed to speak after a sob, “But I am quite hungry.” You chuckled after you cleaned your dry neck with a cough, “Let’s go grab a bite before your flight.” You spoke, trying to unglue your body from Daniel’s but being pulled in closer in the process by his arm still gripped around you.

“Five more minutes and we will go.” Daniel spoke with his eyes closed, “I just need five more minutes of this, please.” He then pleaded, chest heavily lifting in a breath followed by a deep sigh.

Wrapping your arm around him too and closing your eyes to enjoy the last remaining minutes within the man’s throbbing chest and aching body, you stood there until Daniel was ready to let you go and now not just for a couple of days or months -- but for the remaining of your days.

Five minutes more were not enough for him, four-years were not enough for him – he would have held you for longer than eternity holds.

And yet, reality clocked in faster than dreams as it usually does, and Daniel had to leave you again for good this time alone in Paris.

THE DAYS AND NIGHTS THAT FOLLOWED

Mature break-ups suck, and they do suck especially when you still carry love for each other within those aching hearts of yours. You looked for affection in all the wrong places after Daniel left – and that did nothing good for you. Daniel sunk in into work with a team that did not do him justice – and that did nothing good for him.

Deciding to stay friends was one of the options, but how can you stay friends with someone you love too deeply to call them simply “my friend” instead of “my loved one”. For the following couple of months, you used to reply to Daniel’s Instagram stories, and he was more than edger to reply to yours too.

And yet, all the messages were dry, impersonal and way to fabricated to sound real when you read them out loud.

Congrats on your points, congrats on your new gig, congrats on your sister’s wedding, congrats of your brother becoming a father, happy birthday darling, happy birthday honey, happy holidays to your friends and family.

Fuck, fuck, fuck – all of them were not real. You both hated them, and yet you both keep sending them. You just wanted to talk to each other – that was all.

You missed late-night conversations; you missed doing make-up on him and he missed hearing you laugh at all his corny jokes. Oh, how much Daniel missed your laughs. And oh, how much you missed him making you giggle. No one managed to do it anymore for you, you laughed out of politeness at every corny pick-up line you received, and Daniel cracked jokes just to stay sane as he boosted his ego that he is still the funniest out of the group – but for whom was he trying this hard to be funny if it was not for you? It was meaningless, all meaningless for both of you.

And yet, you kept the appearances.

You seemed happy; you seemed like you moved on from each other. You got your new rebound boyfriend in one of the bars in Perth that you and Daniel used to frequent together back when you were together, and he followed your example not that very much later after you posted your first picture together with your new conquest.

The only difference is that Daniel did not post anything on his socials, he just fucked around every single girl was keen on fucking him – most girls were. Could you blame them? It was Daniel Ricciardo after all. None of them satisfied your ex-boyfriend enough, and he even moaned your name twice or thrice while on random girls he met after yet another failed race with McLaren.

In one of the nights when that happened, when Daniel was drunk enough to moan your name instead of the girl’s he was laying with in the same bad – he selfishly called you after midnight in desperate need of hearing your voice. Daniel wanted to hear from you, no matter where you were at that time or who you were with.

It was your very first call after the break-up in Paris, and your shaky fingers picked up the phone from the nightstand once you saw the ID caller while your heart heart sunk at Danny's name came in full on your screen instead of his nickname since you changed him back in Daniel Ricciardo on your phone.

“Danny?” You answered with a trembling just woken-up tone as it was just morning to you back in Perth while Daniel tried to sober up to properly talk to you without sounding like a fool.

“Oh fuck you for still calling me Danny.” Ricciardo spoke as soon as he heard your morning voice that turned him on in ways he could not explain, “No sorry – I did not meant to sound like that I just –” He paused, looking down at himself barely clothed standing alone on a high-bar chair in the kitchen while the girl he just fucked was deep asleep back in the bedroom of the hotel’s room, “I missed your voice Y/N.” He then breathed, “I missed your voce so much.” He repeated, breaking down slowly as he muttered the words.

You froze, and yet you could not tell that you missed Daniel’s voice too as you looked over your shoulder to see your current boyfriend quietly asleep next to you. It would not have been fair for him; the new man was extremely clueless about your whole relationship with Ricciardo. You never mentioned him to anyone after you broke-up, let alone to the man you were currently sleeping with.

“Daniel,” You corrected yourself, not wanting to cause even more damage to the one listening at the end of the call, “This is not the best time to call, I am not alone.” You honestly confessed as you rose from the bed to put your robe on and go on the balcony to light a cigarette.

“I know, I know.” Daniel spoke, hearing you lighting up the cig that stood so right in between your lips that your ex-boyfriend remembered the taste of so vividly and peacefully on his own, “I saw the pictures, you got yourself a pretty good-looking new man.” He then sarcastically spoke, “Look I just –” He then breathed heavily letting you know that he was on the verge of breaking completely down, “I just called to know that you are alright.” Daniel continued, “I am not worried about where you where or with who you are sleeping with, I was just thinking about you.” Your ex-boyfriend then continued, and you knew judging by his now calm tone and the words used that Daniel was completely honest.

You took a deep smoke in, “I am fine.” You lied after exhaling all out at once, tightening the robe around your waist to not let the butterflies out, “What about you? Are you okay?” You asked him, watching over the city getting slowly up – the city where you and Daniel felt in love in.

Daniel clenched his jaw, “I am now.” He then replied, “Hearing from you made me fine.” He continued with muscles tensed up within his body, “I know is stupid that I am whining about hearing your voice when while we were a thing, I was the one who was not picking up the phone but – fuck.” He then paused after yet another heavy sigh, “No one knows me like you do Y/N, and I had a couple of hard days at work, and I want to tell you all about them, but I know that I lost my privileges in doing so.” Daniel spoke, heart throbbing while the voice shook in between the lines.

“It is fine Daniel.” You replied, taking a seat down on the hard concrete floor of your boyfriend’s balcony, “You can tell me all about it – I always wanted nothing more but you talking to me all about it.” You confessed, watching your cigarette smoke itself as you placed in in the ashtray.

“It is not right.” Daniel replied at the other end of the call, “I disrespect you too much in our relationship, who am I do the same now?” He then asked, more for himself than for you to hear, “I am glad that you picked up the call, I am glad that I got to hear your voice – I will be satisfied with just that.” He then spoke, “I cannot do the whole remining-friends-with you-thing.”

Your heart sunk, and you knew that Daniel was pretty much aware of your reply that followed, “Neither do I.” You replied, taking back the cigarette from the ashtray to light it up again.

The call ended with both of you saying “goodbye” for what you thought is going to be your last time. You turned back to your new boyfriend bedroom where you found him as you left. You tucked in your blanket still next to the man who was not Daniel, wide-awake and with your thoughts running to your-boyfriend who was at the other end of the world getting yet another bottle of whisky to open not caring about the girl sleeping in the other room. You cried silently for a while covering your mouth, while Daniel drowned his sorrow in the end of a glass.

The replies stopped after your call, and you learned with time how to live without each other. You both managed to get through it while looking for unfamiliar warmth, but occasionally you found yourselves staring at photos or watching clips on your phone that brought you straight back up to the very first time you met having it documented – the first wedding of one of your mutual friends that you have ever attended separately and yet managed to go home together that happened more than four and a half years ago.

THE MEET-UP

“You keep saying that you will never get married Y/N, but what if you do fall in love with someone and they propose to you in the most romantic setting you can picture?” The bride had asked half-drunk and half-irritated of you just commenting that weddings are just mere methods to cash-in rapidly a large sum of money from your family and friends.

You chuckled, clicking your champagne with hers, “I will say no, and we will break up – and that is that.” You simply spoke, chocking the glass of champagne down to your throat in an instant, “Look, I am extremely happy for you and what’s-his-name, all I am saying is that I generally am against organizing a large event just for people to bring you money as a form of celebrating your love.” You added, leaning on the wall behind you as you took yet another glass of champagne from the waiter crossing in between your little group of what seemed to be a high-school reunion since everybody that listened to your argument with the bride were your ex-classmates.

She rolled her eyes, “I know that I cannot change your mind. You have been like this since high school!” The bride added, “Rejecting any type of attachment from every single one of the guys that liked you fearing that you might actually end up liking them enough to marry them.” She added, shooting straight fires at you just because you were not agreeing with her position when it came to the traditional norms of a relationship.

Your eyes widened in shock, and then your expression softened with yet another laugh, “Fine, fine.” You paused, mockingly surrendering yourself by lifting both arms in the air and spilling the remining of the liquid outside the glass in the process, “Blame me for not wanting to follow relationship advice gaslighting myself that the love of my life is to be found in the permitter of our high-school.” You continued, rolling your eyes in the same sassy way as your ex-classmate just to add even more sparks to the fire.

“I married my high-school sweetheart.” One of your other ex-colleagues spoke in an outraged tone after she heard what you just said.

Somehow you unintentionally offended two of your ex-classmates after just a couple of champagne glasses, and that was your signal that you had to get the hell out of the group before you indulge in even more alcohol and say nasty thing that they do not agree with.

“Good for you darling.” You spoke as you faked the most annoying smile you were not even aware you were capable of until then, “I will go and get some more booze, see you around.” You spoke, making your not-so-subtle exit possible.

That was where you met Daniel – at the bar. You ordered yet another shot of tequila while he was patting his shoulder with a napkin right behind you.

“One for me as well.” Ricciardo spoke as he pointed to your shot, “Tequila, right?” He then asked you, leaning on the bar with his elbow and quickly scanning you from head to toes within a split of a second.

You nodded, “Not the best, not the worst.” You answered as you took your shot from the bar’s table as you glanced back at the very handsome stranger next to you who you somehow recognized from somewhere, “But it does the trick.” You continued, waiting for the bartender to pour the liquid into Riccardo’s shot glass too.

“Let’s hope it does, because the champagne is not doing it.” Daniel then spoke, pointing to the shoulder he just patted.

And that is when you realized where you recognized him from – he was standing at the table next to you minutes earlier, “Oh my god.” You gasped, “Did I do that?” You added, watching the darkened stain on the man shoulder that you just spilled champagne on during your heated-up conversation, “I am so sorry.” You added, hand on your chest and all that.

The handsome stranger chuckled, Daniel knew that right away that you were not sorry and just trying to be polite, “Do not worry – that kind of conversation would have made me spill my drink as well.” He then spoke, clicking his shot glass with yours as he threw you a cheeky wink letting you know that he heard your comments towards the bride.

As your cheeks reddened, you smiled back to him and Daniel swore that his heart skipped a beat right then, “So, I guess you are not from the bride’s side?” He then asked, “She does not seem that friendly with you, and neither where those girls around you.” Daniel then argued, asking for two additional shots after you agreed with a nod to his hand gesturing to the empty glasses.

Your face slightly crooked, “I guess you can say that I am from the bride’s side although we are clearly not friends – I did her make-up and the bridesmaids.” You answered while nervously tapping your fingers on the table, “We were in high-school together.” You explained, clasping your hands together at your back as you saw him noticing your anxious tapping, “What about you?” You then asked, “Handsome stranger that I am so sorry I spilled my drink on.”

Daniel’s face widened in the brightest smile you have ever seen receiving a compliment, “I am from what’s-his-face part.” He then laughed, “Michael, the groom.” He explained, handing his hand in the air for you shake, “Daniel, please to meet you, gorgeous stranger that unintentionally spilled her drink on my shoulder.” Ricciardo introduced himself, and that was exactly the moment when it clicked for you from where exactly you knew him and not just from the table next to you. You were talking with that driver that Perth was so extremely proud off – Daniel Ricciardo from Red Bull.

“Y/N.” You replied after being starstruck for a second there but intentionally decided to play it like a fool, “Well Daniel from Michael’s side, I think we are just becoming drinking buddies at this already boring wedding.” You then added after a firm shake of hands, one that you somewhat knew you were going to remember forever.

“Well Y/N who hates weddings somehow from the bride’s side, I think you are right with the drinking-buddy pairing.” Daniel then replied with a pristine chuckle, handing you the second tequila shot that easily went down to your throats at the same time, “And yet, I must disagree with the boringness, this party is just getting started.” He then replied, handing you his hand to hold signaling to the dancing floor.

You hesitated for a second to claps your hand with Daniel’s, and yet there was something withing the dark hazel eyes of the curly-haired stranger that drove you to cave into Daniel’s invitation.

Daniel took dancing to a whole another level that night, and you followed suit. It was for the first time in forever when you danced your ass off at an event – especially a wedding you were not even excited to attend to being with. And yet, Daniel made everything easy from the very start.

In between shots of tequila and long drinks, Ricciardo took the role of your dancing coach serious alongside with the drinking-buddy role. You had a blast with the man you knew nothing about minutes ago – you clicked right from the start. Daniel was the soul and life of the party, and he took you into his world after you loosen yourself into his steady arms.

“It is okay if I touch you here?” Daniel asked as the Latino tunes were replaced by slow songs and his hands went from the air to your waist, being determined to dance with the gorgeous stranger he met at the bar for the whole evening.

You nodded as you wrapped both hands around the handsome stranger, “As long as you guide me, yes.” You spoke, titling your head at the side, “I suck at slow-dancing.” You confessed while Daniel was comfortably placing his hands in the curves of your waist as if they always had been belonged there as a cover of “wings” was playing in the background.

“I do think you are pretty good to it.” Daniel then commented, leaning into your ears so that he could whisper the words for you and only you to hear, “See, weddings are not that awful – you found a pretty good dancing and drinking partner here.” Daniel then spoke, glaring at your pleading eyes for more than just a mere touch of your waist.

You laughed once again at the Daniel’s words, “I think I made myself misunderstood back there, I have not said that weddings are purely evilly and awful – I just do not believe that your love should be celebrated through weddings from which you get a whole amount of money.” You explained yourself, trying to match Daniel’s steps on the rhythm of the song, “I know for sure that I will not be doing that.” You then add, “If I ever find somebody in the future.” You spoke as you saw the confused expression on Daniel’s face worrying that he is dancing with a taken woman, “I am very much very single right now.” You clearly spoke, giving him all the permission to continue with the sweet nothings spoken into your ears.

“That is good to know.” Daniel replied as he got even closer to you as soon as you permitted him to do so, “Do you think that Michael and his girlfriend organized this wedding just for the money part?” Do you not think that they truly love each other and that was enough for them to do so?” He then continued, looking down at you as he spoke the words to watch your expressions softened from up close as you spotted the couple you were talking about right over Daniel’s shoulder dancing next to you.

“To be truly honest with you as I the tequila just got me,” You paused as you threw a tongue-tied laugh into the play, “I just do not feel that I will love somebody enough to want to marry them, that’s all.” You ended, glancing over Daniel’s shoulder to watch the bride and the groom slowly dancing on the song as they dearly looked in each other eyes as they mouthed the words you were never brave enough to speak out loud to someone: I love you.

“Life might surprise you.” Daniel spoke after a long pause during which he shortly glanced at his friend and girlfriend, “Like it surprised them too.” He then continued after switching his focus right back at you, “Michael told me years ago that he will never see himself getting married and look at him now!” He happily spoke, tightening his fingers around the fabric of your dress.

You looked up to the handsome stranger that you learned the name of and whose name would linger for many years to come on your mouth, “Let’s hope that you are right, I am not much of a hopeless romantic as you seem to be.” You replied as the song ended, and your moment was interrupted by the wedding MC who announced that the single dance of the bride and groom followed.

“Oh God,” You softly chuckled as you went on the side of the dancefloor watching Daniel almost tearing up while the bride and groom dance begun, “I was right just now, you are a hopeless romantic.” You added, handing him a napkin that you picked from the bar earlier and hid in the pockets of your dress.

Daniel giggled back at you, “Is that a bad thing?” He then replied, taking the napkin from your hand to wipe his face, “Should I be a pessimist just like you?” He then asked, placing the napkin into the pockets of his own pants.

You declined with a nod, “Just please do not tell me that you are that type of person who believes that love will always bring you joy, excitement, smiles, stomach butterflies and sweet shivers down to your spine.” You spoke as you looked at your newest friend watching the two newly-leads dancing in the middle of the room.

“Oh no.” Daniel shortly replied, “Love will also bring you excruciating pain, blame, sadness, despair, hurt – lots of them.” The man then paused to switch his attention from the bride and groom to you already staring at him, “It will also bring you the power to overcome them all.” He then added, giving you one of his bright smiles again.

You pondered Daniel’s words for a while after you replied with a short huff of approval, although you half-hearted believed them. Up to that point you had not experienced a long-term committed relationship, due to the fear of every single word Daniel displayed that night.

You kept your heart away from the pain, blame, sadness, despair and hurt while you also sacred it from joy, excitement, smiles, and stomach butterflies. Not anymore, you thought as you eyed him watching you back.

There was an incurable romantic standing next to you hitting for the entire evening on you, and somewhat in between the lines of his words you truly genuinely believed that Daniel was honest with every single one of his opinions when it came to love.

You could have not been that stupid to say no when Daniel asked you if you wanted to get out of there together right before the party ended, you would have been the one to ask him anyway if he would not have proposed it to you first – there was something in the way your bodies glued for the entire evening on the dancefloor that made you utterly crazy for more than just public touches.

You entered your apartment, and it took Daniel exactly two and a half seconds to glue you on the hall’s wall and cup your face into a kiss that was built on the tension between your bodies glued on the dancefloor earlier that night.

It left you breathless as you knew it will, the handsome stranger was even more striking in the dim lights of your hall, and then your kitchen where he took your body up from the ground and placed it on the kitchen counter with him being fully in between your legs before you could even open perfectly for him.

The chuckles did not stop, you smiled as you kissed him while unbuttoning his perfectly ironed white shirt. Daniel unbuckled his tie on his own as the man mouth went on your neck placing deeply pressed kisses on your skin followed by bites and groans into your ears as one of your hands went underneath Daniel’s shirt to find its own way into his suit pants.

“Wait.” Daniel stopped, departing from you inches enough to look at your face, “Are you sure about this?” He then foolishly asked while your hand was already cupping his balls within your fingers to play with them, “We had quite a few drinks and I really do not want you to feel any pressure in –”

You stopped him from talking while you wrapped the other hand around his neck and glued him back to your body, “Look,” You paused, hand slowly gripping on his already hard dick, “You asking for consent is the hottest thing that a man has ever done before, but I am one hundred percent sure that I want you to fuck me on this very counter.” You replied with a sly smirk as you unbuckled the man’s pants and got them half down Daniel’s thighs, “Please?” You shortly pouted looking directly at him as you begged, driving him now completely crazy for you.

Daniel listened to your pleadings, oh Daniel listened so damn well. Taking your neck into one of his hands as you arched your back, the incurable romantic took your underwear off with the other hand that was more than edger to insert two of the fingers inside you just for a little tease of what had to come next.

“Oh damn Danny.” You moaned before biting the man’s lower lip as he swirled inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You continued, basically singing music for the handsome not-anymore-stranger inside of you fully now after minutes of teasing your clint with the tips of his fingers, knowing exactly when to stop and when to go rough.

Daniel moved then back and forth, back and forth, stopping once in a while to give you the pleasure of positing your legs and body just as you liked while the man’s mouth was on yours the entire time. Nails jabbed into the man’s neck, Daniel glued to your body as he listened to all your orders of going faster, deeper, harder, and then gentler, smoother, and softer to offer you a change to take proper breaths in between the wet hungry kisses for more than just skin, for more than just groans and moans. You guided him to the bedroom where you gave him the show for the night standing on top of him, allowing Daniel to bite, cup and lick your breasts as you were doing the work for him.

Riding him slowly you leaned down on him as he leaned back into your bed, and you could swear that you never felt hands that hurryingly to caress your back as you were kissing the man’s neck, shoulders, and chest leaving wet traces all over Daniel’s skin. There was more than just sex, and you knew that right then and there. No one you just fucked before embraced you that tightly and wanted you that close to them. There were traces of what will become love in between the touches, kissed and bites.

After what seemed hours of discovering each other’s kinks and pleasures, you laid with him by your side breathless and senseless. Your heads were spinning completely, and it was not just the alcohol. You looked at each other in the darkness of the room, and yet Daniel knew exactly where to place his hands to hug you, and your head fits its perfect spot at the man’s chest.

“I never heard somebody calling me Danny and to sound this beautiful.” Daniel spoke, pressing a quick peak on the top of your forehead as he played with your ruffled hair resting on your shoulders, “Please continue to do so.” He then asked, placing yet another kiss behind your ear as he whispered the words, “Not just continue, but never stop in doing so.” The handsome man in your bed warned in a funny tone, and you promised to yourself that you will listen to whatever Danny pleases from now on.

You felt asleep thinking about the fact that life really surprised you that evening, but you had no idea back then that it will continue to surprise you with him for the following four years after that that – if you could only turn back time you wished for this awful force called life to tell you that surprises might not the joyful kind with a happy end.

Y/N from four years ago had no idea through what type of a suffering she would have to go through when the man in within whose arms she peacefully slept in calls her after midnight while she is in bed with another men and he is fucking another woman.

Daniel from four years ago had no idea through what type of a grief he would find himself into when alone in a kitchen far away from the one he loved but failed into keeping by his side.

Damn, life – what did you do with them?

What went wrong from the moment you shared tequila shots to your break-up in Paris? That is the question you still not managed to find an answer for, although it has been there all along in front of your eyes: life and its surprises.

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