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ab4eva · 11 months

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‘Just Like A Woman’ part 2

Summary: A Las Vegas showgirl falls in love with a heartbroken Elvis Presley. He is unwilling (or unable) to love her back.

Warnings: nsfw 18+ only, angst, intoxication, gaslighting, asshole Elvis, orgasm denial, hair pulling, knee-riding, handjob (m. receiving), Priscilla doesn’t exist in this timeline, not proofread.

Author’s note: A big thank you to the anon that sent me a message last week saying you needed more Tomorrow and Just Like A Woman, I wouldn’t have gotten this out today if not for you! As always, thanks to my bestie wives Birdy, Marina and Ally, for the love, support, guidance and laughs.

Word count: 2,757

Part 1

“Someone’s feelin’ a little tipsy, hmm darlin’?” he murmurs. You blink your eyes open and Elvis swims into view above you. Your breath catches in your throat and your face flushes with heat. You haven’t been this close to him in months and despite your drunken state, the joy and pain that pierces your heart at the sight of him, the sound of his voice only for you, has you blinking back tears and closing your eyes again quickly so he can’t see them. He doesn’t like it when you cry, it makes him madder than a hornet, and you’ve no wish to make him angry tonight. Tonight you just want to float away, let him make you feel like only he can. Worshipped. Adored. Wanted, if not exactly cherished. You relax into his touch as he runs his fingers through your hair languidly, enjoying the moment for what it is, a manifestation of his need for you, even if it is purely physical. You still have a certain amount of hold over him and you indulge the tiny flicker of possessive hope that sparks inside your chest.

“Alex told me you had a few too many drinks tonight…is that true, honey?” He suddenly grips your chin in his hand with a gentle force and pulls your head back, abruptly forcing you to look up at him once again. It isn’t mean, but it isn’t nice, either. He’s big on keeping up appearances, especially now that people know who you are. Hell, the press caught you in their crosshairs earlier this year and had a field day. “The King of Rock and Roll tarts it up with Vegas showgirl…but can you blame him?” It was unfair and nasty, the things they said about you in the article. But to Elvis, the only thing that had mattered was how he was portrayed. Ever since then you had to be on your best behavior, look absolutely perfect whenever you went out (with or without him), always be polite, well-spoken and well-dressed. Your mouth is suddenly filled with cotton and your heart speeds up as you try and fail to focus your eyes on his face. But the alcohol gets the better of you, the room spinning wildly out of control and you shut them again, unable to keep them open.

“Answer me honey,” he demands in a quiet voice through gritted teeth, shaking your chin a little. Your brows furrow together as a pounding ache in your head echoes the one in your chest. Your hand reaches up to grasp his arm that connects him to you, tugging a little on his sleeve, desperate for him to let you go. His hold on your chin is just a little too tight, his ringed fingers biting into the soft flesh of your jaw. Instead of letting go, his grip tightens ever so slightly, and you’re sure there will be half-moon crescents left behind on your skin by his perfectly manicured fingernails.

“Elvis…can you…please.” You manage to choke out through the vise-like hold he has on your mouth, trying to shake your head, straining against him, pulling harder on his arm. He chuckles darkly and releases you with a final squeeze that has you rubbing your jaw and gasping a little. The room dances around you and you close your eyes again, unable to follow his movements as he paces back and forth like a tiger in a jungle, regal and smoothly hypnotic, full of pent up rage bubbling just beneath the surface. This is bad. You haven’t seen him this worked up since just after you met him, when you slowly and painstakingly pieced his shattered heart back together again.

“Goddamnit, kitten!” he roars suddenly, startling you out of your stupor, your eyes flying open at the sound, your heart pounding uncontrollably again. “Did you make a fool of yourself out there? At my show?!” He points a finger toward the door before slapping a hand forcefully against his chest. “Did you make a fool outta me?!”

He stops in front of you, jewel-littered chest heaving, delicate hands balled into fists at his side. Some survival instinct inside your rib cage is screaming at you to flee, now, run far away. You can feel your legs itching to sprint, your fight or flight mode kicking into high gear. But. God help you, in this moment, you shouldn’t be as attracted to him as you are. The way the light gleams off the gold chains resting in the thicket of his chest hair, a slight sheen of sweat bathing him in an ethereal glow. His midnight hair mussed, plush mouth parted in something resembling a sneer, perfect white teeth that all at once look as if they could devour you whole. His eyes travel the length of you, assessing, taking in your long, bare limbs, firm and toned, a dancer’s body. The ample swell of your full breasts barely contained by the slip of silk covering your chest, the curves of your face cherubic and womanly in the same turn.

Slowly, his lithe body slowly bends to hover over you as he brings a knee up to rest on the couch between your bare thighs, his arms bracketing either side of you, pinning you to the couch. You can see the strain of his cock forming an outline against his tight pants, and you lick your lips as you feel arousal flood your folds. You offer a silent thanks to the universe that you chose this sliver of a silk dress tonight. It barely covers your soaked panties at this point. Your breathing grows shallow at the sheer closeness of him, your nose picking up the heady scent of his musk and sweat mixed with something spicy. It threatens to overwhelm your senses in your current state and has your heartbeat kicking up a notch. He smirks as his knee slides forward an inch, two inches, ever so slowly, until it meets your clothed pussy. Your sharp gasp at the contact makes his smirk deepen and he shifts his leg just a little, sending shockwaves through your body. Your head falls back on the couch and one of his hands fists in your hair, tangling his fingers in the long, silky stands.

He begins his leisurely assault on your body, the grind of his hips in perfect rhythm with the tugging of your hair, your scalp and pussy tingling pleasantly. You spread your legs wider to give him better access as your hands reach up to clutch at his narrow waist. He stops abruptly, arching away from you without breaking contact.

“Ah, ah, ah…you don’t get to touch me yet, baby. Been a bad little girl, and bad girls don’t get what they want,” he murmurs lowly, his voice dripping with honey so thick it’s like he can barely get the words out. You’re too far gone to care at this point, the alcohol and endorphins racing through your body, the thrill of being close to him again, of him touching you after so long an absence. You settle for grabbing fistfuls of the fluffy pillows decorating the couch as he finally begins to move once more, his icy eyes boring holes into yours, pink mouth parted invitingly. Anger sears through you in an instant at the fact you can’t kiss him there. You want nothing more than to crush your lips to his in this moment, to feel his tongue gliding against yours, exchanging breaths like your lives depended on it. But a particularly severe jolt against your swollen clit has you forgetting everything but the here and now, your eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. You can feel the tidal wave building, so close to crashing over you and pulling you under, you’ll be gone in a matter of seconds. You wantonly grind down on Elvis’s knee, needing more friction and a throaty moan escapes your lips. You hear a low growl as he pulls your hair hard, once, and a sharp pain shoots from your head to your toes, before he’s letting go completely, stepping away from you so quickly your mind can’t keep up with the sudden change. Your hips are still bucking up, seeking contact where there isn’t any.

Your eyes fly open, your body trembling with unshed release, your breath stolen by the orgasm that had been so near, your hands still gripping the pillows. He’s angry again, that burning fire inside barely contained, the telltale jiggle of his leg giving him away. Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks but you blink them away, they’ll only make him madder.

“You know how I-I-I feel about drinkin’. A-a-and losin’ control. Did you even stop to think for one goddamn minute about how that might look? About how that m-m-might make me look?”

You’re frozen where you sit, flushed, needy and exposed, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you. Anything to get away from his burning anger towards you. Confusion worms it’s way into your hazy brain. You should have been more careful. What if someone had seen you. Did you make a fool of yourself? You don’t remember doing anything more than having a good time, enjoying the show. You had sat in your booth and sung along a little, but that was it. You hadn’t gotten up and danced, or rushed the stage or screamed. You hadn’t acted like all of his other fans. You had behaved yourself. Hadn’t you? Your mind is fuzzy and his fury threatens to engulf the both of you…can’t be sure now.

His eyes are twin blue flames that blaze with anger and something else…something deeper that you can’t quite put your finger on in your hazy state. You reach out a hand to him, wanting even now to comfort him, he looks so much like a scared little boy that your heart can’t help but break a tiny bit. You swallow and struggle to stand from where you’ve melted into the soft couch, thinking if you can get a handle on the situation everything will be ok. He watches you with a look of disdain on his face, derision written like bitter words across his beautiful features before he turns and stalks to the window, brooding over the glittering blanket of stars that is Las Vegas stretched out below. He leaves you to help yourself up, swaying a little when you finally stand, gripping the edge of the couch to keep from falling.

“Elvis, please…I’m sorry. I didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I was a good girl, I swear it.” You wince at the desperation in your voice, unable to keep yourself from begging for his forgiveness. You don’t even know what it is you need forgiveness for, but you must have done something awful to cause such a reaction in him. You’re unsteady on your feet but will yourself forward, thinking if you could just touch him, just soothe him a little like you did all that time ago, he would soften and turn into your embrace as he once did. You would never admit this to anyone, can hardly admit it to yourself, but you miss the Elvis you first met, the shell of a man who went through the motions of life with a cracked facade and broken heart. He was angry, yes, but also lost and broken. You remember nights in his bed, holding him close to your chest as he cried bitter tears, his body wracked with sobs. All you could do then was hold him, but it was enough. It had been enough. If he would only let you hold him again things might be different.

Tentatively you reach a shaking hand out and it hovers over his back, afraid to make contact, afraid that he’ll shake it off, or worse, turn and snatch your delicate wrist in his burning grasp. You gently ease your palm into the hollow of his shoulder blades, so light is your touch at first he isn’t sure it’s actually there. But then his head droops and his shoulders relax, a deep sigh emanating from within him. You press your hand a little firmer, rubbing his back soothingly. You feel him shudder and wonder when was the last time that someone touched him so gently, with only the intent to give and not receive. If only he would open his heart to you, you could give him so much, love him so well. You swallow the tears in your throat, those won’t do at the moment, and shake your head to clear your thoughts. Your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, kneading as you go, releasing the tension he always holds there. Your fingers slip into his hair, stroking and scratching, as you feel his head tip back and grow heavy in your hand. You step closer, the heat radiating off of him making you shiver in the air-conditioned room, the alcohol starting to wear off a tiny bit. You snake an arm around his waist and pull him flat against your chest. He resists at first, stiffening in your arms, before softening once again, slumping against you.

You lay your head on his back and sigh, finally feeling a sense of peace at being back where you belong. Next to him. You pull him closer, placing a hand over his heart, pressing the whole of yourself against him as he turns his head to look at you over his shoulder, his breath coming in shallow exhalations. You feel his heart speed up under your palm and yours matches his rhythm. His hand covers the one of yours around his waist and slowly guides it down, down, inching towards that part of him that is needy and begging to be set free. It feels as if you both stop breathing when your entwined hands reach the hard, twitching length of him. Your fingers close over his concealed cock and he groans, unable to keep from thrusting a little in desperation. In the mirrored reflection of the window before you your eyes meet his, an unspoken plea falling silent and heavy. You know what he needs, know how he likes to be touched and handled.

You fumble with his belt buckle briefly before it falls to the floor with thud, followed by the sound of a zipper and the rustle of fabric. Reaching into his jumpsuit your cool hand meets hot, hard velvet, throbbing and heavy as you pull him out. You smear the generous amount of precum leaking from his tip onto the rest of his straining cock as you close your fist around him, moving your hand slowly. Teasingly at first you twist and squeeze lightly, running your thumb over the tip of his sensitive head, until you feel his hips start to thrust into your hand. Your hand squeezes his slippery member more tightly, dragging up and down with a satisfying squelch as his broad chest starts to heave through his open jumpsuit. One of his hands tangles in your hair while the other one finds your ass cheek and grabs hold, crushing it in his grip. He’s beautiful in the reflection of the window, his lidded eyes blinking slowly, mouth parted in ecstasy, his head falling back onto your shoulder as you cradle him in your arms.

“Oh goddamn,” he breathes raggedly. “Just like that, baby, right there.” It isn’t long before he stiffens and spasms in your arms, hot spurts of pearlescent come covering your hand. You hold him closely, your arm around his chest tightening to keep him upright as he reaches out a hand to the window to keep from falling. You’re both out of breath as you release his softening cock to fetch a towel from the bathroom. You drop to your knees before him, gently cleaning away the sticky mess, mindful of his sensitivity. He cups your face tenderly, tilting it up, his thumb making small circles on your cheek as his lips lift in a crooked half-smile.

“Sober up.” The words drop from his mouth like a stone into your heart. His hand falls from your cheek as he turns away, adjusting himself as he heads for the door. You can’t hide the look of devastation on your face as the door swings shut with a soft click behind him, on your knees with the lights of Las Vegas mocking you brilliantly from below.

Tags - not all of them work, so sorry. Let me know if you want to be added or removed! @jelliedonut @butlersxbirdy @precious-little-scoundrel @elvisabutler @eliseinmemphis @powerofelvis @missmaywemeetagain @godlypresley @be-my-ally @richardslady121 @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @from-memphis-with-love @whositmcwhatsit @butler-trouble @artlover8992 @headfullofpresley @ohjustpeachy1 @literally-just-elvis-fics @dhimpson1

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis imagine #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis smut #austin elvis x reader #austin elvis imagine #austin elvis smut #just like a woman #written by ab4eva

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wheresarizona · 2 years

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Gif by the talented @nicolethered

That Was Good

summary: Javi is nervous at the premiere of his new movie, and you know just what will make him feel better.

rating: E (18+ This is smut. Unprotected p in v (wrap it up), oral sex (m receiving), semi-public sex, creampie, Javi begging, established relationship)

pairing: Javi Gutierrez/f!reader

word count: 1400+

a/n: A fic for my follower celebration for @nicolethered, who requested Javi G and the prompt, “Stay Quiet.” This is my first time writing Javi G, so please be gentle. I had fun, though! He’s very cute. I promised to return him once I was finished, so Nicole, you may have your husband back. I hope I did him justice. As always, shoutout to my partner in crime, @juletheghoul, who lets me know if the vibes are good. I love you. This is unbeta'd.

Masterlist

Javi was nervous, very nervous.

You were at the premiere of the movie for the first script he’d completed, the story finally being brought to life. After the success of his film with Nic Cage, there was a demand for more from him, and he’d gotten the greenlight, Nic graciously producing and, to Javi’s shock and delight, starring.

It had been a few years since the business with his cousin, and his life had changed so much. Things hadn’t worked out with Gabriela and had ended amicably. He’d met you in line for a marathon screening of Nicolas Cage’s top three movies (Face/Off, Moonstruck, Leaving Las Vegas) that Javi had flown to Los Angeles to watch. The two of you had talked at length about your shared love of cinema, and sparks flew. You sat together, got food after, and spent the night and the whole weekend with each other.

That had been over a year ago, and he’d moved to California for his new career and to be with you, the two of you moving in together soon after and happily dating ever since.

He was pacing in the theater lobby, only stopping when people started talking to him, and instead, he’d fidget. You hugged his arm to try and ground him, his hand immediately holding you against him as he spoke to the others.

Javi looked handsome in his black tux, and his curls brushed back.

There was the announcement that the movie was starting, and the lobby started emptying as everyone went inside the auditorium, Javi not moving.

You needed to make him feel better, he just sometimes got so caught up in his head, and you knew he was on edge over how his movie would be received. An idea sprang to mind, and you smiled to yourself.

“Do you want to go in?” You asked, looking at him.

He turned his head to meet your gaze, swallowing hard.

“Can we sit in the back?” He frowned.

“Actually,” you said. “I have a better idea.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him down a hallway towards the restrooms before stopping at a door with a keypad lock. You looked around, making sure no one would see you both.

“What are we doing, mi vida?” He asked.

“You’ll see,” you replied. Pressing some numbers, the light turning red. You tried another set, and it went green. “Yes!” You whispered, pushing the door open and tugging him inside, feeling on the wall for a light switch and hitting it, revealing a storage room with spare seats, cleaning supplies, and other things to maintain the theater.

“How did you know the code?” He asked. You looked at him, seeing a frown on his face.

“There’s usually a code janitors use that’s super simple to get into the places they need. I’m not some fancy hacker. I’ve just worked in places like this—insider’s secrets,” you winked. “Now,” you grabbed him by the arms and walked him until his back hit a wall, and he gulped. “How about we make you feel better?”

“The movie?” He breathed.

“Would you have enjoyed yourself?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“...No?”

“Then how about we do something I know you enjoy doing.”

He gulped again.

“What… What did you have in mind?”

You leaned in close, getting your mouth against his ear.

“I thought I could suck your dick. Would you like that?” You nipped at his earlobe.

He shuddered.

“Yes,” he rasped.

You moved to kiss him then, sealing your lips over his, and his big hands came up to cradle your face, deepening it. His tongue slid against yours, and you trailed a hand down his front, rubbing at his hardening length, making him groan.

You gave him one last kiss, then dropped to your knees, quickly unbuckling and undoing his pants, pushing down his underwear to free his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around it, and stroking. You looked up at him through your lashes, his head tilted down to watch you, his eyes hooded and dark with lust.

“Need you to be quiet, baby. Can you do that?” You asked.

He nodded.

In answer, you licked a stripe from base to tip and heard him stifle a groan before you swirled your tongue around the head. He clenched his hands tightly when you swallowed him down. You watched Javi, saw him throw his head back, as his face screwed up in pleasure, and you couldn’t help but think he was gorgeous, wanting to absolutely wreck him.

You went deeper with each bob of your head until he was nudging at the back of your throat, and when you came up, you slid your tongue against the head, using your hand to stroke his shaft. You told him to be quiet, and he was making little whining noises, trying to do as you asked. You knew what he liked—how to bring him the most pleasure, and it didn’t surprise you when you knew he was close, his hands were pulling you off of him, Javi panting, looking at you with eyes full of want.

“I need to be inside of you, mi vida,” he said, voice rough.

You smiled.

“This is about you, Javi.”

His eyebrows creased.

“Please,” he gasped. “Por favor, mi amor. Please, I want to feel you. Need to be inside. Please,” he begged.

“Okay,” you nodded.

He hauled you by the arms and crushed his mouth against yours, pushing his tongue inside to taste, swallowing your moan. He turned you both, pressing your back against the wall, his hands pulling the hem of your dress up and setting your leg on his hip, opening you up for him.

His hand slipped between your bodies, pushing aside your panties, as he rubbed his thick fingers through your slit, feeling how wet you were.

“This turns you on?” He asked against your lips. “Fucking in public?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“My naughty girl. Do I need to finger—”

“I’m wet enough,” you cut him off. “Please, fuck me.”

He chuckled.

“As you wish,” he kissed you tenderly, his other hand grabbing his hard cock and lining himself up at your entrance, slowly pushing in, making you both moan as he sheathed himself inside. You were wet, and he was slick from your spit, but there was still a slight burn from how big he was, stretching your walls as he filled you until he bottomed out, both of you breathing hard.

You fisted your fingers in his hair as he started moving, fucking into you hard and fast. He wasn’t going to last long, and you both knew it. He shifted your leg a little higher and changed his angle slightly, and all thoughts exited your brain as he rubbed against that blinding spot inside you, a loud moan falling from your lips, eyes fluttering closed.

“Stay quiet,” he grunted. “Don’t want to get caught, mi vida,” he said, kissing you.

He was building you up with each thrust of his hips, pushing you closer to the edge, the muscles in your body tensing. He firmly pressed his mouth against yours to muffle your soft moans, snaking a hand between your legs to circle your clit.

His hips moved faster, his fingers pressed harder, and you were falling, tumbling off the cliff with his name gasped from your lungs, feeling the pleasure consume you and take you away. You clenched hard around him, making his rhythm stutter and a groan bubble up his throat, and he was following you, grinding himself deep inside as he came with a rough sound from his chest, filling you with his release.

He pressed his sweaty forehead against your own as you both came down from your highs, sharing panted breaths. He kissed you softly—gently, his hands coming up to cup your jaw as he slanted his mouth against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your lips.

“Anytime,” your answer came out muffled.

You kissed for a little longer, and then he was pulling back, giving you a bright smile with his dimple making an appearance.

“That was good,” he said.

You giggled.

“It was,” you agreed, your fingers trying to fix his hair you’d accidentally messed up. “How about we go get some fro-yo at the place down the street, and then we come back before the movie ends and pretend like we were here the whole time?”

“That is an excellent idea, mi vida! Nicolas Cage will not know.”

“No, he will not.”

He kissed you again, chuckling happily.

Javi was no longer nervous, and that was all that mattered.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

Tagging: @daddydindjarin @absurdthirst @kirsteng42 @littlemisspascal @athalien @thevoiceinyourheadx @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @mswarriorbabe80 @spanishmossmagnolia @star017 @javier-penas-wife @artsymaddie @hansolosleftbuttcheek @deadhumourist @pretty-brown-eyess @hotchlover @lalalalemonade11 @eternallyvenus @allfoolsinluv @eppy816 @katareyoudrilling @babykangaemoji @punkerthanpascal @breezythesimp @grimeysociety @bruxasolta @peachyaeger @din-jarhead @lovesbiggerthanpride @loonymagizoologist @pinebeam @spacenerdpascal @padbrookcottage @karlawithacapitalk @trickstersp8 @that-friend-in-the-corner @iamskyereads @pedroswh0r3 @astravoyager @beskarprincessjenny @beecastle @manuymesut @alexxavicry @leithatnight

#pedro pascal #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez/reader #javi gutierrez fanfiction #wheresarizonas follower celebration #wheresarizona writes

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shiiiko · 2 years

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AT! Vega when gn! Mc comes back with a bruise on their back (mc as a gangster)

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Since I can't seem to find any Arcana twilight fics here- I'll try to do one, sorry if it's bad, it's 11 pm already 💀💀

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Vega had not really given a care for the transfer student. Only talking when needed or when he was asked to, worrying about the student was Spica and Arcky's job. He supposes that'd be enough.

Until he had imprinted on them. After that little fiasco, they started hanging out more, mostly to the gardens as both of them like the serene atmosphere. Vega knew Mc's mannerisms to a T from how they walk to how they feel, Mc usually is a bubbly person who can glare at you and make yourself pee.

He found out of their life back on Earth, how they created a gang called Ishvara and he unsurprisingly found himself admiring the fellow human once more, maybe even more.

Today however was different. The exchange student avoided the council members at all costs, even Pollux and Mc always treats Pollux like a twin, he doesn't understand. Did they have a bad day? Or did he and his comrades do something to offend Mc?

Everytime he tried to approach her Mc slips away like sand between his fingers until he finally gave up for the day and decided to try again tomorrow, though unwillingly under the order of Spica since Mc is having a bad day and Vega kept pestering them.

Sighing in a discontent matter, the sorcerer retired to his bed while reading a book on his couch to take his mind off of today's events, well trying to. He keeps glancing over the words of the book he usually enjoyed that it was starting to irk him until he felt a knock at the door, sighing once more, he put the book aside as he opened his door.

He expected it to be Arcky but was surprised to Mc instead. The h/c colored human looked groggy enough to almost tumble on Vega when he opened the door

"Summoner? Are you alright?" Vega asked in concern while holding Mc's shoulders as he guided them into his bed

Though trying to muster a smile it did not reach their eyes that it made Vega's brows furrow. After he closed the door is when Mc decided to speak

"Can you.... Help me?" They asked

The momentary but visible hesitance in their voice made Vega agree almost immediately but of course, without thinking as to why they were so secluded the whole day and now suddenly asking for help in such a hesitant way

After seeing him nod, Mc slowly stood up and lifted the back of their shirt, back facing Vega. An audible but short gasp was hears from the taller man and almost instantly Mc felt coolness in their back as gentle but firm hands made them sit down cross legged on the bed, back facing Vega once more

"Summoner where did you get this?" He asked as he started taking the first aid kit out

The pregnant silence was enough to make Vega purse his lips making him sigh as he poured alcohol on a cotton and gently tapped the human's back

"I'm guessing you got into a fight with one of the students here" he said in a firm tone, no. He wasn't asking. He knows the answer

"... Yes" the summoner spoke after flinching when Vega accidentally pushed the cotton with alcohol a little too hard making the sorcerer retract and apologize

"I'm not gonna ask how or why it happened, but please do tell me who had done this" he spoke after wrapping bandages around Mc's waist

Mc turned to look at the sorcerer with a look of curiosity adorning their own face, tilting their head to the side they asked

"aren't you curious about how and why it happened though?"

"Even if I am, would you have told me?" He asked while cleaning up

"no... Because if I start telling you, I'd want to tell you everything" they said in a whisper

The answer had made Vega stop in his tracks momentarily, glancing back at the summoner before finishing up cleaning and sat next to them. Didn't really know what to answer he just gave a light chuckle and slowly pushed his companion to his bed, covering them with the sheets. The visible shock on their face was cute that it made Vega almost smile outwardly

"I think it's better for you to sleep here yeah? Don't worry, I'll explain to Spica tomorrow" he assured "Now sweet dreams Summoner"

He was about to go to the couch beside his bed when Mc was able to grab ahold of his sleeve and gently tugging it towards them. Vega could do nothing but to lie right next to them before they pull out the puppy dog eyes.

After he got comfortable, they started staring right into each other, their hands unknowingly entangling in-between them

"Thank you, Vega... For everything" Mc spoke in a drowzy tone, sleepy from the chaotic events that had unfolded

"Anytime Mc, just... Promise me that you'd never try to hide when your hurt from me, alright?" He said, slightly serious

Mc nodded and asked him to do the same, they even pinkie promised. As childish as it was, Vega couldn't help but go along with Mc's schemes once more.

After making sure the summoner had fully fallen asleep, Vega sighed in content as he gently pulled them towards him, wrapping them around his arms not too tight to not hurt them. He already thought of the things he would tell the council before acting on it, punishing the people who had dared pick a fight with his Mc, even though he knows fully well they had already taken care of it. The students actions still went against school rules (a/n: and the fact that he wants to torture them just a tiny bit ^^)

He was about to think about their punishments some more when a yawn came out of his throat, blinking, he had decided that he should retire for the day and deal with it tomorrow. He promised himself to be with Mc whenever they got hurt, he wasn't naive, he knew this won't fully stop. The only thing he could do is to be there for them and that he shall do.

That was Vega's final thought before following Mc into the dream scape until reality woke them up the next morning.

#Arcana Twilight #Vega #Gn!mc #Mc knows how to fight #Vega x Mc #Arcana Twilight Vega x Gn!mc #Arcana Twilight Pollux #Arcana twilight Spica #fanfic

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starlitangels · 1 year

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Leader

Yup. You guessed it: more Avior/Starlight—and more Major Cataclysm Spoilers Ahead! 2.7k words

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Avior froze beside me. “What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.

His grip tightened on my hand. Slowly, he glanced around. Ferris was quiet. Most streets were these days. Since the vampire takeover and the fall of the centralized Imperium, humans were only out and about if they absolutely had to be. Lest they fell prey to a wandering, hungry vampire.

“Avior?” I tried again, softly.

“Sh,” he whispered, tone gentle. “Something’s wrong.”

“How do you know?”

“I feel it.” Those glittering gold eyes flicked around the neighborhood we’d been walking through. I’d learned enough about daemons from being the coordinator of the haven for a year to feel that his magic was burning. He was searching for something.

A yelp left my throat as he grabbed me around the shoulders, crushed me to his chest, and hauled up a ward around us. It was white and nebulous—but it was strong.

Several figures appeared from nowhere, surrounding the ward. I blinked, taking them in.

All of them wore horns on proud display. They were dressed professionally—all in well-fitted suits.

They were all the same ethereal beauty as Avior.

Daemons.

“Starlight,” Avior breathed, not quite dropping the ward, “may I introduce you… to the Chorus.”

He looked even-keeled, but I knew him. The ward was probably stopping them from sensing his emotions, but I knew he was terrified. I could feel it in the way his fingers dug protectively into my back. See it in the slackness of his lips and the width of his eyes. I held onto him.

One of the members of the Chorus tilted their head just slightly.

I didn’t feel the stab of magic from the Chorus member against Avior’s ward—but he cringed so violently that there must have been one.

I gulped. “Lower the ward,” I advised.

“I can’t protect you against all of them if it’s down.”

“They’ll bring it down anyway if you don’t. Lower it, and maybe we can all talk like adults instead of getting into a fight.”

Another member of the Chorus cocked an eyebrow at me. I wondered if they could hear me. The ward Avior put up should have been soundproof, but these daemons… Avior and Vega had both mentioned that members of the Chorus were so old that they were incredibly powerful.

“Avior, please,” I whispered. “Let’s try to talk this out with them.”

He met my gaze. “Don’t hate me,” he whispered.

“Wh-what—?”

He shoved me away from him. I staggered several steps away. The ward followed me. He ducked through it. It shrunk to give me only a foot of space all around me.

I slammed my fists against it. “Avior!” I shouted.

He didn’t acknowledge me.

One of the members of the Chorus—her green hair in a severe updo—looked between Avior and where I was trying to get out of his ward. “Protecting the land-born is useless, Avior,” she said, adjusting her blazer a little.

“Wouldn’t you try to protect the one you love, Adhara?” Avior replied coolly, not rising to the bait of the bile in her tone.

“Love?” she quoted.

Avior, ever the professional, somehow straightened his posture even more. “Yes. I’ve been in love with them for a year,” he said.

“And do they love you?” Her eyes turned to me. They burned brighter green than her hair, ghostly in the twilight.

I nodded fervently, pressing my palms to the ward. “I love him.”

The Chorus member—Adhara—smirked. She leaned to one of the other Chorus daemons standing beside her. “Elaetum and Min’Ara were right when they initially wove the Meridian,” she said softly. Avior spared me a quick glance. “The land-born can love the starchildren.”

The other Chorus member bounced an eyebrow.

I pushed against the ward again, testing it. Avior’s magic didn’t yield to me.

“We won’t hurt your human, Avior,” Adhara said. “You can lower the ward.” I wondered if she was the head of the Chorus or just a spokesperson or simply helming this particular conversation while all the others watched.

“Forgive me if my trust reserves have been worn thin,” Avior said. His tone was a little strained.

“Well, they clearly want to get out. You may as well release them.”

Avior looked at me again—but only briefly. He seemed unwilling to take his eyes off the Chorus surrounding us.

He met Adhara’s eyes again. “What do you want? Why seek me out? I was exiled decades ago for being mouthy.” That didn’t surprise me.

She smiled at him with amusement in those burning eyes. “Indeed you were. And in the time since, you have taken up a leadership position for daemons on Elegy. In the… most prominent human city under the former government,” she remarked. Avior raised a brow. A look I recognized that screamed get to the point.

Adhara took a deep breath and sighed. “The daemons here. The ones who have called Elegy their home for years since their exile. They look to you for guidance. Even Vega, for all his… inclinations, views you as a worthy representative of daemonkind.”

“You spoke with him?” Avior asked, looking surprised.

Adhara made a face. “A generous term considering he doesn’t speak with his physical mouth but yes,” she replied.

A muscle tensed in Avior’s jaw and his eyes flickered skyward in an attempt not to roll them. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. “What do you want with me?”

“We want you as a consultant,” a different Chorus member said. This one looked middle-aged. The oldest I’d ever seen a daemon look. His hair had no grey or white in it, but his face looked time-worn.

Avior spun to look at him. “A consultant?” he demanded.

“Yes,” the daemon said.

Avior’s jaw hung open in disbelief. “You all threw me out of Aria for daring to disagree with your opinion and now you want me to consult with you?”

“Avior, love, maybe don’t be mouthy right now,” I warned. He didn’t seem to hear me.

Adhara regarded him thoughtfully. “You were always independent and intelligent, Avior. You have a gifted mind for logistics and strategies. You are wise—and respected by the daemons who have made Elegy their home.”

“And the truth of the matter,” the second daemon said, picking at an invisible speck of dust on his lapel, “is that none of us have been to Elegy in millennia. We don’t know how it’s changed since the Cacophony. You do. The daemons we’ve exiled here don’t respect us as a governmental body of their people anymore. They respect you.”

“And so you want me to help you get their respect back,” Avior growled.

“Avior—now is not the time for attitude!” I exclaimed. “You’re outnumbered!”

His ward was definitely soundproof because he ignored me. At least, that was what I was allowing myself to believe.

Adhara glanced at me, watching the movement as I pounded my fists against the wards again.

“Newsflash for you all: I don’t respect you either,” Avior added. “I’ve had a lot of time to think while I’ve been here. A competent ruling body wouldn’t simply banish anyone who dares to disagree with them. Silencing dissent leads to eternal stagnation.”

“Avior, stop!” I shouted. He continued not to heed me.

I didn’t want to hurt him, but part of me wanted to slam lightning into this ward until he brought it down. Even if just to get his attention.

Adhara and the others looked… unfazed. Presumably because they didn’t believe Avior posed a threat to them.

“I take it you are less than willing to act as a consultant?”

“The daemons you exiled here no longer consider themselves your subjects,” Avior snapped. “You gave up jurisdiction over them when you tore the Meridian open and shoved them through it. That includes me. I have spent decades fighting to keep our kin on this side of the Meridian safe. I lured them to compounds that treated them like prisoners in order to keep them off the streets so the humans who feared them wouldn’t be able to hurt them anymore. I had to play ball with some of the most bigoted humans on this plane in order to keep them safe and well-treated. I didn’t care that it made them hate me for a while—because at least I kept them alive.”

Tears were streaming down his face as he ranted passionately at the Chorus.

“These daemons who’ve been exiled here aren’t just our kin. They’re my people—and I swore to myself that I’d protect them,” he finished.

Adhara regarded him thoughtfully. “You won’t work with us, then.” It wasn’t a question. I didn’t need to be an empath like they were to sense Avior’s stubborn determination.

He met her eyes and wiped his face on the back of his jacket sleeve. “How can I? You forsook us. They’ll never forgive you—and most would disavow me if I chose to side with you.”

“It’s more important now than ever before that daemonkind is united,” the middle-aged-looking daemon said. “With the loss of the Sovereigns, we must all band together in order for us all to remain safe and kept from starvation.”

Avior scoffed, twisting to look at him. “Maybe so. But there’s nothing I can do about the opinions of those who you abandoned to die.”

Zip!

A small horde of vampires started emerging from the shadows. Fangs out and gleaming in the streetlights. The mark of the Mass-Maker trying to vy for Ferris was emblazoned on their jackets. “You’re out after curfew, daemons,” the one in front snarled.

One of the other Chorus members flicked her long red-and-black hair off her shoulder. “We don’t answer to vampires,” she retorted. She had the same horn shape as Vega—I wondered if she was a Sadism Daemon.

In a blur of movement, the vampire was up in her face. “You’re on our territory, sweetie.”

She snarled at him. “And you can’t feed on us without turning to dust. So know your place—human.”

“Get out of here, all of you,” Avior advised the Chorus. “For your own safety.”

The red-and-black-haired daemon rolled her eyes. “We’re the most powerful daemons in existence. If you think we’re afraid of some puny vampires—”

“I’m sure you can handle yourselves. But for the sake of diplomacy just—stop,” Avior said. “Go back to Aria.”

“You do not give us orders. Nor do they.”

“This isn’t an order. This is a suggestion.” Avior took a few careful side-steps toward me. “Listen when I say Elegy is much harsher than you remember.”

Another member of the Chorus scoffed.

The vampires rushed in.

Avior ducked into the ward he’d made and wrapped his arms around me. “Hold onto me, starlight,” he whispered. I put my arms around his neck. He stooped and scooped up my knees.

“You can outrun them, right?” I whispered. A member of the Chorus screamed. I heard the sound of several rifts tearing open in the Meridian.

“Yeah. Just hang on tight.”

I did.

Avior dropped the ward and took off. I heard the snarling of vampires right on his heels quickly fade. He held me close to his chest, and I knew we were both wishing he could rift with me.

When he stopped, we were in an unfamiliar building. “What’s this?” I asked.

“A waypoint,” he replied. “When Imperial Enforcers found daemons in cities without havens, they brought them to waypoints until the daemon could get shipped off to the nearest haven. The structure is essentially the same, but smaller.”

“This is what Crux was talking about a few months ago, right?”

Avior nodded. “We’ll be safe from the vampires in here,” he said. “Let’s find one of the rooms that still has a mattress and get you some sleep. We can go back to the pack den in the morning.”

“Tell Vega we’re here?” I suggested.

He glanced around the barren, concrete room. “Good idea.” His eyes met mine. “May I? I need just a little more.”

“Always.”

He kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes and let the relief of the safety of his arms flow over me. Relief, love, and a small nugget of concern.

Vega. We’re at the Ferris waypoint. We were waylaid by the Chorus and then set upon by vampires. We’ll be back in the morning, his voice said in my mind. Ferris wasn’t a large town, and daemon telepathy was strong.

Do you need us to come escort you home? Vega asked.

No. We’ll be fine come morning. I’ll expect your report on your conversation with the Chorus when I return.

Yes, sir.

Avior sighed. “What do I do, starlight?” He met my eyes with confusion in his.

“What do you want to do?”

“Tell the Chorus to go f…” He shook his head. “They abandoned us. The exiled daemons won’t take kindly to them trying to exert jurisdiction over them again.”

I made a face and let Avior guide me through the small building to a reinforced cell of a room—but the cot had a mattress. Avior sat at the head of the bed and I sat beside him. “They’d rather follow you. They’ve been following you for years. They trust you to keep them safe. They believe in your leadership. Especially after this… this new Cataclysm. I… I’m not a daemon, my love.” I reached over and cupped his face in one hand. “I can’t tell you what you should do. The best option, I think, would be to lead the daemons who want to follow you, but have… some sort of go-between person. So don’t work for the Chorus—be independent. Collaborate with the Chorus, but be separate and make it obvious that you’re your own leader.”

“You think the others will accept that?”

“They respect and trust you. You’re a good leader. If you make sure you stay separate from the Chorus, and are never under their thumbs, I think they’d be okay with it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m not a daemon. I can’t make any promises what your people will think. But… maybe someone like Delphinus could be a liaison. He’s kind and diplomatic. Maybe Cam.”

“I was actually thinking Vega.”

I jolted. “Seriously? I mean… Vega… he’s the one who shoved you through a rift intending to send you back to Aria!”

Avior sighed. “Yes… but… the fact of the matter remains that… he made himself my general—so now he has to fulfill the role and responsibility of being my second-in-command.”

I raised my eyebrows. “If that’s what you think is best, my love.”

He leaned down and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to my lips. “One thing at a time. We’ll figure this all out. I promise, my starlight.”

I nodded.

He sighed. “I was never meant to be a leader. I became the director of the haven because I had to. I was meant to be… some sort of advisor to someone who made the hard decisions. Weighing options, running numbers—that’s what I’m good at. But I was the first daemon in Dahlia when Moore made the haven and I started organizing. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can, Avior. I believe in you. I have since the day we met.”

He gave me a look full of adoration. “I love you. So much,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

He scooted back on the bed and rested his back to the wall. “Lie down. Get some sleep. I’ll help you relax and keep watch.”

I rested my head on his lap, curled up on my side, and closed my eyes. “Don’t be afraid to wake me up if something comes up,” I mumbled as he started rubbing gentle circles with his thumb on my exposed temple, relieving the headache that had been building there.

“We’ll see, starlight,” he whispered. “You need the sleep.” He leaned down and kissed my temple. “I’ll protect you. Always, my starlight. I promise.”

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Imperium #Cataclysm Spoilers #Redacted Avior #Redacted Starlight #Avior #Starlight #Redacted Audio #Redacted Cataclysm #Redacted Spoilers #Starlit Fic

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jerzwriter · 2 years

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What Happened in Vegas: Chapter 1 - Take Off

Book: Open Heart (Book2)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Casey MacTavish)

Rating: Teen (Chapter)

Warnings: None

Category: Series - AU

Words: 2075

Summary: Casey & her roommates are heading to Vegas, intent on taking down Declan Nash and Panacea; but this time, Dr. Ethan Ramsey is in tow.

Chapter: Casey approaches her boss, and secret boyfriend, about taking time off to join her friends in Vegas. When he forces her to tell the reason why he insists, he's coming along. Get ready for take-off!

SERIES MASTERLIST

CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY STUDIOS.

@choicesmonthlychallengejune2022 Day 25 - Resignation

"Absolutely not!"

Casey squirmed uncomfortably in her seat as Ethan's gruff refusal settled in the air around her. She expected this reaction, but she was not about to give up.

"Ethan, please reconsider. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Her crystal blue eyes studied him intently, watching for any sign of his stony exterior beginning to crumble. But, it never came to be. She knew what had to be done. Taking things up a notch, she gazed lovingly in his direction. Then with a flick of her golden mane and a gentle smile, she purred.

"Please, Ethan? For me?"

Slack-jawed, he stared at her incredulously. The audacity of this woman. Did she think he didn't realize that she was playing him? He opened his mouth, preparing for his words to explode… but just as quickly, he halted. A deep sigh heaved out of his chest as he tossed his glasses onto his desk, briskly rubbing his eyes as his temples began to throb. He looked up to find her staring at him, arms crossed defiantly in front of her chest.

He wanted to laugh and scream at once. It was just two years ago when this stubborn, beautiful, brilliant, impossible firecracker of a woman waltzed into his life, turning everything he knew on its ear. No resident in the history would have had the nerve to make this request, but then again, she wasn't merely a resident.

"Let me get this straight. You're asking me to adjust the entire team's schedule on a moment's notice, so you and your cohorts can spend a few days engaging in God knows what kind of debauchery in Vegas."

"What?" she exclaimed. "No! I mean, sure, there may be some debauchery… at some point… but that's not why we're going. Ethan," she pleaded. "I have good reason for this. I need you to trust me."

"I’m sorry, Rookie. You'll need to give me more to go on if you expect me to agree to this."

Casey tossed her hands in the air with resignation.

"Fine!" We have… we think we have a way to take down Declan Nash and Panacea. But we must go to Vegas for the convention to make it happen. Please, Ethan… please? Think of how much damage they do! How many people's lives could be better if they are exposed."

Ethan slumped back in his chair, a pained expression on his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Are you trying to put me in an early grave?" he groaned.

"What?" she gasped, "No! Of course not!"

"I'm going to regret this…" he muttered, "but do you really think you have something?"

"I know we do."

Shaking his head with a bitter chuckle, he gave up. "When would you need to leave?"

"Tonight."

"Fine. You can go," he acquiesced as Casey began to squeal. "On one condition!" he barked, putting a damper on her celebration.

"Of course," she beamed. "Name it!"

"You’re not going alone.”

“I know. I told you, Jackie, Sienna, Bry….”

“And me,” he interjected. “I’m coming along too, and that’s not negotiable.”

“Ethan, you can’t.”

“Why is that?”

“We can’t both be gone? Harper and Baz can’t pick up our entire workload.”

“They can if I ask Naveen to pitch in, and he will.”

“But… but you can’t! What about… us?”

Ethan jumped from his seat and walked to the door, locking it behind him before returning and standing before Casey.

“What do we have to do with this?”

“I thought we said we’d keep our relationship a secret until my residency is over.”

“We will. But I also received an invitation to this snake-oil show in Vegas. As the director of the diagnostic team, I have an excuse to be there. Now, you can tell me more about your plan on the flight out. But this could get dangerous, and I’m not letting you go alone.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to, but….”

“What, ” he smiled, tenderly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to control yourself, Dr. MacTavish? That your friends will see right through us?”

Quivering at his touch, Casey shut her eyes as her body inched closer to him. “It, it could happen,” she stuttered.

“You think so?” he asked, his hands dipping to her waist and pulling her flush against him, taking her warm lips into his own; he fought to contain himself as a languid groan escaped her. “You’ll have to be quieter than that around them if we’re going to keep this a secret,” he grinned.

“Then, maybe you just have to refrain from kissing me like that on this trip,” she cooed.

“HA!” Fat chance!” He laughed. “But in all seriousness, we can manage this. So go,” he said, shooing her toward the door. “Go home and pack, but leave your flight information before you do, because I’m getting on that flight.” ~~~~~

Four hours later…

“I still can’t believe that you told him!” Jackie bristled as the gang tripped over themselves to keep up with her furious pace. “Not only told him but invited him to come along!”

Casey’s face scrunched in frustration. How many times did she have to repeat the story?

“Jackie! We’ve been over this! It’s the only way he would agree to give me the time off! Plus, I didn’t invite him; he invited himself.”

“Sure,” Jackie laughed sardonically, tossing her bag to the side as she fell into a seat by their gate. “I just wish… I wish I hadn’t even told you! I don’t think you realize how important this is!”

Casey’s jaw fell, and she grimaced, about to say something she was certain to regret, when Sienna stepped in and came to the rescue.

“Jackie!” She reprimanded, “Enough! You know darn well that Casey understands how important this is! She wants this to work as much as we do! And do you really think she would invite Ramsey to come along? Be real!”

Jackie lifted her head from her hands, a combination of embarrassment and fear on her face. She looked at Casey with apologetic eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she lamented. “It’s just, I need this to work, and I’m not going to lie… I’m a little scared.”

Casey plopped down next to Jackie, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know,” she whispered, “I feel the same way. But Ethan coming along really isn’t a bad thing. We can trust him. He’s on our side, and he won’t do anything to jeopardize this.”

Jackie's head tilted, and Casey felt her cheeks warm at the accusatory smirk on her friend’s face.

“Ethan?” Jackie teased.

“Well… yeah,” Casey sputtered. “Ethan… I mean… I’m on the diagnostic team now. We’re casual with each other. I call Harper, Harper. Baz, Baz. What do you expect me to call Ethan other than Ethan! I don’t think I like the way you….”

“Casey,” Bryce interrupted.

“What?”

“Chill. If you’re trying to look less sus, you’re failing miserably,” he winked.

“I’m not sus! I’m just saying….”

“GUYS!” Sienna injected, “Can we please stop teasing one another! Our nerves are a little fried right now, and we’re bound to be sensitive. We have to stay calm and focused for this to work!”

“She’s right!” Elijah insisted. “Plus, if we stay focused and get this taken care of quickly, you know what comes next?”

“Partying in Vegas!” Bryce hollered, reaching over to give Elijah a high five.

“When you mentioned all of our nerves being fried, did you include these two buffoons in that equation?” Jackie asked. “Because they look just fine to me!”

“Hey!” Bryce snapped, “do you know what worry does? Huh? It causes worry lines… and I am not about to welcome them to this pretty face.”

“Is this what I will be subjected to listening to for the remainder of this trip?”

The group turned around to see Ethan stepping up behind them.

“Dr. Ramsey! Now the party can begin!” Elijah laughed.

“There’s no party!” Jackie snapped before turning her eyes to Ethan. “As for what you’re subjected to… yeah, I’m sorry, it comes with the territory when this meathead is on board.”

“Then… maybe you shouldn’t have invited him,” Ethan shrugged.

“Hey, we need his beauty and your brains to pull this off,” Casey grinned. “We’re officially the dream team!”

“Hey! I have brains!”

“Hey! I have beauty!”

Bryce and Ethan protested in unison.

“You both do,” Sienna laughed. “You’re both doubly blessed! We are the dream team, and that’s how I know we’ll pull this off!”

Delta flight 854 departing for Las Vegas is now boarding. If you are flying on…

“Oh! They’re playing our song!” Elijah cheered as the gang headed to the entrance ramp.

Casey reached over to grab her suitcase, accidentally but accidentally reached for Ethan’s. His hand momentarily landed atop hers before she noticed her mistake.

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back as an electric charge shot through her body. Stealthily looking around to ensure no one was watching, she turned back to Ethan with red cheeks. “I thought that was mine.”

“No worries. They look the same. Now come on,” he grinned, hoping no one noticed the effect that just seconds of her flesh atop his had, “let’s get on that flight.”

~~~~~

Sienna glared at Bryce, who was laughing uncontrollably as he watched her struggle to put her bag in the overhead compartment.

“A little assistance and a little less mocking would be helpful, Lahela!”

“I’ll help you,” Casey smiled.

“Thanks, my fellow Dolphin!” Sienna replied with a side hug. “Hey, is your seat next to mine?”

“I, uhm.. it was, but….”

“She’s been bumped to first class,” Jackie simpered.

“She has!?” Bryce sang. “Has anyone else? How’d you score that?”

Jackie coughed and nodded toward the front of the plane, where Ethan sat comfortably reclined in a plush seat, a vacant space beside him.

“Ooooohhhhhh,” Sienna purred.

“Case, can you just admit you’re banging him already?”

“Jackie! I am not…..” she lied.

Bryce chuckled, “Sure! He just sprung on a first-class ticket for you because he wants to….” his eyes grew wide with horror when he saw Ethan approaching, not at all amused by what he had just heard.

“Because he needs to discuss some emergent cases we are working on during the flight. Or would you find it acceptable to steal an additional six hours of time from our patients as we head off on what may just be a fool’s mission, Lahela?”

“Nah, that sounds good,” Bryce quivered. “All good.”

Ethan turned to Casey with a sly wink, “Are you ready, Dr. MacTavish?”

“Sure am,” she smiled.

“Ethan,” Casey whispered as she slid into the luxurious seat next to him. “I thought the goal was to keep us a secret?”

“It is,” he said with mock indignation, “did you not hear? We will be discussing work!”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“Plus,” he smirked as he slyly slipped his hand into hers. “They will be pulling the curtain momentarily. Once they do, that delightful little posse you call your friends won’t be able to see into the first-class cabin at all.”

“I like the way you think, Ramsey,” she giggled. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to join the mile-high club. Have you given that any thought?”

Ethan tried to play it cool, but Casey fell into a fit of giggles as he choked on his drink.

“Err… Uhm… well, yes. Yes, as a matter of fact, I have,” he admitted, “but I don’t think we’ll be crossing that off the bucket list this trip, my dear.”

“Tsk-tsk. What a pity,” Casey sighed, “but as long as I get to cross something off, I guess it will be ok.”

Casey turned around at the sound curtain rings sliding over the brass bar, officially blocking off the first-class cabin.

“And with that,” Ethan grinned, “I am sure we’ll be able to work something out. Why don’t you pull out that list?”

“I will,” she blushed, pulling him toward her, “right after this.”

Lost in their kiss, the two secret lovers didn’t realize the plane had begun to taxi. They only parted when they were politely interrupted by the flight attendant.

“Sorry,” Casey blushed.

“I’m not,” Ethan followed.

Casey shook her head and laughed.

“Oh, I have a feeling this is going to be a very interesting trip!”

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices monthly challenge

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thymeeandspace · 1 year

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How Does Your First Kiss Go?

Feat. Dazai

Gosh this took me so much longer than it should've. There were supposed to be way more characters, but Tumblr started freaking out on me and I don't have the patience to wait for it. I promise the others will get their hcs soon, and im sorry that its so short😭

I think even though Dazai is a very chaotic, dramatic person, your first kiss would be very sweet. Just because he messes with you all the time doesn't mean he wants to mess this moment up.

You two had come back from some job against the Port Mafia. Dazai had come out mostly unscathed, but you, who's ability is more focused on the Detective part of your organization's name and less of the Armed come out of it sporting a bullet wound in the left shoulder and a few scuffs all around your body.

You were humiliated to say Dazai had to support you all the way back to Yosano.

You were sitting on the top of the Agency's roof, a small hangout area had been set up here for when a member needed to get away for a while—which you clearly needed.

The stars were beautiful tonight. If you looked hard enough, you were sure you could see the constellation Aquila. You took a sharp breath, letting it out slowly.

It was fine. Dazai wouldn't care, he knows you have abilities elsewhere that might as well rival his, right? And it's not like his opinion matters anyway, I mean, he's just some sort of crush. He doesn't even remember, you're all healed and it's over.

"Your arm feeling alright, (Y/n)?"

Oh great, speak of the devil.

Dazai has somehow made it to the spot next to you while you were deep in thought, leaning his elbow on the table in front of you both.

"Oh, uh, hey Dazai. Yeah, my arm's good."

Wow, you are awful at this. Please quit while you're ahead.

Dazai chuckles, leaning a bit closer to you in the booth you two shared, eyes narrowing. Every bit of awkwardness you had felt when he half-carried you back to the Agency, trying to hold back your tears in front of him, comes rushing back to your face. Your cheeks color, and you have to look away.

"The stars are so pretty tonight, aren't they?" You blurt

This does not count as quitting while you're ahead.

You don't look back on Dazai, hoping that if you just keep staring at the stars he'll leave and you can mourn your dignity in peace.

"Do you know the story of Orihime and Hokiboshi?" He asks suddenly.

"What?"

Dazai doesn't faulter. "The story of Orihime and Hokiboshi. Its said that these two were once lovers, but they neglected their heavenly duties after marriage and Orihime's father, furious, separated them. They were only able to meet once a year. You can see the two lovers as stars around midnight during the summer."

His voice is soft, as gentle as the breeze that tousles your hair. You feel Dazai's hand envelope yours and he takes your hand, putting it towards the sky.

"Do you see that? It's the star Vega, supposedly that's Orihime. And Altair—" Dazai moves your hand over to end just before a bright, glowing star. "—is right here. That's Hokiboshi. We celebrate their meeting during Tanabata."

"The star festival," you finish, cheeks warm. Dazai is against your side, empty hand draped around your waist. His body is warm like the summer and you can hear the faint motion of his breathing.

"Let's go together."

You look over at him suddenly. "What?"

Dazai turns to you. "I said let's go to Tanabata together. It'll be fun, I promise. And if not..."

That's when he kisses you. It's gentle and soft, the press of his lips against yours. A spark jolts through your body, and your press back into Dazai. It's over just as quickly as it began, and there's a new shimmer in Dazai's brown eyes as he pulls away and stands up.

"I can just make it worth your while afterwards."

And with that, Dazai leaves you dumbfounded under the starry night sky.

#osamu drabble #osamu dazai #dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungostraydogs #bsd #fanfiction #bsd fanfic #dazai fanfic #drabble #headcanon #bsd hcs

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marblesarelost · 1 year

Text

Scenes From the Nightshade Clinic: Part 2

"Hi, Grandma," the chorus sounded from the nurses' station around one in the morning a few days later. Marcia Guzman smiled, waving to them all as she shuffled down the hallway, pushing a gurney she'd piled high with insulated bags and coolers. Her white hair drifted here and there along with her, a few curls coiling down her neck and around her ears, her blue eyes bright behind her cat's eye glasses, freshwater pearls gleaming along the cord that held them around her neck.

She paused as she came closer to the nurses' station, looking over the staff; everyone was in tonight, as they were every other Wednesday night. Staff meeting with Gramma, then lunch, and she always remembered their favorites. A slight frown wrapped itself around her gentle features. "Sharon's not here?" She asked, and Derry shook her head, gills winking in and out of sight beneath her shoulder length blue hair.

"Vacation, she went to Vegas," Derry declared, and Ms. Guzman smacked herself on the forehead.

"Yes, yes, that's right, I forgot. Well." The merry, dimpled smile reappeared as the elderly woman began to move toward the staff room. "Gray, Kelly, come help me set up, please?" The two doctors were on their feet and moving before she even finished her sentence.

"So." Ms. Guzman stood at the head of the conference table, looking down at the week's report before her. "Mr. Davidson was able to draw back the rattusthropy without doing any more damage to the patient?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dr. Drew answered her. "Unfortunately, the entire ordeal was very taxing; I'm afraid it may have affected the patient's prognosis."

"Of course it did," Ms. Guzman sighed. "A shame."

"This is why humans should know about us," Vern said lowly, and both Matt and Zach, one to either side of him, shrank back as Ms. Guzman snapped her attention to him, her usually lively and sweet gaze turning icy as she cocked her head, white curls falling and framing her face.

"Vernon." One hand drifted up to the pearl cord of her glasses. Her voice was still light, but there was a chill to it that had several staff members stepping backwards now. "Do you have an issue that you would like to take up with me privately?"

Vern stared at her for a long few seconds, lips tight, and the old lady didn't blink, only reached up with her free hand to scoop a curl from her forehead, letting it wind around her finger. "No, ma'am," he finally replied. The tension in the room lessened...somewhat. Vern's shoulders were still up around his ears, and Ms. Guzman's lips were tight now against her teeth, but the meeting went on.

"We're still well within budget for the quarter," she said as Vern looked down at his hands. "The board and I are very impressed with the way you've all economized since the incident last year. Not that that was in any way any of your faults; no one could have expected the arrival of a Nest in Caul County, I can tell you that the board certainly didn't. With any luck at all, the clinic will be completely back in the black by the end of this fiscal year without having to let anyone go. We certainly don't want to; we know just how hard it is these days for people of a certain age or predilection." Almost everyone smiled at that. "So just keep the belt tight a few more months, and we'll have the budget meeting for next fiscal year, and it should be a bit better. Now. Lunch?"

The pre-dawn light was more than enough for Vern to see the figure standing beside his piece of shit car in the middle of the parking lot, and he knew who it would be; still. He hadn't closed his eyes to Death when it came for him a hundred years ago and more, and he wouldn't run from it now. "Ms. Guzman," he said, in a voice that didn't shake, but also didn't sound pleasant.

"Mr. Lawson," she replied, looking up at him. "I had thought we were very clear during your interview that if you had an issue, you were to email me and ask for a private appointment."

"My apologies, ma'am. Just..." he glanced to the east; he had a few minutes. Not long. "It broke my heart. It did. Mr. Franks meant well, he didn't know --"

"He didn't know that turning his grandchild would not arrest the cancer. I understand," she nodded brusquely. "I understand that you think perhaps letting it be known that preexisting conditions cannot be stopped or healed by supernatural means would keep others from harm and heartbreak. And I commend you for your empathy. However," her head rose, her gaze trapping his as a white curl fell in the middle of her forehead, "you are an employee, and a recent one at that. You are not a member of the board, and Mr. Lawson, you do not see the long picture. We do what we can. We give the help we can, without endangering ourselves or our kinfolk. Humanity does a fascinating job of killing what they consider "the other", without giving them targets that are not even human."

The light was growing brighter around them, and he began to fidget. "I'm sorry, Ms. Guzman."

"You will get no other warning," she hissed. "Do not contradict our code of conduct in public again. If you have a question, if you wish to discuss a point, I am perfectly happy to grant you an audience. Am I understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Excellent." She stepped back from his car door, and it opened at the wave of her hand. "Go home, Vernon. You have fourteen minutes until true dawn, and you only live eight minutes from here."

#writing #original writing #original characters #The Nightshade Clinic #nurses #doctors #nurses' aides #fantasy creatures #they're all fantasy creatures here #living and hiding amongst humans #holding back the darkness as best they can

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stbot · 2 years

Note

hey there! i hope you’re having a delightful day and that you’re as relaxed as can possibly be. i’m the ao3 user that told you i tattooed “vegas” on my friend for funsies, and i know that your medical issues are putting you through the wringer rn but just wanted to let you know that, with your permission, if you get around to finishing living’s a gamble either me or my friend will tattoo your literal username on ourselves

Hey babe! It's so great to see you again 😊 I am still floored that you and your friend like the fic so much! You know what? Have a little preview of the next chapter! Can't guarantee when I'll finish it, but here's how it opens:

All things considered, it’s not the most banged-up Kate’s ever been after a fight.

Post-Kingpin, she spent the entire trip out to the Barton family farm looped out on Emergency-Room-prescribed painkillers for her bruised ribs. (She remembers nothing about the flight, but Clint assures her it was only moderately humiliating, so maybe that’s for the best.) And there was that scuffle after New Year’s with some low-level Tracksuits that resulted in her brain getting scrambled like an egg in its shell. (The Urgent Care doctor said she wasn’t concussed, but there was a pretty nice bump.) And then the gang fight she broke up in early spring that left her with a broken finger. (That injury wasn’t actually too bad, but it did mean she had to wear a splint on her pinky, thus spending several weeks looking like a woman in Regency England who had misplaced her teacup.)

(Pizza Dog seemed to rather enjoy her attempts at the accent.)

So, compared to those injuries, this one is incredibly mild. A rolled ankle, some bruising, muscle soreness. Nothing that a professional like Kate shouldn’t be able to just walk off in a day or two.

“Ow,” she whines, and Yelena rolls her eyes.

“I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“But I can-” Kate points her chin towards the bathroom mirror. “I can see your hand moving towards it and-”

Yelena takes hold of Kate’s waist – gentle enough not to disturb the bruise on her hip, but firm enough not to be argued with – and turns her around so she’s facing the wall. “Now you will not flinch before there is even reason to.”

“I did not flinch.”

“You just said ‘ow.’”

“A flinch is a facial thing, though.”

Yelena huffs, and although Kate can no longer see her, she can hear the furrow in her brow when she says, “Do you want to run around with a torn rotator cuff? Does that sound fun for you? How will you shoot your fancy new bow when you cannot move your arm, hmm?”

It’s not the most banged up Kate’s been after a fight, but none of those other injuries had landed her half-naked in a hotel bathroom while her really cool new best friend examines her like a hunk of meat on a butcher’s block.

It is mortifying. Kate’s pride is in tatters.

She sighs, tilting her head so Yelena can better poke around her shoulder. “Please continue, Doctor.”

“Good girl,” Yelena says curtly, and Kate’s brain fuzzes out at the edges.

(Hmm. Right into the Things We Do Not Talk About place with that.)

#you can put whatever you want on your body babe!!#we're still so far from the end of this fic #but i'm working on it!#eadberethnet #thank you for giving me a reason to reread what i have written for Ch7 #i can't wait for you all to read the bit about the C.A. Double-S P.R. Center #fic related #hope you're doing well bud!#hope this thursday leads into a great weekend for you!

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sanddusted-wisteria · 10 months

Text

Empty Skies, Hazy Skyboxes, Ch. 5

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Also on AO3

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

Qi opened the saloon’s front doors, and was greeted with Owen’s smiling face from behind the counter.

“Hey, Director! Glad to see ya.”

Qi gave him a nod. “Good evening. The usual, please.”

“Meat-stuffed mushroom with a summer sand tea, comin’ right up.” As Owen moved to the kitchen, Qi took a seat at the bar, two seats down from Justice, who raised an eyebrow in greeting as he approached.

“Evenin’, Director. Holdin’ up okay?”

“I am indeed ‘holding up’,” Qi said in a way that he hoped seemed casual. “Thank you for the concern.”

Justice nodded thoughtfully as he took a sip of his yakmel milk. “‘Course. Just makin’ sure.” His awkward manner was of no surprise to Qi. Everyone seemed to be acting cautiously around him today. Everyone knew what day it was.

Justice drained the last of his milk and stood up, leaving a couple gols on the counter. “Well, I gotta get back on patrol. You need to talk, you can find me anytime. Unsuur too, but…y’know.” With a stiff nod, he left the saloon.

The kitchen door swung open and Owen came out, carrying his food. Qi fished around in his pockets for the payment.

Owen just held up a hand. “On the house,” he said, a sad glimmer in his eyes.

“Oh… Oh.” Qi had no idea how to respond, so he just picked up the fork and started digging in. Owen silently went back to cleaning up the bar, opting to leave Qi alone. He knew his customers well. Qi never liked conversing with anyone while he was eating on a normal day. And today…

“Oh, there you are, Qi hun.” Qi glanced over his shoulder to see Vivi strolling in. “You didn’t come for dinner tonight! We all sat there for 15 minutes all worried!”

“Ah. Vivi. Apologies. I’d completely forgotten. I’m a bit absentminded today, you see…”

Vivi’s face fell. “Of course, child. Don’t you worry ‘bout it. I’ll wrap it up and drop it off at your research center so you can have it tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he said blandly, eyes unfocused.

He was brought back down to Earth with Vivi’s gentle hands on his shoulders. “Take a deep breath, hun.” Qi closed his eyes, slowly drawing air in…and out. “That’s it.”

In…and out.

The fog in his head cleared a little bit. He opened his eyes to see Vivi’s sad smile. Tears pooled in her eyes.

“Tell them…that we all miss them…so much,” she whispered.

“...I will.”

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

Qi left the saloon into the darkened street. Street lights started blinking on around him, but he turned and headed away from the lights, out towards the workshop. The last orange tinges of the sunset disappeared behind the mountains in the distance, stars already peeking out of the newly-dark sky. Qi kept his eyes straight ahead. He wouldn’t look up. Not yet.

He opened the door to the house and went to the bedroom, opening up the closet. Rolled into a neat little bundle and tucked safely in a corner was their stargazing blanket. He picked it up, dusting off some of the sand that was perpetually stuck in its folds. He took one last steadying breath. He was ready.

Qi walked through the barren streets towards the back of town. The cold night air made him shiver, and he clutched the rolled-up blanket to his chest. Finally, he stood before the graveyard gate. He opened it carefully, trying not to make it squeak. He padded silently towards their headstone. “Hello, starlight…” he murmured as he crouched down to brush the sand off the carved stone, his thumb tracing along the epithet.

Sandrock’s shining star.

Sandrock’s spirit lies with them, and their spirit lies with Sandrock.

He spread the blanket out on the sand beside the headstone and laid down. “I’m doing alright. I just submitted another paper to Vega 5’s astronomy journal. Bound to be accepted, of course. A review on all the astronomical relic discoveries we’ve made in Sandrock so far. And of course, I gave you credit where it was due.”

…

“Mi-an has been helping me build new components for the Mobile Suit. Recently I’ve managed to improve its mobility on soft sand by almost 200% by adding some retractable treaded wheels.”

…

“Sleepyhead came back a few weeks ago for the Portia road project. You should’ve seen his face when the Mobile Suit was in action! He’s off to Portia now, for their part of the project.”

…

“Yes, yes, don’t worry, I’m still getting a responsible amount of sleep every night. Regular full meals, too. Vivi would never let me live it down if I didn’t.”

…

“Elsie says the animals are well. She told me to tell you that, erm, ‘Doodles says hi’. The idea that a yakmel could say anything is ludicrous, but I wasn’t about to waste time arguing about it.”

…

“Tonight the Perseids are at their peak. Oh!” He pointed to a brilliant shooting star that lit up his vision. “Magnificent, isn’t it? It’s a debris cloud from the Swift-Tuttle comet that Earth happens to pass through every summer.”

…

“I still miss you. I miss you terribly.”

…

“Sometimes it still hurts to look up at the night sky like this… Just another reminder of…”

…

“B-but…I think I am getting better. Hugo and his family have practically taken me in as one of their own. They know what it’s like…”

…

“They all miss you too. You were practically a part of them as much as I am now.”

…

“I never realized how nice it feels to have someone care for me.”

…

“Still…it never feels the same as you.”

…

His next words caught in his throat. He tensed, trying to force them out. They sat stubbornly on the tip of his tongue.

I love you, he thought. He felt tears prick at his eyes as he struggled to say it aloud.

He’d always found it hard to say it. Like he’d spontaneously combust the instant the words left his mouth. So he’d say it in every way but his voice. An “I love you” pressed into their skin whenever they touched. An “I love you” hidden behind his signature at the bottom of every diagram he gave them. An “I love you” in every drop of oil and every tightened bolt when he repaired their machines. An “I love you” steeped in every cup of tea.

An “I love you” whispered into the open air beside their grave, long after they could ever hear him.

…

The stars slowly turned over his head. He recognized things that he had told the builder about before on this very blanket: stars, asterisms, planets, satellites. They would always listen with rapt attention as he spilled everything he knew. Sometimes, they knew a story about something he would point out. Old myths, sometimes passed down from even before the Age of Corruption. Normally, he wouldn’t entertain such nonsensical and unscientific accounts of the stars. Stories of people and animals and allsorts getting turned into asterisms? Ridiculous. But the builder’s storytelling always managed to…enchant him somehow. And even without the builder’s narration, he had to admit that it was a beautiful sentiment. Being enshrined forever in the sky, admired for all eternity.

A small part of him, deep within his heart of hearts, imagined his builder up there. Winking at him from thousands of light years away, a quiet, persistent presence in the sky.

Always bright, always beautiful, always there.

His dearest starlight.

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

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#shady's fics #empty skies hazy skyboxes

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Summary: Y/N never expected to see him again. He tore her heart out and left her in the dusty heat of a Las Vegas diner. She never wanted to see him again, but sometimes the heart wants what heart wants.

Word Count: 3.7k

Author's Note: This is the first prompt that I wrote for 400 followers and it is based on Right Where You Left Me. Some background info: Spencer and Reader (Female pronouns) were lovers when they were 23, Spencer left to join the FBI and Y/N never recovered.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Content Warning: Angst till the very end, one use of f--k, reader cuts her hand on glass so blood is mentioned.

Right Where You Left Me

2009, Enterprise Diner, Las Vegas, Nevada

The bell above the door always sounds the same, no matter who walks into the little diner. Whether it’s exhausted truckers looking for a cheap cup of coffee or lonely souls looking to be a little less lonely for even an hour, the bell’s chime is always the same.

From the first time she met Spencer Reid, Y/N knew that boy was destined for greatness. His greatness is exceptionally painful when it juxtaposes her intense ordinariness. Part of her always dreams of the bell ringing and telling her that he’s back. He’s back and would no longer just haunting her dreams. But he isn’t back. He isn’t back and she’s right where he left her.

Y/N wipes the counter with a worn napkin, noticing how her skin is cracked from her fingertips to the butt of her palms. The bell rings and Y/N picks up her head. An elderly couple walks in holding hands. It’s amazing to her, to be that old and that in love. She wonders what it would be like to have the kind of love that you’ll never run out of things to say. If her past has taught her anything, Y/N tells herself she’s not the kind of girl that gets a lifelong romance. She’s not the kind of girl that gets someone who gets her.

She’s the kind of girl that’s frozen in the place right where he left her.

September 2012, Enterprise Diner, Las Vegas, Nevada

“One of these is not like the other,” Sabrina says in a singsong kind of voice. She walks out from behind the counter, finished with her shift. She wishes Y/N good night before she leaves the diner, telling her to lock up and handle the clean up. The busboy makes his way to the table of men with two kinds of coffee, decaf and regular, in her hands. Y/N follows, rolling her eyes, behind with three coffee mugs.

Apparently, there is a missing child case and the FBI has gotten involved. The two men, dressed intimidatingly in black suits and gray ties, looked very different from the younger man who sat across from them. It only took her a second to recognize that face. It’s the face of all her dreams that at one point was just out of reach. But now it’s just the face of rejection and hurt.

Before she even realizes it, the coffee mug that Y/N holds in her hand drops and shatters on the floor. The men, even vigilant, turn towards the noise. Y/N wanting to disappear into the night, drops to the floor to clean up the glass. She hears a shuffle from the booth and in comes a pair of well-worn converse into her field of vision.

“Here,” he says, his voice just soft and steady as ever, “let me, Y/N,”

Y/N drops the glass like it burns her. But in reality, she’s trying to get as far away as possible from Spencer, because she knows if she touches him again, she’ll never be able to survive letting go.

Spencer.

Spencer Reid crouches down before her just inches from her face all these years later. It seems unbelievable to see him in the flesh, but it’s him, even if he looks a little older and a little sadder.

“Thank you. I’m going to get you a new cup. I remember how much you love coffee,” Y/N whispers, wishing again that she could turn into the wind and disappear.

Y/N tries to ignore the way Spencer’s co-workers eye him when he returns to the seat. Clutching the pieces of glass, Y/N cuts her thumb. The dark red blood rushes out and she can feel her pulse rise. She wraps a white cloth over the cut. By the time she gets to Spencer’s table, the blood has pooled to the surface. She places the cups on the table, turning to leave, but a strong, yet gentle hand grasps her elbow.

“You’re bleeding?” Spencer says, his voice ends on a high note like he’s asking her more than telling her.

“Yeah, it’s fine Spencer. I’ll take care of it later, it’s just-”

“Let me help you,” he says, the two men, his co-workers, share a thoughtful glance. Y/N has the sneaking suspicion that they can read her mind or very much close to it.

She narrows her eyes at Spencer as her thumb pulsates and the blood soaked napkin grows even more red.

“Last time I checked you’re not a real doctor,” Y/N says, the venom in her voice all too apparent. The man sitting across from Spencer with the kinder eyes puts his hands up in defeat.

“What the hell is going on here? Do you know her or something, Spencer?” he says, his confusion about who Y/N is growing into frustration by the second. The man sitting next to the man with the kind eyes doesn’t say much. Y/N expects that he’s soaking in the entire interaction or is too tired to care about his co-worker’s personal drama.

“Huh, you didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell you FBI friends about me, Spencer? Huh, can I say that I’m not surprised by that at all,” Y/N responds, fumbling with managing to pour the coffee and covering her cut with the napkin.

“Please, Y/N you’re being ridiculous, let me help you,” Spencer asks or rather, begs Y/N. Y/N tries to not let him know how much it affects her when he rubs his thumb on the crook of her elbow.

“Fine, make it quick Spencer, I’m closing up tonight and I want to get home soon,” Y/N says, walking away from the table before Spencer can even get the chance to get up from the booth.

Y/N is too far past the booth to hear Spencer whisper to his co-workers that he’ll find his own way back to the hotel. She runs her thumb under the running water, watching as the blood clears up, revealing her clean finger. Y/N can feel Spencer’s looming presence behind her. She can smell his cologne and thinks if he cans any closer she’d be able to feel his body heat.

“You’re not supposed to be back here, Spencer,” Y/N says, she knows she’s being short and clippy with Spencer, but she supposes that should be expected, considering how he left her all those years ago.

“That never stopped me, or you for that matter before,” Spencer says, taking a step forward. His hand comes up to gently hold Y/N’s. She can feel his fingertips on her skin for the first time in years. Y/N has to close her eyes to focus on anything but how close Spencer’s body is to her’s. It’s restraint in it’s finest.

“Things have changed, Spencer. People have changed,” Y/N says, she doesn’t make a move that tells Spencer she doesn’t like him touching her. Spencer, whose hands have a slight tremor as they hold Y/N’s, practices an equal amount of restraint as Y/N does. He has to stop the thoughts of what it would be like to feel his hand against her hand again or how she’d sound if he could muster up the courage to kiss her again. He can’t even think of the first place he’d want to kiss her if he had the chance again.

“I’ve changed, Y/N, I’ve changed,” Spencer says, knowing fully that he’s pleading with the girl whose heart he broke 7 years ago.

“I have a hard time believing that one, Spencer. You were always the exception to the rule, whether you liked it or not,” she tells him. Her voice has lost all venom. It’s bare to the world without any weapons to wield.

“Let me fix you up and I’ll be out of your life again,” He says, still holding on to her wrist, still holding on to hope.

Y/N nods and tells him where he can find the first aid kit. She watches as he reaches up to the top shelf and carefully places the kit on the counter. Y/N holds out her hand as Spencer takes an alcohol wipe to her wound. He grimaces more than she does, afraid that somehow, all these years later, he’s still causing her pain. What he doesn’t know is that his touch stings more than the strongest rubbing alcohol in existence.

“So,” Spencer starts, hating that there’s silence between the two of them, when a decade ago that would have been impossible, “how’ve you been?”

“I’m good, Spence, I’ve been good. All I ever wanted was a quiet life, and I guess that’s what I got,” Y/N says, Spencer knows her answer is cordial. It's an answer that you give when you really don’t want to give an answer.

“That’s good, Y/N. I’m happy for you,” Spencer says, he doesn’t realize that he’s been rubbing his thumb against Y/N palm until she reaches into the first aid kit and tosses a band-aid at him. Spencer blushes slightly, but thinks that he’s not offending her too much since he’s still at the diner.

“What about you, Spence? Did you ever find uh….someone that could…” Y/N says, her voice trailing off, too afraid to finish the sentence herself, but aware that Spencer is probably the only person on Earth that could fill in the blanks. He was always good like that, he could always fill in her blanks and make sense of her senseless.

“Find someone, like a wife?” Spencer asks, the blush returning to his cheeks, “no, Y/N I’m not married. Are..are you? Do you have, um, a husband?” Spencer asks, hating the way that he stumbles over the word “husband” like it’s a dirty word. Though he supposes that it is a dirty word when Y/N’s husband is not synonymous with Spencer Reid.

“God no, Spence. I couldn’t not after, you know,” Y/N says, again letting Spencer fill in the blanks and hoping beyond belief that he’d pick up the pieces too. Spencer looks over at where his co-workers sat when they were working, he can't say he’s disappointed to see that they are gone.

“I never really apologized for what I said to you, Y/N. I know that I’ll never make it up to you, but..”

“It’s okay, Spencer. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, I’m just a waitress. And you, god. You are you. How could I ever think that I’d get a happily ever after with someone like you,” Y/N says, brushing past Spencer to collect the coffee mugs from the table.

“Please Y/N don’t believe that for a second,” Spencer says, his voice full of pain and regret.

Y/N thinks about the times that she would dream of seeing him again. She can’t remember if she’d rather him to be sorry or if she'd rather him rush back to her and sweep her off her feet again with a love confession that rivals the greatest stories ever told. But then again, waitresses don’t get knights in shining armor. Especially when those knights wear sweater vests, despite being in law enforcement. Spencer always loved facts, and he told it to her in a few more words than necessary, people like Spencer Reid don’t end up with people like Y/N Y/LN.

“You still think too highly of me, even after I hurt you, I can’t apologize enough for what I did to you,” Spencer says, hanging his head low. His hair, that’s grown much longer, falls into place over his eyes, as if it’s shielding Spencer from Y/N.

“Did you come here tonight thinking I’d be here? Did a part of you still want to see me?” Y/N asks, she wants to reach out and touch Spencer’s hand, she wants to reach out and feel that his hand is still the same hand that would caress her face and make all her worries vanish. But it’s hard when that hand is attached to the man who destroyed you.

“I didn’t think you’d still work here, Y/N. You always hated living in the desert. Remember how we talked of getting a place somewhere cold where you can see the snow, but still be warm-”

“And safe inside? Yeah, Spencer, I remember that. But that was our dream, how can I still want that when it’s tainted by you,” Y/N spits, walking towards the last booth in the row. She plops down, sinking into the plastic covered cushion. Spencer, nervously, sits down next to her. He doesn’t say anything, knowing how Y/N’s bated breath and tapping foot tell him she’s going to unleash 7 years of pent of hatred and frustration. And somehow, 7 years of desire and want and love.

“I lied Spencer,” Y/N says, looking down at the table. “I lied. I hate it here, you’re right. God, why are you always right?” She smiles wickedly and Spencer has to tell himself to not give way to his emotions. He needs to let Y/N finally release her justified anger onto him.

“You moved on, Spencer. You moved on and I’m right where you left me,” Y/N’s strained voice is perhaps noise that Spencer knows will haunt his nightmares, “It’s like I’m a ghost of that girl I was when I was 23, waiting for someone who’s moved on. Waiting for you, but god, no one wants to love someone so fucking pathetic,”

Spencer wants to react, he wants to reach out a kiss away Y/N tears that fall down her cheeks. He wants to make her pain go away, but how can he when he’s her pain. Spencer knew he never wanted to end up like his father, yet sitting in that corner booth watching Y/N cry, Spencer realizes he’s his father’s son. Spencer realizes that he ran away from the best thing that ever happened to him, when thought he got a better opportunity.

“I never moved on Y/N,” Spencer says, reaching down inside himself for the courage to tenderly hold Y/N’s hands in his own. Even all these years later, her hand still feels the same inside his.

“I’ve thought about you every single day of my life. It’s a curse, Y/N, not being able to forget how much I hurt you. As much as I try, I’ll never be able to erase the look on your face when I told you--”

“When you told me I wasn’t good enough,” Y/N finished for him. It looks like she can fill in his blanks as well as he can fill in her’s.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I didn’t mean it and I know that you’ll never look at me the same way, but I’ve never stopped loving you, Y/N. I’ll never stop loving you,” Spencer says, he’s sobbing at this point. The tears trail down his face and his skin in blotchy red.

“Spencer,” Y/N says quietly, like she’s trying to control the mix of passion and fury that threatens to take control of her, “I need to get this out without interruptions, so just please listen to me,”

Spencer nods and tries his best to not react when Y/N reaches down to his lap and takes her hands into his. He tries to hold in the emotions that split seems in his not-so tough exterior.

“I created a fantasy for you Spencer. I gave you the life that I could never give you. In my head you had kids because I needed you to be deliriously happy. I gave you a wife and I hated her because I love you too much to hate you. I needed you to have the life that I couldn’t give you, because it beats thinking you’re a mess. It beats thinking you ended up like me,” Y/N professes.

Spencer brings his hands up to her cheeks wiping away the tears that fall rapidly. Even the time he was kidnapped, the countless of times he was beaten or held hostage, his heart never ached quite like this. His heart never yearned to soothe someone’s pain as it did when Spencer watched Y/N come to terms with the years and years of heartbreak Spencer left her in.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Spencer says, his fingers lacing through Y/N’s pinned up hair, “I hated myself for years for doing what I did to you. I knew that there was no one else, there’s no one else for me, Y/N,”

Y/N’s cheek presses up against Spencer’s chest, his warm body is home and is spicy, yet sweet cologne the closest thing to paradise. She tries to get control over her breathing, trying to steady it and not slobber too much over Spencer’s soft shirt. His hands anchor her to him. They latch on to her elbows, begging her silently to not shove him off and kick him to the curb, even though it’s what he deserves.

“Oh god Spencer. You really still are my Spencer, aren’t you?” Y/N asks, her voice slightly muffled by Spencer’s chest. She can hear his heart beat, even now, it’s still in sync with her heart beat. After all these years, between all these miles, throughout all this pain, Y/N’s heart still beats for Spencer’s.

“I don’t wanna lose you again, Y/N,” Spencer says, the tears back on his face, some have dried slightly and new ones make their way down and pool onto the back of Y/N’s head. Spencer brushes his fingers against Y/N, making sure that he’s actually holding her in his arms in this little diner he thought he’d left in the past.

“Please don’t hurt me again, Spencer. I love you too much to lose you again, but I can’t get hurt like that. I can’t bear to do that again,” Y/N says, raising her head to look at Spencer in the eyes.

She can see the glistening tears that fall down his face and the way his gaze softens when his eyes latch on to her. They could spend hours drinking each other in, making up for the lost years. She searches his face, finding new age lines and wrinkles, and maybe even a gray hair or two. But underneath all that, he’s still Spencer.

“I though our love was dead, Spencer. I thought I had my chance real young and the rest of my life was going to be spent haunting this booth, waiting for a man that in my delusions was married to a wife that wasn’t me and with kids that aren’t mine. But good God, Spencer, you really are too much sometimes?” Y/N says, her voice breathy and exasperated as she leans in close to Spencer.

“Can I take that as a yes?” Spencer says, terrified for her answer, even though he knew it already, based on how deeply Y/N looks into his eyes.

Y/N is quiet, and even though it’s just a moment it feels like forever. They are so quiet that all they can hear is their heartbeats. The little diner where their fateful love story took flight is never quiet, yet in that moment you can hear a hair pin drop. Spencer counts the seconds that pass, reading Y/N’s eyes, reading her emotion, and praying to a God he’s not sure is real that she’s not going to leave him this time.

“Yes, Spencer. I love you too much to let you walk out here again,” Y/N says, leaning into Spencer’s face.

She bridges the gap that they’ve both been ignoring since they realized they were in each other’s company again. Spencer is still when she leans in, he doesn’t realize until her soft lips kiss him how much he’s missed her. Before his mind is able to run off the far away places called doubt and denial, Y/N wraps her arms around Spencer’s neck, hooking him in closer. Having each other so close has never made them feel so utterly helpless and giddy. Spencer feels like he needs to tether himself to Y/N’s because he still feels like she’s going to float away. The world was dizzying and Spencer was the only solid, strong thing, holding her to Earth. Y/N always knew he was her anchor, it was just a matter of time before Spencer realized it too. Spencer’s quiet whimpers and shaky tremors spurred her on, kissing up and down the openness of his face until she felt the need for air.

“You’ve been practicing? You’re better at this than when you were 23,” Y/N says, not wanting to let go of Spencer’s neck.

“No, God no, Y/N. I haven’t been with anyone since you,” Spencer says, slightly ashamed to be reminded of his deepest mistake.

“Spencer, baby, you know I forgive you, right? And considering you kiss like that now, I know how you can make it up to me,” Y/N says, planting a couple light, feathery kisses up Spencer’s neck and to the corners of his mouth. Her lips are like a paintbrush on his, turning the grimace he holds into a winning smile. He remembers that it’s near impossible for him to not be flustered near Y/N. He’s glad, even now, that still rings true.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer says, he leans his forehead against Y/N’s and lifts her hands to his mouth, kissing each of her fingers as he says “you are enough, and I’ll hope you’ll let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you,”

Y/N kisses Spencer on the nose as he scrunches it, causing her to laugh. She slips out of the booth and holds a hand out for Spencer to grasp. He takes it without hesitation and pulls her in closer. She supposes that after being apart for so long, it would take some time to get back into their rhythm. Y/N knows that it will never be the same; they aren’t 23 years old anymore. They’re scared and wounded, but together, Y/N thinks that they’ll never run out of things to talk about even if they are old and gray and wrinkled.

THANK-YOU FOR READING :) <3 <3

I really appreciate every like, comment, and reblog. It helps me know what people like about my writing things I should work on.

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid y/n #spencer reid imagine

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thismaydestroyme · 3 years

Text

Denver: Love on Tour

i didn’t have any idea what i wanted to name this blurb. this shit wiped me out, and i don’t know if this is any good. i can’t bring myself to reread this over. it’s currently 2 in the morning, and i’m about to hit the hay. i hope you find this somewhat tolerable.

warning: that’s a loaded question

word count: 3084

That fucking little teasing dance Harry did while he was performing ‘Woman” will forever be ingrained in your head.

That fucking cheeky bastard.

Harry is so loved on stage and he was feeling himself the entire night, that’s why he did that cheeky dance because he knew his beautiful girlfriend, Y/N would go in a frenzy and that’s what he wanted. Of course he had to throw something in for Y/N, what kind of boyfriend would he be?

When Harry was finished with his show, he ran backstage to find Y/N, but he had to stop and appreciate everyone’s remark when they were throwing gratitude and compliments his way by his performance tonight. We could all say Denver won this round compared to the Las Vegas show.

“Harry, you ate that!”

“You whore!”

“That was amazing”

“You deserve to have your ass eaten out.”

Harry immediately turned around to find who said that last part, because deep down he knew. Y/N pushed some people out of her way while she was trudging her way to Harry. Y/N is wearing her infamous white booties so when she walks you can hear her coming from all directions. When Y/N enters the room, all eyes are all on you because you own every room you’re graced in. When you finally get to Harry he’s already giving you a smirk which you gave right back.

“Oh no…. Not this again.” Couple of people behind you said that while they start packing up their gears so you guys can leave and head to your next location and that’s San Antonio.

“Hello puppet. I see that you’re in your dom headspace. I can see it in your eyes.” Harry said while he brought his hand to rub your cheeks. You give him a glare and push his hand away and you start walking back to the table which is covered by random shit- which you have to pack and clean. You hate the idea of leaving things a mess, so when you guys leave, people here won’t have to clean up all the mess you guys left behind.

You can be a bitch, but you’re not disrespectful.

After a couple of minutes has passed where you put things back in the duffle bags that you brought and wipe down the vanities and tables with Lysol. Making sure things are squeaky clean.

You feel a presence behind you, but you don’t have to wonder who because you can spot that Tobacco Vanille fragrance anywhere. You turn around and you see Harry looking down at you, his eyes burning onto yours.

“Why are you being like this?” Harry asked.

“I’m not being like anything, you’re…”

“I’m what?”

“I just didn’t like you doing that ‘little’ dance. Flaunting your hips around and toying with your nipples while you were performing, Women.” You said annoyingly. You try to turn around, but Harry grabs your hand to make you stand right in front of him.

“Are you jealous?” Harry said all knowling with that fucking grin on his damn face. You try to look over him because you don’t want to have this conversion, but he grabs your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. His green eyes are so blown out, you can hardly see any green.

“I’m not-”

“Pet. Stop it right now. Answer my question.”

“Yes. I was jealous” You mumbled hoping he’ll drop it.

“Awe, baby. That’s adorable.” He giggled.

“It’s not funny nor adorable.” You push his hands away to storm off but he still is holding onto you.

Harry looks around and you’re not sure what he wanted because this room is already packed up and no one else is here beside you too. Then you realize there's a couch in this room and before you know it Harry is trudging you along to the couch. He plops down and you’re still standing between his legs that he purposely did on purpose because he loves it when you’re between his legs. His arms are stretched out, hanging loosely on the back of the couch. He’s staring right at you. Fuck, this man right here with his red pants on, with his blue and white strip button up shirt with his red spenders on. Like you said… this outfit beats the Las Vegas show.

“What you want, baby, you want to punish me?” He said while wiggling his eyebrows, which you taught him to do. It took him a year to master it.

You cross your arms which have your boobs stand out more.

“Puppet, stop it, m’okay? Come to daddy.”

You turn your head around because you’re just annoyed with the fact he turns himself on so easily and the fans witnessed it. You’re happy and glad Harry is finally at this point in his life where he’s able to live his authentic life and he’s able to express himself in the most beautiful way, but when it comes to his horny meter, you want to be the only one to see it.

“C’mon darling, I will be a good boy for mommy. I want to be a good boy to mommy.” He said in the wine.

Fuck.

You try to ignore his neediness, but it’s so hard to because he knows how much hearing him whine will send you into an overdrive. You try to ignore your needs, but you feel his hand on your waist, trancing his name on your waist. Due to the low rise jean you’re currently wearing, his name is on display. His hands started to work his way up to your stomach which he stopped at your belly button so he could play with your belly ring.

His hands are so gentle and soft. It feels like Harry is doing figure skating motion on your stomach. It flows in the wind. You start to completely forget why you’re even mad at him. Your eyes flutter close. Everything just feels heightened.

You jolt because you feel Harry’s lips on your stomach and his hands are roaming your back and inching it way to your ass, but before he could even reach it he brings his hands back up. Harry is pampering you in kisses. It’s like his way of apologizing. Your hand finds its way to the back of his hair to tossle it up a bit. You feel so good and it feels so right.

“Mommy?” Harry whispered which broke you out of your trance. You open your eyes and you see Harry looking at you with admiration.

“Yes, baby?” You said in a gentle tone still twirling his hair in your hands.

“I’m so sorry. I went overboard on stage. I just want you to know that.” He slowly gave you a kiss on your blushy stomach which resulted in you moaning.

“It’s okay baby. I’m not mad, I’m just sad I wasn’t the one to get you turned on.” You lean down to kiss the top of his head, so he knows that you’re not angry with him.

“NO! The reason I did that was because I was thinking about you when I was singing Woman.” He rushed out his words.

You bring your hand to his chin so he could look at you, “is that true, my pretty boy?”

“Yes! I want to be a good boy. That’s all I want. Please.” He rambled and immediately started kissing your stomach over and over again. Not missing any skin.

“Fuck… you’re such a good boy to mommy. Mmmhh.” Harry starts sucking your skin. You toss your head back letting this feeling consume you.

“H. I think we need to stop. We have to leave.” Your words were so broken up.

There was a plop sound due to Harry letting go of your extra skin that was in his mouth just a second ago.

“Don’t worry about that. I told them to leave. We’ll just order an uber when they’re at their resting stop.” Harry went back to your stomach and his hands are roaming freely. You don’t want to argue with him how that’s unprofessional, but at this moment… fuck it.

“Okay baby.” You said to him. People wouldn’t think having someone making out with your stomach wouldn’t be considered sexy or whatnot but this moment is so intimate and so perfect for the both of you.

While you have Harry praising you, you couldn’t help but think what he did on stage toying with his nipples. Just that sight almost had you cuming, but you had to control yourself, but now you don’t have to.

You pushed Harry’s face away from your stomach and you could tell there was a hint of defiance in his eyes, so you had to stop it before he actually got in trouble.

“That’s not a good boy behavior. Sit back.” Harry let out an annoyance huff, but you stopped it by glaring at him. He obeyed and he moved himself back on the couch.

“Happy now?” Harry lifts his arms up so he can let it land on his thighs. He’s being a brat now.

“Bad boys don’t get treats. So if I was you, I would stop this shenanigan right now.” You glared at him. He softened his eyes.

“Good boy.”

You walked little more up to him so it would be easier for you sit on his lap facing him. You lower yourself onto him. His hands found it’s way to your waist. When you're completely on his lap you feel a nice bulge forming, you couldn’t help but to smile. You raise your eyebrows which he responded by pulling you closer to him.

“I didn’t realize how needy my superstar is.” You taunted him. You start moving your hips into a small circle which results in a moan getting stuck at the back of his throat.

“Awe, my baby is all choked up. Do you need mommy to help you?” You whispered to him leaning over to toy with his earlobe with your tongue. Slowly flicking it. Harry goes into a frenzy when you play around with his earlobes.

“I- I’m- MOMMY!”

You bite on his earlobe the way he likes it. You suck on his earlobe to bring him back and help with the sharp bite.

“Don’t worry, I got you darling.” You whispered. You change position and start licking his neck to collect the remnant of his sweat. It’s so salty, but so tasty. You start sucking him kissing and leaving wet kisses to soothe the pain. The way Harry is holding onto your waist you know when you wake up there will be bruises which you don’t mind because you love seeing the marks he left you to remember him by. You’re still swaying your hips, but it’s getting hard to do due to how Harry cemented his hands onto your waist.

You’re suctioning your mouth on his neck but you can feel his veins in your mouth due how turned on he is. You couldn't tell he’s holding himself back, which you don’t like. So you remove your mouth from his neck which resulted with him whining.

Your eyes connected with his and omg, you wished your phone wasn’t at the far end of the room because you would want to take a picture of his beautiful face.

“Don’t hold back. If you do I will walk away.” Before he could say anything your lips landed on his and shit, that kiss is wet, messy, and a lot of fucking tongue. His tongue immidently found yours and you began to suck on the tip of his tongue. He had to open his mouth more so you can have enough room to suck his tongue. The mix of yours and Harry saliva are all over you guys. You pull Harry’s hair so his head is more lean back so you could do something you guys both shared a common interest in and that is spit play.

You roughly spit in his mouth and the sound he made was so delicious. He closed his mouth to form his own spit and before you knew it, it landed on your face. All over your face. His salvia landed on your eyelids, your mouth, and your forehead.

You grab his cheeks and kiss him with so much force. The room is filled with pronographic sounds that’s both making you guys get so turned on because you guys both love hearing the sound you too make together. You remove your lips from his and you push yourself off from Harry so you can be right next to him. Before he could say anything you grab his face so he can turn to you and go back to feverishly kissing him all over.

The image of him on stage with him swaying his hips and giving his nipple attention is something that’s not leaving you anytime soon. Both of your lips separated and Harry breathing is all over the place, if you didn’t see him taking his inhaler after he got off the stage you would’ve immediately gotten up and fetched his inhaler.

“Stop teasing me.” He said groggily.

“I’m not teasing anymore, baby.” You gave him a peck on his lips. You pushed him back so his back hit the back of the cushion. You’re eyeing him up and down, trying to figure out what you want to do to him, after a couple of seconds you have an idea.

“Take off your shirt.” You said.

Harry immediately did what you asked him to do. Snapping off his suspenders and unbuttoning his blouse. His whole stomach, his butterfly, and the bird tattoos are finally on display. Before you knew it your lips were on one of his four nipples. You suck on his nipple, but make sure you pay attention to the other three. You’re twirling your tongue around while sucking it because you love it when Harry does it to you.

“Fuck baby. Omg.” Harry moaned out. His hand is at the back of your head playing with your hair. You move on to the next but instead of toying with his nipples with that one hand that isn’t be preoccupied you bring that hand to his covered bulge.

Harry landed a nice smack to your ass. You made eye contact with him. You let go of his nipple and you dribble spit over that nipple you were just sucking. He look at you like you were going to eat him alive. You gave him a smirk and went back to paying attention to his nipples. You keep palming his crotch while twirling your tongue, on his nipples. Keeping track of three nipples while you’re sucking on one is hard, but hey, whatever your pretty boy wants, he gets.

“Mommy, I’m feeling weird.” Harry whined. You immediately stopped what you were doing because the last you wanted to do is make him feel uncomfortable.

“I stop, I stop. Are you okay? What did I do? I’m sor-”

“No, everything is fine, more than fine… amazing I might add. Just, you’re sucking on my nipples and palming my dick which is so simple, but that simplicity makes me feel I might cum any minute.” Harry whispered feeling lost how such a small act of you has him feeling like he could cum, just by this.

“So I didn’t do anything wrong?” You asked Harry, making sure you’re not misinterpreting any of this.

“No, absolutely not.”

“Well…. If you want, I would like to make you cum just by doing that, if you don’t mind?”

“Yes, mommy. Do whatever you like to do with me.” Harry rambled. You let out a toothy grin how excited and new how all of this is for him.

You lean over to give him a quick peck on his lip, “good boy.” You said while giving him his last peck.

Your wet mouth went back to his nipples and your hand went back giving his cock attention. His cock is settled on his left thigh due to how hard he is. Just the image of him cuming on himself is something you were so destined to achieve.

You lap your tongue around his areola. Just the sound of it all has you feeling something running down your inner legs, you know you have to take care of it, but not right now. Not at this moment.

You tighten your grip on his cock to hopefully create a nice friction which rewards you having to listen to Harry’s moans. Harry’s hands are on your head trying to compose himself, but you knew the second he made that sound you knew he would cum any second.

You remove your mouth from his nipples and went down to the other one that was below the one you just previously sucked. You guess this nipple holds a lot of sensitivity because Harry buckled himself out and let out a horrific sound you weren’t expecting to come down. So you decided the pace you were going at, will have him cuming, pretty fucking soon.

“Baby, just like that. I’m going to cum. Can I take my cock out?” He whined. He can’t help himself to stay still due to the overload his body is feeling. This is pretty much all new to him.

You exchange positions so your mouth is next to his ear, so he knows that isn’t going to happen. “No baby, I want you to cum just the way you are. I want the world to see how filthy you are by cuming in your trousers. Be a good boy and cum for me.”

“Baby- Fuck” You start speeding your pace and you attach your lips to his to swallow every drop of his moan. After a couple of minutes of passionately kissing and letting him use your mouth as a soundproof room to let his moans and rubbing him off inside his pants, he finally came undone.

“Fuck, Fuck, Yes!” You feel something warm coming out of him. You start massaging his swollen cock to bring him down your high and for him to come back to you. You start whispering sweetnothings to his ear to help him come back.

His head fell onto your shoulder and you started soothing his hair pampering him with praises and love. Your baby boy deserves the world, and just wait and see what you have planned for him for the next couple of months.

#harry blurb #blurb #harry styles #harry styles reader insert #harry styles y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry oneshot #oneshot #writing #smut #thismaydestroyme

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that?

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

✰ ✰ ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

✰ ✰ ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead.

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated. “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room.

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.

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midgardianweasley · 3 years

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The Wedding Series

It took me a while, but, i’ve finallyyy got part 2 of the series up<33

Ring her up

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: with an ever growing feeling of love for her girlfriend, Y/N wants to take the next step, but, like every plan, she needs to carry out step number one.

Word Count: 2k

Message/ask if you want to join the taglist!

Part one | Part two

It had been four years since the day you and Natasha had started dating, four wonderful years. The team hadn’t let either of you forget about the night you both got together, how they all saw it coming and how they couldn’t believe you both hadn’t seen it sooner. Looking back, you weren’t so sure yourself, but you liked the story of how you became girlfriends, even if it was something straight out of a rom-com.

Over the course of four years, it only made you more and more certain that she was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Unlike the story that brought you both together, this wasn’t a big moment of realisation. It was in the little things. It was in the way she protected and cared for you. In the way she had always been the one to wipe your tears and in the way she’d laugh with you in the rain when you were happy.

The two of you had discussed many things over the years, now having moved out into your own apartment together, you were beginning to take big steps in your relationship so some conversations had arisen in the process. Marriage being one of them.

__________________________

You were both sitting in your living room, snuggled up together on the sofa, a blanket draped over the two of you as you watched ‘Friends’, though you weren’t really watching it.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer.” She whispered, not looking at you but with a knowing smirk on her face.

“Why would I when I have the real thing right in front of me?”

“Touché”

You briefly returned your attention back to the screen in front of you, watching a scene unfold where the main characters are running in and out of a wedding chapel in Vegas. Seeing them had sparked a thought in your head as you looked up adoringly at your girlfriend, never breaking your eyes away, even when she grabbed the remote and paused your programme to give you her full attention.

“Okay, what’s up?”

“Who says something has to be up? Maybe I just want to appreciate how pretty you are.” You gave her puppy eyes, but she knew better than to fall for that.

“I can practically feel the cogs turning in that head of yours. C’mon, you can tell me Detka.”

You quickly glanced between the television screen and her eyes, taking note of the curiosity lingering in her eyes, alongside some concern which made you admit defeat.

“I was just thinking, y’know, about us.”

“Right, is something wrong?” She took your hands in hers, the pad of her thumb gently stroking the back of them, silently encouraging you to continue.

“No! No, not at all. It was just watching this, it got me thinking, what are your thoughts on getting married?” She opened her mouth to speak, but you quickly cut her off before she could get a word out. “I don’t necessarily mean to me! Just generally! Well, it would be nice if it was me, but I don’t want to put any-”

“Babe, slow down, breathe.” She chuckled while you caught your breath, only continuing once you’d calmed yourself down from your ramble.

“First of all, I like the thought of getting married, I could see myself doing it. But, in terms of who I would marry, it would be you.”

“Really? You’re serious?”

“I’m serious. You’re it for me. There isn’t anyone else.”

You didn’t know why tears appeared in your eyes, it was a perfect answer, an answer most people dreamed of getting. Nonetheless, they built up, completely blurring your vision, even as they fell. Natasha was quick to wipe them away as they did, and despite you not being able to see much, it was near impossible to miss the love she held in her eyes as she looked at you.

“I love you.” You mumbled, placing your hand over the one that she held on your cheek.

“I love you more.” She placed her forehead against yours, eyes closed as she enjoyed the intimacy, you doing so too.

“Never.”

“Always.” She whispered before meeting your lips with a gentle, loving kiss.

That conversation was your most recent, it will have been months ago now. As time went on, the feeling inside of you only grew, and you became more certain with every moment shared between you both, that you want to marry this woman. You want to marry Natasha Romanoff.

_______________________

You didn’t know where to begin, so you did what first came to mind.

You called your best friend. Thankfully, Nat was currently out with Steve, picking up after him again. Though you’d usually be moody at the fact that she had to leave, this time you couldn’t help but try to encourage her to go, spiking her curiosity at your actions, but still leaving nonetheless, giving you the perfect opportunity to call and ask for help.

“Wanda, Wanda, help.” You immediately rambled as soon as she picked up the phone.

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

“Yes. Well, kinda, no, yes?”

“Right, thank you for clearing that up.” She let out a hearty laugh over the phone

“I want to propose.”

“To Natasha?”

“Who else?”

“I just wanted to clarify!” She exclaimed, a hint of defense in her tone.

Silence fell upon the phone call,

“Oh my- You want to marry Natasha.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“We need to start making plans! What dress would you like? Ooh where should the venue be? I heard-”

“Wan’, is that not a bit too soon? I don’t even have an idea for a proposal or a ring or anything.”

One sound. One sound was all it took for you to know that you had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into as Wanda gasped, quickly hanging up before you could even ask what was wrong.

Taking a look at your phone, you saw an unread text from Wanda, sent only seconds ago.

Wan<3 ‘Get your shoes on, I’ll be over in 10. We’re going out.’ Delivered.

At least now you know where to start.

Okay, you’re still not sure, but at least someone does. ______________________________

It wasn’t long before Wanda had arrived at your house, dragged you outside and was now pulling you along beside her as she ran around like a hyper Golden Retriever, leading you in and out of different shops, all of which had one thing in common. They sold engagement rings.

You could’ve facepalmed the minute you realised the pattern, how did an engagement ring not occur to you in the first place? You decided not to dwell on it, you’d just kick yourself later on when you’re alone to save any embarrassment.

You hadn’t realised you’d zoned out until you felt a tug on your wrist, looking up to see the culprit, a huge grin on her face as she pointed to the shop in front of the two of you. It was so..shiny. There were silver necklaces, rings, bracelets, and watches. They all looked so pretty, how were you going to decide?

“Come on! We need to go in and have a look! I have a good feeling about this one!” She squealed, even though you could’ve sworn she said that the last two times. Either way, you flashed her a quick smile, nodding and walking in. If you had to search all day for the perfect ring, so be it. It’s what Natasha deserves.

There were rows upon rows of different rings, there must’ve been hundreds, if not thousands in the brightly lit room, allowing each and every one to have a sparkle. You smiled gently at each one, imagining how they would look on your girlfriend’s hand. How it would feel for her title to go from ‘girlfriend’ to ‘Fiancé’, relying on the hope that she says yes.

A couple of minutes went by before something caught your attention. Turning your head to the left, you see one particular ring standing out to you like a beautiful, shiny sore thumb. Walking closer to inspect it, you manage to take in some more of its finer details.

It was a simple silver band, just like the majority of the others, however, while they had simple diamonds, this one had a ruby instead, the red complementing the silver perfectly. One look at it, and you were strong in your opinion that Natasha would love it.

You soon felt a presence behind you, recognising it immediately as the one who had brought you out here in the first place.

“Are you looking at the red one?” You whipped your head round.

“How did you know?”

“Because you look like you’ve decided to fall in love with that ring instead.” She raised her eyebrows, taking great enjoyment in watching you look around and get excited with almost every ring you see as you think about how it would feel if Natasha was to say ‘yes’. In all honesty, a part of you was a little scared, nervous. Marriage is a big step, and while she had said she would want to, you don’t want to get the timing wrong. You want it all to be perfect, and you would do your damn best to make it so. She was your forever, and you refused to let that slip through your fingers.

Before you could even blink, Wanda had asked the saleswoman if they could have it brought out of it’s viewing unit so that you could take a closer look, which she responded with a kind smile before unlocking the case and holding the ring out to you, exposing all of it’s edges and how it glistens differently in every light, a faint red glow appearing every so often.

This was the one.

“Could I buy this one, please?” You asked the lady who appeared to be nothing but friendly.

“Of course, let me just ring that up for you and I'll get it boxed up.” You had to hold back a small giggle at her choice of words. Immature, you know, but you didn’t overly care, feeling too over the moon at taking the first step towards marriage with the love of your life.

Wanda gave you a pearly white smile, clapping her hands in joy at how the trip has turned out, watching you now hold the small box in your hand. You didn’t blame her, this has been a success. You can’t wait.

___________________________

“Babe! I’m home!” You called, shutting the front door behind you and kicking your shoes off, the ring safely held in its box, which was settled in your back pocket.

“Hi love” Natasha walked over, placing a sweet kiss on your lips before pulling away and brushing some loose strands of hair behind your ear, a gesture you had always adored. “How was your day? I heard you went out with Wanda?”

Of course she did! Luckily, she’s not the only spy around who could think quick on her feet.

“Yeah, we went for some lunch and just had a girls day. I think she needed to get out of the compound for a bit, too much ‘boy’ energy.” You shrugged, a smile playing on your lips as you watched hers curl upwards in agreement.

“I don’t blame her, poor girl. We’ve totally abandoned her with the males.”

“Would you like to go back and stay there?”

“Absolutely not, I’m quite happy where I am, thank you.” She raised her eyebrows in a playful manner before gesturing to the TV. “Do you wanna watch some ‘Friends’?”

“Yes! I’ll just change into some comfier clothes, jeans are not the one today.” You happily agreed, quickly giving her a peck on the cheek before scurrying off to the bedroom, hoping she didn’t notice the odd shape of your pocket.

You made it into the bedroom, getting some pj’s out of your wardrobe and looking for a place to hide the ring. You were going to just put it into your bedside table, but you knew Natasha often snuck in there to steal some of your favourite moisturiser. Not as subtle as she thinks.

You settled on hiding it on the top shelf of your wardrobe, behind some storage boxes and rucksacks neither of you used, hoping it would be well hidden there.

Now all you had to do now, was wait.

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