#also few days ago I learned that the water we use here for flushing the toilet is normal drink water and it makes me sick

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

call out my name pt. 2

summary: spencer rushes off to fix things with y/n, but can they really be fixed?

word count: 2,371                                                                                     reading time aprox: 9 mins

a/n: i just wanted to say thank you for all the support and praise i received on here, especially seeing all of my favorite authors comment and reblog my work is so heartening. thank you all so much for the support, you’re the reason why i have the encouragement to continue doing what i love <3

masterlist

part 1

The rain pattered against the window panes, interlocking with the light that shone through the sheer curtains of my apartment. A cold breeze slipped through the crack of the window, letting it venture through the dim room before it graced my skin. Although the sensation hadn’t registered in my mind as the plain beige wall in front of me consumed my attention. 

The hypnotic sound of the rain provided a consistent rhythm that encouraged my introspection. In the entire duration of my break, I’ve let my thoughts filter and organize themselves. I’ve felt powerless against the accusations that my brain has thrown towards me, setting my emotions to the side in a state of suspense. 

My knees were curled up against my chest, my unwashed hair scrunched up against my cheeks, and my sweater was littered with unknown stains and dried tears. Along with the descension of my reasonability, my hygiene followed shortly after. 

I was brought out of my bubble by the buzz of my phone. I turned it off weeks ago from the constant notifications I got from the team, it was only when I received a text message from my mother that I decided to turn it back on for the day. 

I reached over to the side table where my phone laid, feeling my muscles tense up and ache from the lack of movement I’ve done these past weeks. Turning it on, the intense light blinded me, leaving me disoriented. When my eyes finally adjusted to the sudden change of light, I wished that I had been blinded a little longer than I was. 

The notification read ‘New Voicemail: JJ <3’ 

My breath got pushed back in my throat, a wave of discomfort flooding over my entire body as my thumb hesitated over the notification. My lips trembled, swallowing my saliva while a debate ensued between my impulsivity and my timidity. With a numb boost of confidence I hurriedly pressed on the notification, traveling through my phone to hear out her message. 

“Hey Y/N” The message began. “I know that you heard...about what I said to Spence-” Her voice was low and full of penance, although any remorse that I tried to comprehend washed away at her use of Spencer’s nickname. “Gosh, I don’t even - I don’t even know how to begin to apologize for what I said - I - you don’t know how much Spence loves you and how much he talks about you” She sighed, her tone picking up as she praised Spencer. “But what I said was completely inappropriate and I’m so sorry for what I said. Telling Spence that I loved him was way out of line, considering that you’re such a dear friend to me, and especially since things are so complicated with me and Will - I just - I’m so sorry that I told him that I love-” 

The rest of the message was left to the imagination as I forcefully threw my phone against the beige wall, denting it in the process. A flurry of newfound rage clouded my mind, providing a break from the contradicting thoughts that usually engulfed my head. For once, I had directed the emotion towards another individual rather than myself. 

The phone fell with a heavy thud, glass debris flying across the floor, decorating the oak floors with fragments. I could care less about the material expense that I would have to pay; my blind resentment tainting my rationality. 

My chest heaved in exasperation as a novel onslaught of tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Although the quantity of tears were sparse because they were wasted on my self reproach the previous week. I furiously wiped them away, detaching myself from the malicious feeling, a habit I came to develop. 

I adapted to the stupefaction that infiltrated my heart, at times feeling grateful for the ability. The coldness that surrounded my small living room couldn’t compare to the icy innards of my chest. 

Finally collecting my composure, I looked over to a mirror that sat between my bookshelves, taking in my disheveled and ragged appearance. 

JJ wouldn’t look like this

My face contorted into a somber expression, letting my insecurities slip through the hard persona I persisted to instill in myself. I surveyed the filthy environment that surrounded me; the floor was painted with old dirt, the furniture had accumulated colonies of dust, and the roses that sat on the kitchen counters had wilted. 

JJ would never let herself go like this

Who was I kidding? Who was I, Y/N Y/L/N, to compare to a Georgetown graduate, an astounding profiler, and an icon of beauty? 

Well the one thing I had that she didn’t was Spencer

But did I really? 

I was startled out of my grim assessment by a frantic knocking against my front door. I groaned internally, not hesitating to stay where I was situated. I couldn’t handle any human interaction at the moment, frankly I didn’t want any human interaction at all. I’ve learned to love the little cocoon I had built around me, finding serendipity in my self-isolation. 

“Go away!” I attempted to shout, but all that came out was a hoarse whimper that sent a sharp pain to my esophagus. I flinched as the knocking became more frantic, the volume elevating along with the forceful jabs against the wood. 

I felt my ears ring, using my hands to alleviate the pounding that attacked my eardrums. I was about to open my mouth to disclose another warning, but a familiar voice had interrupted me. 

“Y/N! Y/N are you in there!” Spencer yelled, slamming his fists against the door between every phrase. 

I froze in my spot, a wave of mixed emotions coming over me as my cheeks flushed at hearing his voice for the first time in a long time. The familiar sound sent shockwaves down my spine and dread silenced my tongue. It felt like I was on high alert, like an animal paranoid of its prey. 

“Y/N! Just - god please tell me you’re at least okay” He stammered in his fit of hysteria, the bangs on the door slowing in rhythm. 

Silence followed his pleas, instilling a sense of relief that I didn’t know I needed. Movement outside stilled, making me think that he had given up his relentless efforts and went elsewhere. I let out a breath that I held in, alleviating the stress that had accumulated inside of me. 

Although the moment that I began to relax into my seat, two blaring shots rattled through the apartment complex. The scent of gunpowder meshed with the dewy air as I jumped out of my seat, startled and alarmed. I closed my eyes and covered my ears with my palms, the ringing leaving me blindsided. 

“Y/N! Y/N? Are you there?” Spencer rushed in with his gun pointed, his feet clattering against the floor in a haste. 

“What the fuck Spencer” I hoarsely whispered, although the meekly volume of my voice hadn’t penetrated this ears. 

“Y/N!” He called out once again, slowing his movements as his sneakers squeaked with every step he made. 

“I’m here Spencer, I’m here” I repeated, using all my might to push the small phrase off of my tongue. My throat stung at the strain of my voice, a burning feeling eliciting from the back of my throat due to the dryness. This time I had caught his attention.

We locked eyes for a brief moment before I quickly broke our line of sight, insecure about my current appearance; even after a month I still held Spencer’s opinion to the highest magnitude. In the time that I observed him, I noticed that he was drenched in rain water, his hair tangled and strung out from his head while droplets proceeded behind him. 

“I-” He breathed, his words caught in his throat. He dropped his revolver beside him in incredulity, drinking in my battered presence. He didn’t look too well either, his stature was still the same but the bags under his eyes were prominent, his cheeks were puffed from exhaustion, and his posture resembled the hunchback of Notre Dame. 

“W- what are y- you doing here Spencer?” I croaked, rubbing my hands against my arms in an attempt for any type of coverage. 

My senses heightened as I waited for his response. He brought in such a familiar, yet unfamiliar presence with him. It felt like I was home, but so far away from it at the same time. 

Maybe it was the way that I longed for the warmth of his embrace, the calming rhythm of his heart beat while I slept on his chest, and the soothing melody of his voice while he read to me. But maybe it was also the way he hadn’t dared to speak when JJ’s voice was full of love, when he assumed that I hadn’t acknowledged the endearments he received from another woman, and when I became a distant thought in the back of his head. 

I’ve never doubted Spencer’s eidetic memory, but this time I questioned my place in that brilliant mind of his. Maybe for the first time, I was the one thought that had ceased to exist. 

“I - why didn’t you tell me?” He uttered, running his hand over his jaw in grievance. His eyes burned holes into me, the intense glare making me feel small under his scrutiny. 

I couldn’t answer

“God Y/N - I don’t even - why didn’t you even tell me?” 

“I - uh - I don’t” I stuttered, unable to muster the confidence or cognitive ability to speak; it was like my brain had turned into mush. 

“Please talk to me” He pleaded, taking a hesitant step closer to me. 

I stumbled back in a haste like he was some sort of repellent. I felt a constant push and pull in my gut, messing with my innate instincts. 

“Spencer don’t-” I warned, seeing how he had taken a few determined strides towards me. 

“Spence...please don't - p- please” I whimpered, feeling a wet substance slide down the apple of my cheeks. I tasted the crimson blood mix with the salty residue on my lips, unaware of how hard I bit down on the skin. 

Pained tears continued to fall incessantly from my eyes, matching the way the rain ran down my window panes previously. I saw Spencer’s figure slump down in defeat, the helplessness in my words permeating his eardrums. 

“Y/N just - please let me fix - Y/N just please let me fix us” He solicited, looking to me for permission to advance. 

“Spencer there’s no need for fixing anythi-” 

“Yes there is Y/N-” 

“No there isn’t Spencer!” I persisted, convincing myself that I had everything under control. I shut my eyes in frustration, shaking my head in denial while I reminded myself of all the malicious emotions I refused to feel. 

“Y/N please just list-” 

“No Spencer. I know what to do and I know how to deal with-” 

“No Y/N! No you don’t - god you’re so stubborn sometimes -” He imprudently blurted out, pinching at the bridge of his nose to collect his composure. “Y/N - please just…” He sighed, looking deep into my eyes from a distance. “Please just let me in” He begged, a few tears slipping from the corners of his somber irises. His face wore an anguished and desperate expression, an expression that had the ability to end a war. 

My cold exterior shattered instantaneously from the sight of Spencer, feeling my heart being tugged into multiple directions until all that was left was a pained human muscle. As much as I wanted to convince myself of an ardent persona, I knew that Spencer was the only person that could invoke such a visceral reaction from me. Whether I accepted the feeling or not, I knew that Spencer’s effect on me was unmatched to any delusions I made myself to believe. 

My lips trembled uncontrollably as a soft sob rolled off my tongue. I looked to Spencer for aid, feeling my entire facade crash and burn. My knees buckled and weakened from reality coming in all at once. When the first cry fell from my mouth, more followed soon after. 

I became a drenched mess that sat in the middle of the living room. I felt deceived by myself, developing a sense of self resentment as my mindset came into actualization. I grieved for the fragment of myself that I secluded and killed off because of my inability to process my agony, longing for that piece of me back. 

Spencer came to my rescue, engulfing me in his arms and encroaching me with his touch. I leaned into his chest, desperately clutching onto the dress shirt he wore. My tears stained his blazer, leaving puddles along the fabric, but I couldn’t care less. 

I breathed in the sedative scent, feeling it flush through my nostrils, reminding me of home. I held onto his arms tightly, afraid that he would disappear the moment I let go of him. 

Spencer tried to reach down to grab a hold of my cheek, but I nudged his fingers away, climbing into his lap as I buried my face into the crook of his neck. 

He cooed into my hair, stroking my back while he whispered his endearments in my ear. “You’re okay Y/N - we’re going to be okay” He breathed, letting out a staggered exhale as he enunciated his words. 

Light rushed into my chest at that moment, letting it conquer and cut through the caution tape I had wired around my feelings. Shutting my eyes, I relaxed into his love, letting it infiltrate and replace my fears. 

I didn’t doubt that it was going to take time to heal and repair, but at least it was beginning. 

“I love you so so much Y/N - more than you can ever conceive” He declared, pressing a soft kiss on my temple. “And nobody will ever tell me otherwise” 

I knew from that moment that I didn’t have to walk on a tightrope no longer because I knew it was my name that Spencer would be calling out.

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @howdycharlie​ @linthebinbag​ @goldentournesol​ @andiebeaword​ @moon-light-jukebox​ @pizzarollsfordayz​ @baby-i-am-fireproof​ @cielo1984​ @spncersreid​ @101donuts​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @haylaansmi​ @parkeroffline​

#spencer reid #spencer #Spencerreid #spencer reid icons #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid imagines #spencer x oc #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler imagines #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler x y/n #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic

[dainty-fingertips]

a forever thing. ||kars x fem! reader

wrote this one a few weeks ago bc a friend said i should write something with kars,, ended up being too long and i don’t think she ever finished reading it;; also, spoilers for if you haven’t finished battle tendency !!

word count: 2233

summary: training alongside caesar and joseph, you end up being kidnapped by the remaining two pillar men after the death of esidisi. a closet bookworm, you end up spending most of your time cooped up in the library of the rundown hotel, though most of your time is spent thinking of the leader himself. after kars drops some undeniable hints, you decide to test the waters.

trigger warnings: none :)

||

          Being taken for a sort of ransom by aztec gods wasn’t exactly on the agenda today. 

          After Joseph had killed Esidisi, the remaining two were -- as expected -- on edge. Wamuu, the youngest, and Kars, the eldest. You could grasp a fleeting understanding on why they chose you specifically, but nothing enough to make complete sense in your brain. It could have been Caesar, it could have been Lisa Lisa, but no. As of now, they were treating you quite well, actually. You figured Wamuu was the only reason you weren’t bound by rope and eating out of a dog bowl right now. Instead, you were perched upon a plush reading chair in a rundown library, clad in a comfortable robe (thanks to Wamuu, you weren’t stuck in your sweaty outfit from before). You had planned on touring to Switzerland one day after the war, but being trapped inside a rundown hotel with no real access to vitamin D was really taxing your health (mentally and physically) and never intended to be something you spent your time doing while here.

          In your rough-skinned hands, you held a worn copy of In Search of Lost Time. Your reading comprehension had improved over the past few weeks, at least. A rough knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. “I’m here.” You said calmly, hoping it was the younger Pillar Man. Of course your desires were not met. Kars stepped into the library, his headscarf absorbing some of the light from the candle lit on the table next to you. He eyed you in what appeared to be mild distaste. “Why are you awake?” You looked up from the book with an odd expression. “What do you mean?” You asked him. The god huffed softly, motioning to the boards on the windows. “The sun has gone down. Are you not tired?” You pulled your gaze over to the covered windows. “...Oh.”

          You had failed to notice the absence of flittering rays much earlier. “Wait, what time is it?” You mumbled to yourself. You looked at the grandfather clock on the wall to your right and your expression dropped. “It’s 1 am.” he mumbled, crossing his arms. You pursed your lips and quietly closed the book. You uncrossed your legs and set it back on the shelf. Kars watched you slowly make your way back and forth. “What about you?” You asked, wrapping your fingers around the candle tray. He stared at you. Were you asking why he was up? “What do you mean?” He asked with a sigh. “You’re still up, but you aren’t tired.” You stated while approaching him. He didn’t move. “I’ve told you this. Neither me nor Wamuu need sleep, human. Es-” He stopped himself mid sentence and his cold expression seemed to falter for only a moment. You had learned, in your three weeks here, that the pillar men deemed it inappropriate to show emotion to anyone other than family members or mates. 

          Kars had never slipped up around you before. 

          The gears in your brain began turning. Kars wouldn’t show something like that to Wammu even, at least that’s what you’d been told. Why, even if for a split second, would he let you see that? Did he see you as someone close? The mere idea was laughable. Kars’ cold exterior soon returned, though. Simply brushing aside the sight, you continued to listen to him. “Esidisi didn’t need sleep, either.” He continued, his voice almost strained. Was Kars trying to hide his pain? You looked at him with soft eyes. Kars seemed to get minorly flustered and removed his gaze from you.

          You sighed gently and gazed cautiously into his blooming red eyes, the simple sight of them making your stomach twirl a bit. He made you feel floaty when he looked at you. Your cheeks flushed and you looked away. You saw in your hazy peripheral that he had furrowed an eyebrow. “What?” He asked hesitantly, looking back at you. “Hm?” You couldn’t look back at him. “I was just wondering about something, that’s all.” You begged that the bluff worked on him, but you knew that Kars was smart. He didn’t respond for a few seconds, his eyes flickering across your face and body, looking for a hint of something in your body language. 

          He sighed and motioned for you to follow him. You stood there and glanced at him curiously, his back turned and footsteps echoing. He turned his head to look at you. “I’m taking you to your chambers. Come.” He said with a bored expression. “O-Oh, right.” You whispered. You jogged up to him, but slowed your pace once you were next to him. “What was it?” He asked. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him without moving your head. “What?” He sighed through his nose. “You said you were wondering about something.” Your mouth opened to the shape of an O. “Right. I was just curious, uh, Kars. Do you think you could sleep if you tried?” You queered hesitantly, avoiding your original thought of Kars’ sadness. You looked back ahead of you. Kars gazed to his right, thinking. “An odd question, human. Why do you ask?” You shrugged slightly. “I dunno. Curiosity, I guess.” Kars aired out a small ‘hm.’ and inhaled sharply.

          “Curiosity is a dangerous fault in humans. No matter how long I sleep, that will forever remain a constant.” You cocked your head to the side a bit, working up the courage to turn to him as you both walked. “What do you mean?” He looked down at you, a strand of his hair tufting out slightly. “It’s what got that damned Joestar wrapped into this mess. If not for him, we wouldn’t need to deal with this. Our mission would be far less… complicated.” You nodded your head. “And that’s been a forever-thing?” He squinted his eyes. “A what?” 

          “Well, that’s what my dad used to call it.” You said with a gentle chuckle. “Y’know, a forever-thing. Something that’s been around for forever. Literally and figuratively.” 

          “A forever-thing?” He pressed.

          “Mhm.”

          “Humans and their idiotic names for simple terms.” he spat.

          “Oh really?”

           He scoffed. “Yes.”

          “Then what would you call it?” You joked, putting a playfully heavy emphasis on your words. Kars groaned, but deep inside his old bones, he felt something. He could admire beauty when he saw it, especially for a human, but this was getting out of hand. You were completely oblivious to the fact that Kars had taken an especial liking to you, which he was grateful for. His cold demeanor felt almost immoral around you. You were similar to that Joestar boy, but you were somehow more tangible. He could… stand you, sure, but he didn’t know why. He had been surrounded by nothing but cold glares and serious attitudes his whole life, and he magnified it in the way he lived. It’s what earned him the highest rank in what now remained of the tribes, being merely him and Wamuu. 

          Though, having you around was a strangely acceptable change of tone. He began finding himself seeking out your attention, like 10 minutes ago. You weren’t in your bed, so he came looking for you where you normally sat; the library. You were propped in that chair, now claimed as yours, with your knees to your chest and a book in your hands. You seemed almost magnetizing, you seemed almost… well, he wasn’t sure. He’d never felt this way. Why did you grab his attention? You held him in your fingers like putty, rubbing him in all the right ways. Maybe, because of you, his opinion on the human species wouldn’t be so dire. Maybe, in your toothy grins, your glittering eyes, and your gentle hands,  you would change his mind. 

          Only then, did he realize you had taken his hand in yours.

          He quickly pulled it away. “Don’t touch me.” He spat, eyeing you. You chuckled and shrugged. “Sorry, force of habit. Whenever my dad was deep in thought, I’d grab his hand to pull him back to Earth.” Kars scoffed, rubbing his hand as though trying to get the feeling of your rough hands off of him. They were hard and calloused from training, he presumed, though it added to his simple adoration. He had never met a woman like this. His eyes lingered back to your hands for a moment before looking back ahead. “Well, I’m not your father.” You simply smiled ahead and didn’t respond.

          Kars let his hands fall to his sides and the two of you make it up the set of stairs to your room. The door sat closed, and you looked at Kars. “Would you mind, Kars, if I told you something?” You questioned casually, entering your room and looking at him from the inside. He nodded once and silently asked you to continue. Your face grew warm and you looked to the side, unable to look at him for a moment. “You…” You began, unsure how to tell him. He raised an eyebrow. “I what?” He said. You knew he was an impatient man when it came to things like this; you had heard it from Wamuu whenever he’d bring you food. “Spit it out.” You sighed and looked at him, your gaze wavering and nervous. “You aren’t half bad, Kars.” You said with an awkward tone of voice. You knew you were treading on thin ice, but you didn’t know when you’d actually be able to tell him alone.

          Kars’ stance was unmoved. The meaning behind your words didn’t fully strike him until after the two of you silently stared at each other for 20 seconds. His face, twisted in mild confusion, soon loosened up. Realization clubbed him like a wooden baseball bat behind his knees. His maroon eyes darted across your face and his lips parted slightly. “What -- What are you saying?” He said quietly. He was sure his brain was playing tricks, but your face, it seemed so fearfully genuine. Sweat accumulated on the back of his neck in his headscarf. Kars was a god; the most powerful pillar man. He was above this. Why did… Why did it feel wrong to act that way around you? Why did he feel almost guilty when he acted superior?

          You stood motionless. “I mean, y’know. I enjoy… your… your company.” You stumbled over her words. Were you being intimate with him? He’d never seen this side of you. You noticed Kars slipping up on his own standards again, as well. His surprised emotions were clear as day, etched cleanly into his chiseled features. His fangs poked out onto his lower lip, a simple protrusion which you had wished you didn't find cute. You genuinely thought that Kars was attractive.

          Then again, who wouldn’t? He stood tall, around 6’8”. He towered over most all he came in contact with, but that was simply second nature to you now. You were used to craning your neck to get a better look at those blood-red eyes that almost seemed to despise you. A dark loft of his hair would make its cameo every now and again. He’d always get flustered whenever you’d mention it, telling you that he didn’t need the approval of a human. He’d then, a minute or so later, slyly tuck it back in. It’s not that he didn’t know, of course; it’s just that he only cared enough about it if you took the time to tell him.

          Wamuu had noticed his growing infatuation with you and the thought brought him a smile. After sitting down with Kars and listening to him do nothing but wax poetic about you earlier tonight, he told him to go find you. Maybe take a walk with you, if he felt like it. Kars kindly took up the offer; it seemed you had humbled him in that department, too. Normally he wouldn’t bother taking anyone’s advice, but here he was. Pulling him from the crevasse of his rushing brain was your hand, humbly wrapping your fingers around his.

          Kars stared at his hands, fingers being separated by your own, in blatant shock. “You aren’t as bad as I thought you’d be.” You whispered, barely audible to him. He locked eyes with you and without thinking, going against everything he’d ever stood for in the past, he curled his fingers around yours as well. You smiled softly and looked down, avoiding his gaze. Kars’ lips pulled back together, his lips twitching, desperately wanting to smile. “I suppose.” He said hesitantly. “Why are you being nice to me?” He soon asked, turning his gaze back to your face.

          He pulled his hand away, taking a step back. “I…” You murmured, retracting your hand as well. He looked between his fingers as though he’d touched gold, small glittering remnants still freckled along his palm. “I don’t know.” you finished with a heavy sigh. He closed his hand into a fist and looked at you with nervous confidence. “Well, if there’s nothing more, then I will take my leave.” He said quickly, nearly stuttering his words. He turned on his heel and began going the way he came. You gazed at his back as he swiftly left the hallway and sighed in disbelief. You had just grabbed his hand.

          Kars, it seemed, had fallen in love with the enemy.

          The enemy, it seemed, had felt exactly the same.

#kars x reader #kars jjba #pllar men #esidisi #wamuu #jjba part 2 #jjba battle tendency #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #im actually kinda proud of this #but dont tell anyone ok #x reader #kars jjba x reader #romance fanfic #x reader fanfiction #anime x reader

[newtonsheffield]

You mention how Edwina is the sweet princess but I feel like Kate is also truly loved by the people, they just maybe take a while to warm up to her.

Can we see a snippet of Kate being the Queen of everyone’s hearts like we know she would be and Anthony hyping her up the entire time?

Just you know to compensate for the angst today?

You don’t have to, of course but it’d be nice to read is all 🤗

Oh, Kate is definitely loved by the people by the time her coronation comes round because of a few things that happen during a televised event in two chapters time.

Make no mistake, the Royal family of Genovia is very well loved amongst the public and honestly, while they had thought Kate's relationship with Anthony might be a PR disaster, it turned into pretty well the opposite, let's take a look.

(I'm trying real hard not to spoil anything but some things might slip through and I'm sorry )

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Sophie?" Anthony said nervously to the woman currently flitting around behind his chair, directing a lighting technician with startling efficiency.

"We've been over this, Anthony. Yes. All of my ideas are good, and if you question another of them, I'll tell your mother what really happened to steal you from your engagement party." Sophie looked pointedly at Anthony, whose cheeks flushed as he thought about how Kate had felt, moving against him in the water of the fountain.

"How do you-?"

"I know everything that happens in this palace Anthony." Sophie said dismissively, "Also, Kate told me."

He could see Kate smirking across the room as her make up team flitted around her, putting the final touches on her.

This had been the part of their relationship that was the hardest for him to adjust to. He hadn't thought he would have to. Had thought it would be easy, given he'd had a semi public life as a viscount, but he'd very quickly learned that being associated with the royal family proper was its own kind of pageantry. He had Kate hadn't been together a week before they'd been sat in a room, the Queen Regent's disapproving stare fixed firmly on him, as Sophie chatted with 15 PR experts all tutting and umming.

"Just how public do you want this to be?" Kate's mother had sighed her eyes barely leaving Anthony's hand clutched firmly in Kate's.

Kate had frowned, "I know you think this is a mistake, Mary, but I love him." Anthony's chest had ached, for the disapproval in Mary's voice, though he knew it had nothing at all to do with Kate and everything to do with him, and rightly so.

"I don't think anything, Kate. You're enjoying a not insignificant bump in public opinion given everything that happened at... your wedding, I'm just saying, the public might not take kindly to seeing you in a relationship with someone that tried to stage a coup."

Unfortunately the PR experts had agreed, even Sophie humming sadly, but Kate had insisted, she wasn't going to keep their relationship a secret and so, Lord Bridgerton had emerged as Princess Katharine's public companion two weeks later.

And to everyone's very great surprise, the new royal couple had been a hit. Magazines were filled with pictures of Kate, smiling down at his younger sister amidst all the other school children. Pictures of him kissing her cheek as they got back into the car, the two of them branded star crossed lovers. Two people who weren't supposed to fall in love, but couldn't help themselves, capturing the attention of the entire country. Requests for media appearances pouring in, Sophie's phone ringing off the hook. And it had only been worse when Kate had been spotted, three weeks ago now, coming out of his apartment, an engagement ring fixed firmly on her finger.

So here they were, about to give a televised interview discussing how they fell in love. And it should have been so easy. But it really didn't seem that way.

"You look very handsome. I might have to undo those buttons with my teeth later." Kate's voice growled in his ear as she settled on the sofa beside him, legs crossed primly as she tucked herself against his side, wrapping his arm over her shoulders, her left hand resting on his knee so the engagement ring was front and centre.

Anthony felt himself flush, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Your Majesty." he ground out, ignoring her little huff of breath against his neck.

"Who said I wasn't planning on keeping them?" Her fingernails gliding up his leg, heat rushing to his stomach.

"Can we dial this horniness back to about a 2?" Sophie sighed from her position, by the door, waiting for the journalist to enter.

"What do you think we're currently at?" Kate hummed directing her attention back to Sophie effortlessly as Anthony tried to redirect his thoughts elsewhere.

"As always, 25. We want young and in love not ready to rip each others clothes off and make a celebrity sex tape."

"You can't deny we'd definitely get a lot of viewers." The corner of her lips was tugging upwards in smirk.

Sophie rolled her eyes, "One of these days I'm going to- Sandra! Lovely to see you again!"

The journalist had entered the room, looking around curiously, greeting Sophie politely. Anthony knew Sandra Jacobsen had been very carefully chosen for this interview, the exact brand of questioning carefully plotted out by Sophie.

"Your Majesty." The woman dropped into a curtsy before Kate, who nodded politely.

"And you know Lord Bridgerton?" The woman curtsied again.

"Sandra, it's so lovely to see you again. How is your son enjoying university?" Kate slipped effortlessly into her public mode, kindly enquiring after people, and Anthony knew, while other dignitaries had this information fed to thm, Kate kept her own careful notes on everyone, ready to use at a moments notice, and people were powerless t resist her smile.

Sandra settled in the chair in front of them after several long moments, rattling off some introductions, sending Anthony's anxiety hurtling towards breaking point, Kate's fingers drumming on his knee keeping it from getting there.

"Now, the two of you sent the entire country into a spin a few months ago."

Kate laughed delightedly, "Yes, I suppose it was a little dramatic wasn't it?" She turned to Anthony, her eyes sparkling at him, sending his heart skipping.

"We're nothing if not dramatic." Anthony couldn't help but grin. It was easy to laugh about it now, all the tears shed months ago now disappearing in the wake of this beautiful thing that had blossomed between them.

"I think, I speak for the entire country when I say what a beautiful couple you make." Sandra was saying, but Anthony couldn't pull himself away from Kate's eyes, drowning in them a little, falling deeper and deeper every second nw that he'd let himself.

"Lord Bridgerton?" Sandra's voice caught his attention, as Kate's elbow caught him in the ribs. Sophie hissing behind him like an angry goose.

"Sorry, Sandra I got distracted. Could you repeat that?"

"I was just saying, the two of you met when you were invited to stay at the palace," The very public, very necessary lie always grated on him. But they could hardly have had him say The future queen let me take her home not even knowing my last night and fuck her in my shower. Could they? "What was the first thought that ran through your head when you saw her?"

Kate was smirking at him, her hand tight on his knee, he could almost see Sophie begging him not to say something stupid, an image flashing through his mind f Kate on a barstool laughing delightedly his breath leaving his body.

"Honestly Sandra? Oh No, She's really pretty."

The entire Genovian news cycle is taken up by clips of Anthony stammering through his words, unable to take his eyes off his fiancée, Oh no, She's really pretty played on a loop, made into memes and jokes on late night TV. All with the same sentiment It's what she deserves. And Anthony honestly, couldn't have agreed more.

#Anthony is a himbo #change my mind #royals #princess diaries au #kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #kate sharma #molly's asks and answers

[cassanovancats]

felicitate. four.

three < current > five

March 2017

White Day is only a few days away when you begin to notice Rika’s form is absent from your training sessions lately. There shouldn’t be any reason for this, at least not one you’re aware of. Your class celebrated Yuta’s birthday just two days ago, and both the curse and cursed seemed fine, great even. You decide it’s best to bring this up casually - Yuta was still so skittish and Rika would be able to hear whatever you said anyways. So while you lead Yuta through a yoga session, you ask, “How’s Rika?”

He flusters and falls from his side-plank variation pose. The band he was using as an aid tangles around his calf. You debate and decide to leave him. If you touched him now, he might spontaneously combust. That thought makes you giggle a little. You move to change to a position that meant you weren’t looking at him. Hopefully, that’s less pressure.

Yuta speaks up when you’re fully downward dog, leading you to believe your plan worked. “She’s fine, yeah, fine. Just uh - tired?” You nod but inwardly roll your eyes. You shift your hips in to move to upward facing dog and make eye contact again.

“Just checking. I miss her hanging out, you know?” It’s obvious Yuta just lied, curses don’t get tired, but it’s better to not call him out this time. You just have to hope it wasn’t anything you did. “I know you fell but at this point you’re just slacking. Get back on your mat,” you say, changing the topic to something safe.

You’re back in downward facing dog when the door slides open. A familiar voice drawls, “Why are you still working out, dummy? Forgot our plans?” You scramble to your feet.

“Gumi!” You rush to hug him despite his obvious distaste. “What time is it? Do I still have time to shower or will we be late?”

Your little brother snorts and pushes you away, “Please do, you smell. You have,” he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes.”

“Gumi! That’s not enough time!” You yell, already sprinting towards the showers at the back of the gym. Yuta pouts at how quickly you seemed to forget his presence. That face doesn’t escape Megumi.

“So, you like my idiot sister?”

“W-what! No, no no no, it’s not like that! She just helps t-train me and -!” Yuta knows he’s rambling but he can’t seem to stop talking.

“Whatever,” Megumi has better things to worry about than repressed hormones. He's known that Yuta had a crush on you since the first time he came to campus to train with you after Yuta arrived. Your classmate couldn’t stop staring and seemed disheartened by the fact that you called Megumi by a shortened version of his given name. He had pouted until Satoru showed up and made a spectacle of ‘Team Gojo’ being all together again. Like you three didn’t, at minimum, have a weekly dinner together.

“If you ever want to acknowledge them, you’ll have to get approved by Satoru.” Yuta feels like he also needs the approval of this boy, but he leaves that unsaid. Just nods dumbly. Probably a good thing he didn’t respond, because you barrel through the doors you disappeared from.

When you rush past him, Yuta gets a strong whiff of the floral scent he’s come to associate with you. Megumi laughs under his breath at the blissed out look. Your hair drips water onto your tee shirt and it’s clear you rushed. “Really, really sorry to dip, Yuta. Run through those stretches we did last week to cool down!” Your fingers distractedly pull your wet hair into a braid as you instruct him. “Oh! Tell Maki I won’t be at afternoon training, Satoru already knows and gave permission. Megumi, grab my duffel?” Already carrying it, he rolls his eyes. “I should be back tomorrow morning, but don’t count on it.”

“Wait, but why -?”

“Gotta dash. Bye, Yuta!” You run ahead of your brother, headed to your room to grab Tsumiki’s gifts. Megumi gives a nod and follows after you. Alone and without anyone around to judge, Yuta groans and buries his face into his yoga mat. God, why can’t he just be normal.

When he looks back up, Rika has taken your spot on your mat. You left in such a hurry, you didn’t even clean up. He’ll have to drop it off in your room. “Ya’ know, it’s not that I’m mad about you liking her,” she begins. “It’s just…. I know we can’t be together so I do want you to be happy. I just feel jealous. Especially since you got her that super fancy chocolate for White Day,” Rika finishes with a pout.

Yuta doesn’t really know how to reassure her. So he does what he promised when he was ten, and is just honest. “I’m here to learn how to let you go, Rika. Neither of us know how to do that yet. I can’t be in any kind of relationship until I learn. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

Rika hums and picks at the corner of your mat. “Well. I think it’s more than just us two you’re worried about.”

“What?”

“Inumaki seems pretty interested in the both of you too. You may not see it, but all three of you are pretty smitten. It’s actually kind of gross.”

“That’s - he - no!” Rika just laughs and dissolves her form. Yuta, still flustered, continues to mutter as he collects the things you left and wipes down any used equipment. When he finally leaves, it’s just his luck he runs (literally) into Inumaki who looks unfairly handsome in a fitted tee and sweatpants. Even his markings are uncovered, which makes Yuta groan, tuck tail, and run away. Yuta can hear Rika laughing in his mind.

“Tuna mayo?” Inumaki tilts his head to the side but shrugs off the odd behavior.

-

July 2017

JJH Thots the good gojo: guysss help which tie do i get :( fushiguro: isn’t satoru with you the good gojo: yea but u know he’s shit at gifts maki: Both of those are ugly, (y/n). Do you hate the man? osamu: the cheetah print trophy husband: I like that one too! the good gojo: this is why you two are my favorites

From a few cities over, Yuta flushes at your words. Inumaki notices and kicks his foot. He’s laughing when he says, “Nori,” but Yuta can spot a faint pink over the hem of his collar too.

You turn around in the middle of the street when you hear a loud, “(y/n)-chan!” Satoru is speed-walking towards you, waving an arm that is covered in different shopping bags. His long legs have him beside you in a split second, even without the use of cursed energy. “Are you done yet? Nanami won’t even thank you properly you know. Why don’t you just get gifts for your precious Nii-chan?” He pouts and takes the two bags you’re carrying.

“One, it’s not your birthday. Two, you could buy anything you want already. Three, who's to say I didn’t already get you one?” You pull a box of macaroons out from one of the bags he took. Satoru moves to snatch it immediately but you put it behind your back. Of course, if he wanted, he’d just grab it, but your Nii-chan would never deny playing a game with you. “You can’t get it until we’re back on campus! I’m already tired and this is my bribe to go home early.”

“But (y/n)-chan,” he whines.

“Nu-uh. I promised a movie night with Toge and Yuta and I don’t wanna be late.” You realize too late you revealed too much, because your brother suddenly looks like a very successful cat.

“Why didn’t you just say so? I would never make my little sister late for her first date.”

You blush furiously, “Who says it’s my first?”

“It better be your first.”

“It’s not even a date,” you roll your eyes. “Neither like me like that, and if it was a date, wouldn’t one be a third-wheel?”

“Tricycles are pretty fun.” Your brother says casually. You roll your eyes again and add a gag for good measure. “Seriously, (y/n). You should know you have my full support to love anyone and everyone you want. Not that you need it, though. You’re a Gojo. We do as we please anyways.”

You tear up at his sincerity and throw your arms around your brother, or at least the best you can with his bags in the way. The two of you are frequently physically and verbally affectionate but not often in such a serious manner. You know there’s a deep love between you; for a long time, the two of you only had each other. Eventually, your family expanded to include Megumi and Tsumiki, but neither ever took the Gojo name. You and Satoru had a special bond. “Thank you,” you stutter around tears. You hope he understands it’s not just a thank you for the reassurance but a thank you for giving you such a life.

“Come on, no crying. You can’t go on your date with puffy eyes, you’ll scare both of them away.” He pats your head softly and just laughs when you punch him in the gut.

#felicitate #cass.writes #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #inumaki x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #inumaki x reader x yuta #female!reader #jjk spoilers #jjk volume 0 spoilers #in ao3 this is two chapters but theyre real short so #combined with my author powers

[intheticklecloset]

Are You Sorry Yet? (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

Time for Todoroki to get his revenge on Deku...with a little help, too! These prompts all fit so beautifully together, I love it! Enjoy!

17. “Stop! You know I can’t take being teased!”

31. “This is so embarrassing!”

9. “Are you sorry yet?”

~

“Deku, you stupid nerd!”

The shout caught Todoroki’s attention as he was entering the kitchen, making him pause. He recognized Bakugou’s angry tone and vaguely wondered what Midoriya had done to tick him off this time when he then heard something completely unexpected – the blonde’s roaring laughter.

Todoroki turned toward the common room, where all the ruckus was coming from. What?

“Deku!” Bakugou yelled around his mirth. “Stop! We’re in the open!”

“Don’t worry, Kacchan,” came Deku’s reply. “I’m keeping an eye out.”

“It doesn’t matter if they can hear me from a mile away! Knock it off!”

Todoroki knew how Bakugou felt about being tickled in public, and though technically they weren’t, it was true that anyone in their dorms could hear the laughter and realize who it belonged to. He decided to take initiative and prove the blonde’s point by walking into the common room, coming up behind Midoriya.

“He’s right, you know,” he said to Deku, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the noise. “I could have been anybody just now. You got lucky.”

Deku whirled around in surprise, looking shocked and mortified at the same time. “T-Todoroki!” he exclaimed. “You were here?”

“I was in the kitchen,” the half-and-half hero replied, “but Bakugou is right. I could probably have heard you long before I even got to this room.”

“Exactly!” Bakugou snapped, shoving Deku off of him roughly. “Idiot, that’s why I always say never where anyone else can see! Even potentially!”

Deku winced, looking embarrassed and ashamed. “Sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“I know you won’t,” Bakugou grumbled, shoving him down to the floor and drilling his fingers into the boy’s underarms. “Because I’m about to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

Deku screeched, bursting into his own hysterics as he tried to curl up. “NO!! KACCHAN!! TODOROKI, HEHEHEHELP ME!!”

All of a sudden Todoroki was taken back to that moment not even a week ago when he’d been at Bakugou’s mercy, desperately calling Midoriya’s name, only to be ignored by both parties. He’d been tickled so hard and so long that by the time it was over he’d barely been aware of where he even was. If that didn’t deserve punishment, he didn’t know what did.

“Help you, huh?” he said, smirking wickedly. “Oh, I’ll help you, all right. Help you learn your lesson.” He moved to kneel behind Deku, grabbing his arms and yanking them up so Bakugou had clear access to them, then using his ice to freeze them in place on the floor. He’d have to clean that up later, but for right now, he didn’t care.

“AH!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! TOHOHOHODOROKI WHY?!”

“Really?” Todoroki settled in to watch, feeling a rush of mischievous evil run through him. “I can’t believe you’re asking me why I’d want to get revenge, since you abandoned me last week when I was in this position begging for help. Or have you forgotten that?”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I’M SOHOHOHOHOHORRY!!” Deku screamed, kicking his legs frantically now that he couldn’t move his arms. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Wait a second – you were actually there?” Bakugou asked, slowing his tickling to a stop, staring at them both. “He wasn’t just yelling your name? He was calling for you to help him and you left him with me?”

Deku was flushed red, but whether from exertion or embarrassment neither of them could really tell. “Y-Yeah…b-b-but I saw how ruthless you were being and I knew if I told you I’d found the wallet you would have gone after me next even though I hadn’t stolen it either, so I panicked and—”

“And left me,” Todoroki said, “to take the heat for you. Right?”

“But I didn’t steal it! I just found it!”

“I didn’t steal it either. But we all know how that played out for me.”

Bakugou was silent for a moment. Then he met Todoroki’s eyes. “Say, Icy-Hot. I think this nerd needs some good, hard tickling as punishment for what he did to us both. Don’t you?”

Todoroki grinned so wickedly he could have been a villain in that moment. “I wholeheartedly concur.”

Deku went white. “No, no, no, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Care to have first pick?” Bakugou asked, ignoring the boy trapped beneath them.

“I want his hips.”

“That’s fair. You got the worst of his mistakes.” The blonde shifted so he traded places with his classmate. “I’ll take second worst.”

“Wait, please, I’m sorry!” Deku begged, feeling completely helpless with his arms trapped in ice above him. Bakugou was merciless just on his own, but Todoroki had openly admitted to enjoying tickling him. This combination could not have been worse. “Please!”

“Let’s see. How long do you think we should punish him?” Bakugou asked.

Todoroki hummed. “I don’t know. How long did you tickle me, I wonder?”

“About fifteen minutes maybe?”

“So…double that?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Deku panicked. “No! Nonono, please! Please!”

“Relax, Midoriya. I’m kidding,” Todoroki said.

Bakugou grunted. “I’m not.”

“But I am going to get you back for leaving me behind like that. So don’t expect me to be gentle.” With that said, the icy-hot hero pressed his fingers into Deku’s hips, and the green-haired hero was immediately back in hysterics. After having tickled Shinsou in this spot when he knew it was equally as bad for him, he had a better understanding of why everyone targeted his hips first. But that didn’t make it any less unbearable now.

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEASE, NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

Bakugou snickered. “What’s the matter, nerd? Can’t take what you put Icy-Hot through?” He joined in, digging into his underarms, making Deku toss his head back and screech at the top of his lungs. “Tickle, tickle, tickle~”

Deku’s laughter went silent for a moment before he gasped in a desperate breath and pleaded, “STOP!! YOU KNOHOHOHOHOHOW I CAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAHAHAHAKE BEING TEHEHEHEHEHEASED!!”

“Oh? Well, that’s too bad,” Todoroki said, making the fingers of his right hand freezing cold before sliding them under their victim’s shirt, scribbling along his ribs. “How does it feel, Midoriya? Being tickled to death with no one to help you? Sucks, doesn’t it?”

“AH-AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! C-C-COHOHOHOHOHOHOLD!! COLD!! TODOROKI IT’S COHOHOHOHOHOHOLD!!”

“I know.”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! I’M SOHOHOHOHOHORRY!!”

“What’s up, Icy-Hot?” Bakugou asked. “You got some special tickling power or something?”

“Just my normal power. But I’ve learned recently that making my fingers cold also makes it tickle worse. I feel it’s appropriate to use here.”

The blonde grunted, then smirked down at Deku before using one hand to cover his mouth. As always, the smaller boy’s eyes widened in delicious panic at not being able to even beg anymore. It was so satisfying to watch. “What’s the matter, nerd? Nothing to say? Are you not sorry anymore? Where are all of your apologies now?”

Deku squealed behind his hand, trying to shake his head and shake him off, but of course, Bakugou kept up with him easily.

Todoroki shuddered. “You really are a mean tickler, Bakugou.”

“I never hold back. He knows that. You know it, too. One-hundred and ten percent. Besides, he deserves it.”

“To a point, yes.” Todoroki was now glad he’d focused his tickling away from Deku’s hips, as not being able to laugh and beg normally seemed to really be distressing him. He continued skittering over his sides and belly. “I must admit, I feel better now that I’m properly getting revenge for last week.”

“Yeah? Who’s the mean one now, Icy-Hot?” Bakugou chuckled. “Oh, and for the record, Deku. If you’d told me you’d found the wallet, I would have just taken it and gone back to my room. That’s all I was looking for, and I knew Todoroki was the only one to have held it besides me that day. That’s why I was after him so hard. I was certain he had it. You really screwed him over, just leaving it on the couch like that.” He then removed his hand from the nerd’s mouth and resumed tickling both underarms. “Are you sorry yet?”

“YES, YEHEHEHEHEHEHEHES, I’M SOHOHOHOHOHOHORRY!! SO SOHOHORRY!! PLEASE, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Free to scream now, Deku seemed to be making up for lost time by laughing and begging uncontrollably. “I’M SORRY!! I’M SORRY!! I’LL NEHEHEVER DO IT AGAHAHAHAHAIN I SWHEHEHEHEHEAR!! TODOROKI, KACCHAN, PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Todoroki – for all his talk about revenge and how much fun he was having right now – took stock of his friend’s state and decided he really was close to his limit. So he slid his fingers back down to the smaller boy’s hips and kneaded. “One last hurrah. Then I’ll forgive you.”

Bakugou, too, began kneading their victim’s underarms, resuming his tickle talk as well, forcing Deku into a long round of silent laughter. “Please,” he wheezed, barely able to get the words out. “Please, stohohohohop, I’m sohohohohorry!”

Finally, Todoroki relented, gesturing for Bakugou to do the same. The blonde reluctantly followed his lead, sitting back so his classmate could melt the ice holding Deku’s arms above his head, releasing him.

“I’m sorry,” Deku continued to say, breathless, rolling into his side and still giggling. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—” He hiccupped, then covered his mouth, stopping his string of apologies.

Todoroki chuckled, ruffling his hair. “I forgive you, Midoriya. Now we’re even.”

Deku hiccupped again.

Bakugou laughed. “Are you serious? You’ve got to be faking that. I’ve tickled you way harder and longer than this.”

“I c-can’t…” Deku started, then hiccupped again. He groaned. “I’m not faking it, I’ve just got the h- *hic* hiccups…”

Bakugou laughed so hard at him he nearly fell over backwards. Todoroki grinned at the adorable sight. Deku continued to hiccup a few more times, covering his face with a groan. “Ugh, make it *hic* stop, this is so embarrassing…”

Todoroki squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll get you some water. Hang in there.” And he went back to the kitchen, leaving a flustered Deku and laughing Bakugou behind in the common room, not unlike how he’d found them in the first place.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #izuku #midoriya #deku #katsuki #bakugou #kacchan #shoto #todoroki #revenge #playful #tickling #ticklish #tickle

[harrypotter-imaginess]

Commission info for Love Letters from your favorite character here!

- Honestly, your probably meet him through his Dad or all people

- You meet Arthur at the store, you’re probably at a department store or the grocery store

- Maybe you work here, maybe you just come there weekly to run errands

- But you’re probably a personal shopper

- And you’re looking for something in particular, but every time you go to that section, there’s this lanky middle aged man just standing there

- And you really don’t want to get involved

- But your over active imagination gets the best of you

- What’s if he’s a widower? And he’s just not used to shopping because his partner did all of that

- Or what if he’s trying to get a gift for his new love interest and he’s just trying to get back out there

- And well, if he is a widower, and he just needs some help- shouldn’t you help him?

- Isn’t that just the right thing to do?

- So even though you don’t want to get involved, you very hesitantly approach this red haired man

- “Um, excuse me sir- but is there something I can help you with?”

- He lights up when you approach him

- Looks like the poor thing is a widower

- “Would you explain the purpose to me of this item?”

- He’s holding up a bath kit, one that comes with a bath bomb, some bath salts, and bubble bath soap

- “Um well it’s a bath kit sir”

- He looks at the package for several ing moments before pointing to the circular bath bomb

- “Is this a sweet? Is it a treat you eat when you’re in the bath tub?”

- You practically fall over yourself rushing to tell him that no, it is in fact not a treat

- “It’s like a bubble bath type of thing, you drop it into the water and it turns the bath a certain color, this ones a fortune type so after it’s done fizzing out you get a little fortune.”

- “Well isn’t that fascinating, you Muggles are quite remarkable”

- You don’t think it’s that amazing, just some baking soda and aromatics

- Also what’s a muggle? Is that some middle age slang for young people?

- You help him to the register, and you think that’ll be it, you’ll probably never see him

- So imagine your surprise when you see him again next week, this time in front of a completely different section with the same expression

- “Well hello again, can you help me with this?”

- It’s sort of a fast friendship, you learn a little more about him with each visit

- He is in fact, not, a widower

- He has 8, no 7 children

- And he works for the government

- “A glorified paper pusher really” he says, but you get the feeling he’s being humble

- “How old are you, if you don’t mine me asking?”

- You tell him and he smiles

- “That’s how old my Son is, you two would be a good match.”

- “Which one? Don’t you have seven?”

- He smiles, because you still count Fred as his child even though he’s gone, just like him

- “Take your pick, I’ve got a whole volleyball teams for you to pick from”

- You laugh

- He’s a nice guy, the exact image of what a dad is, you think

- You like him

- Arthur likes you too, he thinks you would be a good match for Percy, maybe George

- He wants to give Percy a fighting chance, he’s a good boy-

- But he’s got his nose stuck in a book most days, Arthur considers it lucky if he ever gets married

- So it’s in early winter that he drags Percy with him to the department store hoping he’ll run into you

- “Why do I have to come along again?”Percy asks grumbling as he walks beside his father

- “Because I’m buying gifts for my department-“

- “You never buy us any gifts” Charlie teases from his other side

- Arthur also brought Charlie, to seem a little less obvious about his intentions of setting you up with one of his children

- He figures Charlie is the most harmless, if you see Bill... well that would be disappointing for you

- considering he’s married and all

- And the scars might raise more questions than he’s willing to answer

- And then Ron was busy at the ministry today, an emergency or something.

- He’s already decided as he walks through the store that if this doesn’t work out, he’s bringing George next week-

- And if that doesn’t work out, well-

- Maybe Ginny would be more your type

- how solid are Harry and Ginny really

- He’s so caught up in his own mental gymnastics that he doesn’t realize one of his sons isn’t following him until he’s well inside the store

- “Where’s Percy?”

- “Oh, he left like 15 minutes ago to take a phone call for work, but I bet he snuck off to that bookstore across the street.” Charlie says casually eyeing a brightly colored display

- Arthur sighs, well he does need to get some gifts for the kids, almost Christmas and all

- “Hello Arthur, what are you dissecting today?” You ask when you see him

- “Just picking up gifts with my son-“

- A small frown lilts onto your face, his son?

- It’s only a little shift of your head and you see him

- Well isn’t he just gorgeous

- He’s got a firm build, toned arms littered with dozens of scars and burns

- His face is chiseled, with a light dusting of red hair, matching vivid hair is long and pulled into a bun

- And the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever seen

- Damn what a hottie

- Arthur should have told told you his son was a total smokeshow

- And he’s got 6 of them?!? Are they all this gorgeous?

- Arthur doesn’t miss the way you look at Charlie

- And one glance at Charlie is all He needs to know that the feeling is mutual

- Why didn’t he think of Charlie?

- Well- actually he had started to think that maybe Charlie just didn’t feel that way about people.

- And so, to be supportive, he wasn’t going to push him into any romantic relationship

- But well since he seems to find you pleasing-

- “This is my son Charlie-“ he says putting both his hands on Charlie’s shoulders and jerking him closer to you

- A light red begins to dust Charlie’s cheeks, wether it’s from embarrassment or attraction he’s not sure

- You fidget in front of him feeling oddly self conscious

- “Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N)”

- He takes you hand in his with a firm squeeze and you feel a little lightheaded

- His hands are surprisingly soft

- On closer inspection he’s got a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose

- Adorable really

- “So how do you know my dad?” He asks when Arthur is busy /giving you two time to get to know each other looking through the candle selection

- “Oh um I don’t know I guess we just became friends talking about how stuff works?”

- It’s a little weird to think about it, Arthur is your dads age, but he’s like your friend?

- It’s kinda weird tbh

- You wonder how Charlie’s digesting it but he just grins

- “Yeah that sounds like Dad.”

- It’s cute, the way he looks at his Dad

- You remember hearing about Charlie, that he works far away and that Arthur and his wife worry about him. And that he likes animals

- It’s kind of like meeting a celebrity, you know all about him

- except for the fact that he’s a wizard of course

- Well, it was nice meeting one of Arthur’s famous son’s, you suppose he’ll go back to Romania soon and -

- “I was wondering-“ he leans down, his voice low “if you might do me a small favor?”

- Your eyebrows thread together and your head tilts to the side a bit

- “It depends on what it is”

- Charlie only grins

- And so you find yourself standing in front of King’s Cross Station on your next free day, wearing a nice outfit that seems neither too causal, or like you’re trying too hard

- Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt until you see Charlie round the corner

- Well doesn’t he look absolutely delicious

- He’s wearing a crisp white collard shirt and a sweater over it, with a pair of khaki trousers

- Very dark academia

- “Sorry have you been waiting long?”

- You shake your head

- “No only a few minutes, have you thought about what you might want to get him?” You ask and he flashes a little and shakes his head

- “The best I could think of was a gadget of some kind?”

- You nod, you can work with that

- The favor Charlie wanted was pretty simple

- He needed help picking out a Christmas gift for his Dad

- Oddly wholesome in its own way

- You take him to a large department store

- “Maybe this pasta maker?”

- “No, Mum’s already got one”

- He should know, his dad enchanted it to make pasta on its own

- “Than maybe this waffle maker?”

- He shakes his head again, they had one and it did not end well

- You go to several stores throughout the day, but there’s nothing quite right at any of them

- Eventually you both slump down on chairs, untouched mugs of tea in front of you, both of you utterly exhausted

- “This is so much harder than I thought” you mumble, Arthur seems like such an easy to please person

- “I’m sorry” Charlie says, honestly the reason neither of you can pick something is because he can’t be honest with you

- Yeah his Dad loves muggle gadgets, but he loves them because he wants to take them apart, to see how it works

- And then he wants to enchant certain parts to make the contraption even better

- But he can’t tell you all that now can he?

- Not when you’re a muggle

- He sighs leaning back in his chair

- Maybe he shouldn’t have asked you for help, he saw how close you and his Dad were, like you were already family-

- But it’s unfair to you to monopolize all your free time like this-

- “It’s no problem really, this is actually really fun”

- You’re not lying, hanging out with Charlie is really fun.

- Usually spending time with people you’ve only just met exhausts you

- But being with him makes you feel comfortable, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm

- Guess he’s kinda like his Dad in that way

- You feel your mouth quirk into a small smile at the thought.

- He kinda looks like his dad too on closer inspection, around the jaw and-

- “Are your ears pierced?” You ask, and Charlie immediately flushes. A hand nervously fluttering to his ear

- “U-um yes, I did it when I was younger-“ he lets out a nervous laugh

- You raise an eyebrow

- “What did some girl break your heart?”

- He sputters at that

- “N-no of course not”

- You feel a wicked grin curling on your face, he’s awfully fun to tease

- “Boyfriend then?”

- He’s burning so bright red that you think steam might actually start coming out of his ears

- “N-no it was nothing like that,” his eyes are looking into his mug, fingers still twiddling with his earlobe.

- “My brother and I got them at the same time with our other friend. It was really their thing, wanting to get the piercing that is, I just joined to be apart of it”

- You can certainly see it, Charlie getting swept up in his friends things.

- “Besides this sort of thing... it doesn’t really suit me” he lets out a nervous laugh and you feel your heart swell

- “I think it would look great on you” The words leave your mouth without even thinking and you feel your face grow hot when they do.

- What are you saying!?!

- You’re embarrassed, but Charlie’s flattered.

- He’s never been the favorite sibling, he’s not as brave as Bill, or as funny as George, Percy’s the smart one, Ron’s the charismatic one, and Ginny’s the athletic one

- He hasn’t got anything to compete with honestly-

- All he can do is try to emulate his siblings, he guesses he’s still trying to figure out who he is

- Which is a little pathetic at his age- at least that’s how he feels

- But hearing you say it would look good on him- well it makes his heart flutter

- Meanwhile you’re completely ignorant to the fact that you’re making his heart race

- Completely caught up in your own embarrassment

- Geez you’re just blurting stuff out like a kid

- A lightbulb goes over your head

- “Hey I think I might have an idea of what your Dad might like!”

- You practically tug him into the the next shop, his face contorted in confusion until you show him what you thought of

- “Oh Merlin, it’s perfect”

- You’re both standing in the toy section of a department store

- Charlie’s watching the bubble machine like it’s the best thing he’s ever saw

- His dad is going to love enchanting it

- While Charlie’s asking the clerk about gift wrapping and other things you wander around the store

- Stopping when you see a rack of candles

- They’re the ‘homesick’ candles, with a scent that’s a place

- And then you see something else glint from the corner of your eye

- “Thank you so much for your help today-“

- You’re both standing in front of king’s cross again, you’re about to go home

- Charlie takes a deep gulp, if he was brave like Bill he might ask you on a date- a real day

- But he’s not

- So he’ll just thank you for your time, and ask for a business card so he can send you a tasteful gift with maybe a card asking to spend time again with you

- But before he can get the words out you thrust something out to him

- It’s a neat folded striped pink and green bag

- He takes it carefully on his hands, leading inside

- “Candles?”

- You nod

- “They’re those homesick candles, they have a scent for places, I got you London and then another one that says English country- it’s amber, honeysuckle and moss, I thought you might like it” you’re blabbering-

- There really wasn’t a need to do anything like this for him

- But well- you know he probably feels so homesick, not to mention his rowdy siblings

- So maybe this will offer him some comfort

- But he’s not looking at the candles he’s looking at something else that’s glinting beside them

- Thick fingers gently pinch the end of the thick paper square

- It’s a pair of earrings

- They’re Dragon Earrings

- “Oh that.” You look at the item with a wide expression “it’s really like a gag gift, I know you work with animals and you’ve got the piercing so-”

- Charlie’s grinning

- “You didn’t have to do all this.”

- “O-oh no, it was no big deal at all, I um- I wanted to.” You give him a shy smile and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach

- He’s never going to be as brave as Bill, or as Smart as Percy, as funny as George or loyal as Ron.

- But he wants to be kind

- As kind as you, if not more

- “No, I couldn’t possibly let you do something like this for me, especially not after all your help today”

- You feel yourself deflate, ah you were overstepping weren’t you?

- It’s just- you’ve heard so much about him and you work so well together,

- You had started to think of him as a friend

- But clearly it was too much -

- “Let me take you out to dinner sometime,” your eyes snap to his face, which is dusted with pink, deep brown eyes staring into your own

- “To repay you for all the kindness you’ve shown me today”

- You feel a smile spread across your face, arching into a goofy grin

- He’s looking at you hopefully, pieces ears burning red. A matching hopeful smile curled onto his face

- “I would love to”

#Harry Potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter reader insert #Harry Potter headcanon #harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley x mc #Charlie Weasley imagine #Charlie Weasley headcanon #Charlie Weasley reader insert #harry potter hogwarts legacy #harry potter hogwarts mystery

[lovely-angst]

It’s a date

10.13.20

it’s good to be back in kacchan’s arms

It had officially been over a year since your break up with Bakugou. 

The end of your relationship had become rocky and the two of you just couldn’t keep the relationship stable no matter how hard you tried. Though it was mutual, you thought you could heal and move on after a few weeks, but here you were, a year later, still hung up on the man. 

You learned to slowly understand that whatever the two of you had, it was in the past and that it was time to move on. The single life wasn’t terrible either, but somehow, you found yourself thinking about how much more fun running simple errands would be with Bakugou.

It didn’t help much that the two of you still went to school together, thankfully, in different classes. It also didn’t help much that all of your classmates knew of the previous relationship. It seemed as if everyone was rooting for the relationship—how devastating it must have been to hear the news. 

Thankfully, being a third year in the hero course kept you busy enough to keep your mind from wandering back to Bakugou. Though lately, you’d been thinking about him a lot.

You would hear from some friends about how Bakugou was doing, how he would get amazing internships with some amazing heroes. Of course, he would, he was just that great. 

It didn’t help much that you would see him in the hallways from time to time or when your classes would meetup to train. Did he always look so cool when he wore his hero costume? You weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to keep on thinking about him. 

The relationship ended for a reason, there was no point on going back.

-

” Hey, (Name)?” Hearing your name called, you glanced upwards to find a few of your friends with large grins on their faces. “So we know you’ve been single for a while now, but I thought I could set you up on a blind date this weekend? What do you say?” 

Your eyes widened as you blinked at them, speechless. “Blind date?” you repeat, still in disbelief. 

Giggling, she nodded, “Don’t worry, he’s no creep. He’s actually in the hero course at Shiketsu High,” she informs, but the hesitant and worried expression doesn’t leave your face. “He said he’d love to meet you, I think you should give it a try,” she says with a small, supportive smile and you couldn’t help but give in. 

With a sigh, you nodded, “Fine, I’ll go.” You had no intention of pursuing another serious relationship, but it didn’t hurt to meet new people. 

So, here you were, standing in the busy city of Tokyo as you glanced down at your phone for the hundredth time—an hour passed your meetup time. Sighing, you quickly shot your friend a text, giving her an update of the date like she had asked. 

‘Got stood up :^\’

Putting your phone away, you glanced down at the outfit you had put together for the date you were supposed to go on. And to think you tried to dress up a little nicer too. 

Trying to calm the building anger inside of you, you found an empty bench away from the hustle and bustle of the city. As soon as you sat down, you couldn’t help but begin to pity yourself. 

-

“I knew today would be perfect for some icecream!” Kirishima exclaims happily, walking out of the ice cream shop before chomping into his icecream cone before letting out a pained scream over sensitive teeth.

Bakugou rolled his eyes as he held his simple vanilla cone in one hand. Though he’d hate to admit it, Kirishima was right. Today was a good day for some ice cream, especially from how busy he was in the past week. He deserved a well relaxed day like today. 

Just as Bakugou was about to dig into his icecream, Kirishima spoke up, “Hey, isn’t that (Name)?” 

His red eyes shot up to where his friend was pointing before he laid eyes on you alone on the bench, looking quite, dejected. 

“I wonder what she’s doing all alone?” Kirishima questioned curiously as the pair watched you from across the street. “Date gone wrong?”

“As if,” Bakugou scoffed, stuffing a free hand into his pocket. “Why don’t you go talk to her? Ask her if she’s okay?” Kirishima suggests, but Bakugou glances at him with narrowed eyes. “What? Why me?”

Kirishima shrugs, “You know her better, plus you’re just asking her if she’s okay!” Bakugou glared at his friend before clicking his tongue annoyingly, turning away to walk in your direction. 

“I’ll swing by in a few minutes!” Kirishima replied as bit into his ice cream once more. 

Each step Bakugou took, he wanted to turn back and tell Kirishima that approaching you was a stupid idea, but before he knew it, he was already standing in front of you.

Noting a pair of shoes slide into your view, you raise your head to find Bakugou staring down at you, thinking intensely. Before you could manage a greeting, Bakugou interrupts the silence. 

“Why are you looking all depressed here alone like someone who had just been ghosted on a date?” He questions and you know it was his way of trying to be comforting, but all you could do was sigh and give him a shrug, a sad smile on your lips. 

“Well, I have. Just got stood up today,” Bakugou’s eyes narrow before you glance back down at your nails, “It’s not a big deal though, it was a blind date my friend set me on, so I don’t know the guy, but I wasn’t expected to be stood up.” 

Bakugou stared down at you before deciding to settle down beside you, a good length keeping the two of you apart. 

“Blind date or not, it doesn’t matter,” Bakugou glances at you before offering you his icecream, “Here, I haven’t touched it yet. You seem to need it more than I do,” he says gently, your eyes wide as you focus on the vanilla swoop. 

“What? Just because I’m a girl, you think I need some ice cream to cheer me up?” You say playfully, taking the ice cream from his hands before giving it a lick. 

“Don’t act like you never ate ice cream when you were upset,” he snickers and you give him a small smile. 

“Hey bro!” hearing a voice call out, you notice Kirishima running towards the two of you with a wave. “Oh hey, (Name)! How have you been?” 

“I’ve been better,” Kirishima frowns at your response, “sorry to hear. Well, if it makes you feel any better, Bakubro here can spend the day with you. We were gonna hang, but Kaminari sent me this urgent message telling me to meet up with him at the arcade to play some DDR, so gotta run!” 

With a wave, he sped off, leaving you alone with Bakugou once more. You glanced over at Bakugou, who looked just as confused and slightly irritated at the news. 

“You don’t have to hang out with me, you can head home, I’ll be fine,” you say, standing up, Bakugou following your actions. “You have the rest of the day free, let’s go for some lunch. I haven’t had anything to eat yet.”

A smile forms on your lips as you give him a nod, “I haven’t either, lunch sounds great.”

Walking side by side with Bakugou was comforting, like all those days ago when the two of you used to date. Granted, it was sort of awkward because the two of you are no longer in a relationship. 

Tossing the last piece of the cone in your mouth, you glance up at Bakugou, “Hey, thanks for the ice cream. I guess I needed it more than I thought,” you say, Bakugou giving you his signature shrug. 

“It’s nothing. Didn’t know you were going on dates with guys you didn’t know, didn’t anybody tell you about stranger danger?” he joked, causing you to frown at him. “I only accepted the date because my friend was really bugging me to go. Plus, she said he was a good guy and he is in the hero course as Shiketsu, so how bad can he be?” 

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou scoffed, “He stood you up, so much for a good guy,” Ignoring his comment, the two of you made it to a tonkatsu curry shop before settling down to order. 

“What can I get you two?” The waitress asked, pouring the two of you some water. Bakugou studied the menu in his hands for a minute before speaking up, “One spicy tonkatsu curry for me and one mild for her,” he states, handing the menu back. 

“Sure thing,” as soon as she was a good distance away, you gawked at Bakugou, “How’d you know that’s what I was going to order?” 

“I know you can’t handle your spice as good as me,” he states nonchalantly, “I guess you haven’t changed much.” Crossing your arms, watching him drink his water, “Oh yeah? Since when?” 

“Since we last dated, obviously.” Hearing those words come from him, your cheeks flush lightly before you grabbed your water for a quick sip. “Getting shy there, princess?” 

His teasing caused your face to flush more and noticeably this time. He still knows how to wrap you around his finger. 

You didn’t think Bakugou was going to stick with you for the rest of the day, opting out to head home sometime after lunch, but here he was, standing beside you with a warm cup of hot chocolate in his hand, watching the sun go down with you. 

“This shit is too sweet,” Bakugou complained as he finished taking a sip of the sweet drink. “You didn’t have to get that drink, Bakugou,” you reminded, keeping your hands warm on the cup.

“Yeah, but you kept going on and on about how good this drink was. It couldn’t be that good and I still stand corrected,” he shot back, you rolling your eyes with a snort. “Whatever you say, princess.” 

Just as Bakugou was about to shoot another comment, the street lights and the hanging lights that hung around the trees lit up as the sun finally went down. Your eyes widened with an excited squeak left your lips. 

Your hand fell onto Bakugou’s forearm as you looked around delighted, “Katsuki, isn’t it pretty?” 

His heart jumped at the sound of your voice calling his name. He thought he was never going to hear you call for him again, but it sounded just as lovely as it did before. 

Maybe even more so now than before.

“Katsuki?” He repeated, your head turning to glance up at the male. Jumping at the realization, you quickly removed your hand from him before settling it on your cup, pushing your hair away from your face embarrassed.

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to call you by your name! It just-” 

“It just what?”

With your lips pressed in a tight line, you tried not to show your panicking heart as you held your cup tightly. Though you felt so small and embarrassed from being caught, a rush of bravery flew through you. 

“It reminded me of the dates we used to go on when we were together,” you confessed, glancing back over at the beautifully lit street. 

Bakugou was glad you weren’t focused on him right now, you’d see how flushed he’d become from your words because you were right—it did feel like a date from the time the two of you were together. 

A ringing fell upon the quiet silence between the two of you before you reached into your pocket to pull out your phone, your face falling from a quick read of the message. 

“My mom wants me home now,” you say, trying to hide the sadness in your voice. “I’ll walk you to the station,” Bakugou quickly chimed in, your smile soothing the ache in his heart. 

The walk to the station was a quiet one as the two of you walked together no words exchanged. “Everything was going so well until I had to screw up and call him by his first name. Now he definitely knows I’m not over him after a whole year!” you scream mentally. 

“Thanks for hanging out with me today, Bakugou. I’m actually glad I got stood up for once,” you say, trying to lighten the mood as the two of you stood outside the station. 

“It’s nothing,” he replied, one hand stuffed in his pocket as the other held his not so hot, hot chocolate. “See you sometime,” you say, giving him one last smile before turning to walk into the station. 

“(Name),” Bakugou called out, watching you turn around, “I’m free next weekend if you are, for another cup of hot chocolate,” he says, watching the smile grow on your face.

“I thought you didn’t like hot chocolate?” you chuckle and Bakugou gives you a shrug, “Guess we have to find the perfect cup, huh?” Another giggle escapes your lips, fueling Bakugou’s heart.

“So, it’s a date?” you ask curiously with a playful smile, awaiting his response. “It’s a date.” Raising his cup, you followed in suit, raising your cup as well, “See you next weekend!” you say before turning around to catch your train. 

Smiling to himself, Bakugou turned around, walking back home, taking a sip of his too sweet hot chocolate, “It’s a date.”

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #bakugou imagines #bakugou katsuki scenarios #bakugou katsuki scenario #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki imagine #katsuki bakugou scenario #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou scenarios #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia scenarios #boku no hero academia oc #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone’s Symphony | Day One | Hades

Hey lovelies— here is the next part! I wanted to pause here and add a little note: the word tiny is thrown around here. I don’t want this to hinder anyone of you to not read this because you think the word doesn’t apply to you. I want to make a couple things clear. 1) All shapes and sizes are beautiful and I, myself, am a wonderfully plump lady. 2) I don’t use the word as a physical description in a way meant to limit a ‘reader insert’ type of fiction— I use it because Bucky Barnes is a super soldier and anyone would be small to him. Thus I hope you can enjoy it the same way I can— because sometimes we all just need to feel like a super soldier could rip us in half. Stay safe my lovelies and please do enjoy!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: some angsty moments but overall no warnings

Word count: 4.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She’s tiny. That’s the only thing he can think for the first couple hours. She is so damn tiny and fragile and soft and he doesn’t know how to be around a human that tiny and fragile and soft. Maybe it’s worse because he has to keep this tiny human alive. He hasn’t had to do that before— all the other tiny people in his life have been perfectly capable of keeping themselves alive. Even Steve all those years ago, when he only came up to his shoulder—barely— would have fought tooth and nail to stay alive. Even then it always felt like Bucky was just there in case. Maybe that was just Steve though.

He blinks— he doesn’t want to think about the man right now. He can’t afford to get lost in his head. Gods only know if he starts thinking about those days— the ‘good’ old days— he won’t stop. Maybe not for days. Maybe because they’ll remind him that he’s not supposed to be here— that he isn’t made to keep tiny, gentle, grilled cheese cooking, question asking things alive. Usually he’s the one hindering people from being alive— hindering life itself. Usually it doesn’t bug him this much but he can’t help but equate the girl in the Caltech hoodie with life—

“Is what they say about New York pizza true?”

— And himself with death.

“S’alright— Chicago is better.”

He watches as she flips through a book that she had picked up off the coffee table a few minutes ago. The Big Book of Dogs. Is he supposed to laugh at that? She is— giggling and flipping through pages upon pages of puppies. It isn’t aimed at him, her musical, soft sounds. She isn’t laughing at him. It only feels like she is. He’s learned to separate the difference these days— it’s just in his head. Still, he has to turn away from her, using the guise— his job— of being a bodyguard to keep his gaze moving.

From the corner of his eye he watches as she lowers the book, peaking over at him from behind a peppy looking Alaskan Malamute— yes, he knows his dogs. He is one, after all.

“You know, I think there are quite a few people who disagree with you on that one.”

Bucky pretends to ignore the way she quirks a brow at him, her eyes drifting back to the page. He also ignores the way his heart spikes at the little movement. Snap out of it, Barnes. He stands, stalking to the living room window and pulling back the heavy green curtain. Nobody is out there— he didn’t expect there would be someone, he just needed to move. How many more hours?

“Thought you were asking me.” He quips, staring out towards the bayou where the water has turned grey and choppy.

He watches as the rain pours down the window pane, tap tap tapping in front of his nose as the sunlight surrenders to the misty storm clouds. As much as he hates to admit it, Wilson was right— the rainy season’s rolling in on the dot. Even he is starting to feel the effects, his bones beginning to leaden.

As if on cue, she yawns, setting down The Big Book of Dogs and curling her legs into her chest, hiding them beneath the mountain of fabric she wears. “I was gauging. Consider it a test.”

Bucky huffs— not sure if he’s annoyed because of her questioning or because of how, despite the tension still laced through his shoulder blades like sailors knots, he isn’t that bothered by it. Annoyed because he isn’t annoyed— that’s a first. He lets the curtain drop again and turns to the TV where Netflix lays open but unused, blocking out one mind numbing haze for another. What would they even watch together?

“Oh yeah? Did I pass?”

Maybe some cheesy sit-com. That feels harmless enough and he’s been catching up on a few of them. Some of them even make him laugh. Maybe that’s in poor taste though. He’s never had to deal with someone else’s grief before— he rarely deals with his own as is.

“Maybe it would be better to just not ask that.”

He doesn’t think before he says it— he doesn’t have time to, it slips out before he can grab it and shove it back in his stupid, sentimental mouth. “You sound like Steve.”

Fuck. Her head pokes up, her doe eyes somehow managing to meet his gaze despite how hard he tries to force his neck to turn in the other direction. How does one person look so soft? He can see the question in her eyes, the way they spark with intrigue. He watches in slow motion as her lips— not glossy like they had been in the picture but still just as pink— peel apart.

“Who’s Steve?” Her voice is too sweet— too sincere. Like she actually doesn’t know. Then again, maybe she doesn’t— they never really used his name.

Bucky can’t answer. It’s too early and Steve is too long of a story. One hundred years worth of story, to be precise. How is he supposed to fit all of that into one answer? He can’t. He can’t answer but he can’t not answer either— not when she’s looking at him like she wants to know every little thing about him.

Bucky can’t answer so he doesn’t answer. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

She sinks back against the leather cushions, pulling her hands into her sweater. He almost curses when she curls her knees closer to her body. He can’t really see them from under her hoodie but he can see the movement— the way she wraps her arms around her legs so that she looks like a tiny blob of fabric and a head. His chest squeezes at the sight of her pulling away from him. Can he ever say anything right?

He told Wilson— he told him that he wouldn’t be a good fit for the job. What, a man like him? Man, dog, wolf, asshole. What’s the difference? He was right, that’s all that matters. It’s been all of five hours and he’s already making her uncomfortable all because he can’t—

“You’re the one who brought it up.” She grumbles, her soft— less sweet— voice pulling him from his unintentional staring contest with her forehead. His neck flushes with heat. Shit.

Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s just— it’s a long story, doll.”

Again, it just slips out. Instead of wanting to push the word back into his lips this time, though, he wants to punch himself in the mouth. Doll? Really? He watches as her eyes blow wide, his stomach sinking when her pink lips peel apart again, her jaw going slack but none of her honeyed words coming out this time. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Immediately he begins running through apologies in his head. Of course none of them are actually worth their weight— not in gold or anything else. Not even in the energy it would take to say them. What’s he supposed to say? Sorry the last time I spoke to a woman was eighty years ago. That would be even more explaining. Damnit, Bucky!

He tries not to groan out loud, clenching his jaw, still staring into her eyes. Look away, you idiot! He can’t. He’s about to say something— or maybe he’s about to literally throw himself out the window, he isn’t exactly sure which is going to play out just yet— but before he can do either the delicate girl in the Caltech sweater speaks first.

“I— erm—” she squirms in her seat but her eyes stay latched on him the entire time— maybe she’s a fighter after all— “we have time?”

For a moment he just stares at her, lost in the way her nose scrunches, her lips pressing together like she’s the one who said something out of line. Like she, too, is contemplating punching herself in the face. That’s when he caves. It’s to save her from a broken nose. He repeats it like a mantra. He isn’t giving in because he’s weak, he’s giving in because it’s his job to make sure she’s safe— even from herself.

He takes a step forward, only now realizing he’s been standing in the middle of the room the entire time. Has he always been this fucking awkward? Nodding his chin towards the floor, the space in front of where she’s perched, he shoots her a look he can only hope resonates as something along the lines of ‘can I sit?’. She nods and he lowers himself to the ground in front of her, leaning against the side of the couch as gently as the super soldier can muster. Despite his efforts he still lands with a thud, the couch shifting backwards a couple inches. It’s not terrible— she only slightly flinches this time and he only kind of wants to bury himself alive.

“Not that much time—” he watches as her face drops, the way her her cheek twitches like she's sinking her teeth into it, and he hurries the rest of his sentence— “but if you ask—” he tries for a smile that feels more like the right side of his face seizing than anything— “then I’ll answer.”

He waits for a beat, his gaze locked on her hands which she pulls from her sleeves only to twist together again. He has to stop himself from looking down at his own hands— from thinking again about how fragile and delicate she is. He doesn’t have to look to know that both of her hands could fit in one of his. Especially his special hand. She hasn’t asked about it. A few times he’s caught her peeking at it, no doubt a million questions swirling behind those wide eyes of hers, but those are questions she has kept to herself. He wouldn’t blame her if she did ask, though— or if she was terrified.

“Alright,” his eyes flick back to her face, meeting her determined stare and avoiding the way his chest lightens, “deal.”

He nods.

“But—”

Oh no.

“You have to ask me things too. It’s only fair— that way we both know things about each other.”

It’s only fair. He doesn’t know what to say. Again. It seems that every time he feels like he’s beginning to figure her out he gets shoved on his ass. Literally— he is quite literally on his ass right now. All because of what? A little girl? A little girl with small hands and a stare worse than his?

A little girl who thinks he of all people deserves fair. He knew life was cruel but this is worse— this is evil.

“Ask away.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Wait, wait, wait— you can’t be serious!”

Her giggles sound more like music than laughter to him. Usually he hates music— the newer stuff at least, maybe Wilson was right; maybe he is an old man— but this is bearable. This is mesmerizing.

He glances up at her from over his shoulder, fighting the same smile that’s been threatening his lips for the better part of two hours now. He isn’t sure why exactly he does it. Maybe because he knows it would be nothing compared to hers. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t deserve to be compared to hers. He isn’t a religious man but it feels blasphemous to even suggest he could exist with a margin of the sanctity she exudes. He’s committed many sins— that he can say with certainty— but to propose that he is the same as her would be the worst one of all.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from soaking up every pious laugh into his wicked skull— he isn’t a perfect man, after all.

“Deadly serious. Steve was pissed at me for weeks. How was I supposed to know she had a husband?” He is rewarded with more giggles, ones that set his chest on fire.

Is that what happens when demons spend too much time around angels— they start to burn?

She pulls the blanket she acquired around an hour ago over her face, muffling her laughter much to his dismay. “You could have asked her!”

Bucky lifts a shoulder before letting it flop back down again. “You’re right.”

This is how it has gone since he proposed she ask him questions. She asks him her question— usually something light and easy— favourite color, favorite food, what was the last thing he bought. That one threw him for a loop but he answered anyway— Chinese food. She had giggled at that. You don’t seem like a Chinese food kind of guy. She’s not wrong. That is usually what she does after the questions, though— giggles. Giggles and teases him. Tortures him. Same thing. He doesn’t even think she knows what she’s doing.

Then, of course, he asks her questions of his own. They’re pretty much the same— favorite animal, middle name, what Passadena is like. Warm and busy. That was her answer— he’s never been to SoCal so who’s to say whether or not she was telling the truth. He really doesn’t care. He was more paying attention to the timbre of her voice— the way she makes normal words sound important. He didn’t know he could be so enthralled listening to someone talk about a cat named mittens.

For the first hour or so it was questions like that. The easy, no commitment kind. He wouldn’t have minded if they had stayed like that but, as he kept answering, she had grown more and more confident. Honestly, he didn’t mind that either. It was interesting to watch as she became comfortable around him. Well, more comfortable than before— more comfortable than he would have thought she could be around a guy like him. Her knees eventually pushed out of that hoodie and she relaxed into the couch. It was strange— completely and utterly strange.

By the second hour she had braved the first of many hard questions. It wasn’t what he thought it would be— still nothing about his arm— it was nothing close to that, actually.

It was about his mother.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a hard question but it was, unexpectedly so. His mother. He hasn’t thought about his mother in years. Longer. Decades. He wasn’t expecting to feel so guilty about it but there he was, feeling like his throat was being crushed, while describing to the tiny, lovely girl— who has just lost her own mother— his mother’s lily of the valley perfume. He assumed that’s why she asked— because she misses her mother. He doesn’t blame her. He just never thought that he would miss his mother, too, today.

The rest weren’t as bad as that one. They still made his jaw ache, sure, but not like that. The ones about Steve were the only ones remotely comparable. How did you meet him? What was he like? What’s your favourite story with him in it? That was the last question— the one that made her giggle herself into a half hanging, half sprawling position over the arm of the couch— the position she is currently in right now.

He doctored the answers a little bit— he figured now isn’t the right time to tell her he’s pushing a hundred and ten— but he kept the good parts. Like how Steve and he had run through the streets of Brooklyn that night— Steve without a shirt and him in nothing but a pair of boxers that he is pretty sure to this day had belonged to her husband— being chased by the New York police. Good times.

“What, erm, what was her name?” Her voice is extra gentle— airy.

She’s nervous or maybe out of breath. He can’t quite tell, she’s too flopped over to get a proper look. She’s breathtaking either way.

All of a sudden it’s extra hard to fight back his smile. “I thought it was my turn to ask a question.”

Sitting up, she pools back into her seat. She scrunches her nose at him but doesn’t object. He can see that she wants to, though. Her eyes hide nothing. Then again he’s been trained to read people— to see the minute tick of her jaw and the invisible pulsing of her pupils. Invisible to anyone but him. Invisible to anyone who isn’t a monster— the big, bad wolf. His borderline smile dies quickly and he can’t bring himself to search for it again. This is how it should be.

Bucky clears his throat, mulling over what to ask her next. His eyes drift over the tan hoodie, the frays on the cuffs and the fact that there are no strings, and, like that, he has an idea.

“What’s the deal with that hoodie?” He tries to make it casual but he really does want to know— it’s like four sizes too big, there has to be a story.

He tries to make it casual but she still sobers. Like her hands receding once more into the cuffs of her sweater, the last remnants of the giggly girl fade from his line of sight. He chases it as far as he can, watching as her fingers disappear completely and lingering just in case it’s only a fluke. But no, they don’t come back, and he wishes he could disappear with them.

“It was—” her tongue pokes out, swiping against her pink lip and making it shine— “it was my dad’s. He, uh, he went to Caltech too. Was part of their alumni.”

The super soldier nods, pulling his legs up as well, hoping that by copying her she’ll see it as a signal to keep going. He doesn’t want to speak over her and accidentally derail her thoughts. He wants to know about her dad— her whole family actually. Whatever is important to her, like the hoodie.

“We used to go to these big alumni dinners and he would talk at them. Families like us were invited I guess— like a thank you of sorts.” Her eyes take on a faraway look, still latched on his but glassy and distant, no longer actually seeing him. It’s a look he understands too well. “One time he pulled me on stage with him. I think maybe I was thirteen? He said—” she stops, swallowing so hard her throat bobs, and he has to shove his hand under his leg to keep from reaching out— “ah, I’m sorry. He said ‘this girl right here— this is my daughter! If you think I’m good at what I do then you should see her. She’s something I tell you— Gonna be the best this school has ever seen!’”

His chest tightens— not necessarily from her story but from the way her voice cracks, her soft tone becoming scratchy. She swallows again and he hates it. He hates that he can see tears ready to fall and he hates that she’s even here with him under these circumstances.

He hates that he’s still grateful to be here anyway, being the person who she tells her story to.

“Was he right?” He knows it isn’t his question but he has to say something— anything— to make this better. He has no idea if this is it but it’s worth a shot.

Her brows push together, her head tilting slightly to the side, much too elegantly to be normal— are all women this pretty or is it just her? She blinks, clearing some of the mist, eyes drawing over his face. She traces across his brows, down his nose, stopping on his lips for a pulse— like tracing out the rhythm to a song only she can discern. Everything she does is like music. It must just be her.

“What?” She doesn’t say it rudely; she says it like she didn’t hear him— like she was too far lost in the wonderland of her memory to hear anything— and his chest tightens even further.

“You said your father told everyone you were going to be the best— were you?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her, slowing his words and waiting for the recognition to creep in. It takes a moment but it does, the last of the glass evaporating into something else.

“I, uhm, I don’t know—”

“You do.” He presses— he can hear the edge of that something in her tone. The downplay is scribed over her feature— lowered eyes, flat mouth, trembling fingers— she wants to say something.

“What do you even know?”

About anything going on in my head— yeah, that’s not familiar at all.

Bucky doesn’t flinch when she hisses the words at him— partly because, despite the clear ice in her words, he doubts they came out as hard as she was hoping they would. Her voice isn’t made to sound wretched. He knows she could tell him the filthiest things— tear him down to the last peg, spit his name out like a curse— and she would still sound like an angel. That makes her dangerous— or at least it would if she didn’t already have tears welling up in those big eyes of hers again.

He flicks a brow, letting one corner of his mouth tick up, telling himself that it’s only for her peace of mind— to let her know that he isn’t angry at her. That he gets it. That sometimes he feels so fucking confused and hurt and scared that he, too, wants to hiss at people because at least then they leave him alone. Yeah, it’s only for her peace of mind.

“Try slamming the ‘you’ harder next time—” he draws the word out, exaggerating the motion while keeping his features a mixture of schooled and relaxed— “usually works out better.”

Her hands— which have been tangling over the collar of her hoodie— drop into her lap with a thunk, her eyes rolling. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome— but you never answered.”

She shoots him a deadpan stare— well, sort of. She never actually stopped looking at him so her face just morphes from vexed to blank. So far it’s his least favourite expression— he would rather she just got angry. He’d rather see fire— or ice— than nothing.

“I thought it was my turn?” Doesn’t she know that the more she avoids the question, the more he wants to know the answer?

Bucky doesn’t let up— he will if she actually tells him to drop it but she hasn’t and he doubts she will— she’s too determined to win. “Consider it payment for your extra questions.”

He holds her gaze still, waiting for the moment she folds. It takes longer than he expects it would, sitting in silence with her eyes on him for almost three minutes. He almost breaks around two and a half minutes. The girl has a way of looking at him like she can see right into his head. Still, he holds, waiting, waiting, waiting until finally— there it is!

Light a light shining in the darkness, her mouth pulls into a merciful smile— well, if mercy means the coy glint in her eye, that is. “I was the best.”

The super soldier nods, finally letting his gaze drop. He doesn’t say anything— he doesn’t have to. His point has already been made. He never wanted to be right. He just wanted her to say it. Not for him but for herself. He doesn’t let himself mull over what that says about him. Nothing good. That’s the only answer. It says nothing good about him, the lengths he’s already willing to go to keep this soft, icy girl safe. Him, a monster. It only tells him that he’s selfish— but he already knew that. Those are thoughts for another time.

“Your turn.” He reminds her, leaning back against the arm of the couch, all but aware of the foot of space between his head and her hand which is scratching over the leather behind him.

There is no pause this time— no beat, moment, or minute. Just like that she’s back, moving on to the next topic, almost as though she has had the question queued for ages now, dying to know the answer. He supposes it’s only fair— she let him ask his questions.

“What was her name?”

Her voice lacks the airy note it had held the last time she asked, clearly over waiting, and he has to turn to the window to hide the way he finally cracks, his lips sloping up in a grin that’s both too alien and too familiar. It tastes too much like the old days— like peach schnapps and movie theatre popcorn. She’s not ready for that. He knows because he isn’t.

“Delores.”

_______________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky (if i missed anyone I am so sorry please shoot me a message and I’ll fix it)

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fic #Persephone's Symphony

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s 2021 Birthday R&S

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an R&S which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Knowledge of Shaw’s 2020 Birthday R&S is highly recommended before reading this!

[ This R&S was released on 16 June 2021 ]

[ Chapter One ]

This is the fifth month that Shaw is learning how to skateboard. The little buddies who started out with him had given up one after the other because they couldn’t endure the bitter taste of tripping and falling. In the end, he’s the only one left.

The wheels grate against the ground in a regular rhythm. Leaping over the obstacle, it makes a swerve, accelerates, and flips... the skateboard is lithe and graceful beneath Shaw’s feet, akin to a reed leaf as it brings him into the largest skatepark in Loveland City with a wilful rush.

“Shaw! Shaw!”

Shaw halts the skateboard and turns around.

A little fatty with a band-aid on his knee walks over, smiling and revealing his missing front teeth. “Finally found you.”

Shaw laughs scornfully. “Why’s a defeated opponent looking for me? Do you want to lose the remaining half of your front teeth?”

“You!” Little Fatty flushes red in an instant. He straightens his neck and points to an area behind him. “I’m not competing with you. Someone else wants to!”

Shaw looks in the direction of his finger. A boy who is obviously taller than him by a head smiles at him, the skateboard beneath his feet sliding back and forth. At a glance, it’s clear that he’s experienced.

“My Bro Zhou is in the Loveland City Qing Xun Team,” Little Fatty hugs his arms with pride, as though he’s the one in the team. “So? Dare to accept it?”

So that’s how it is. He’s a scaredy cat who only dares to call in reinforcements.

Shaw purses his lips. He steps on the tail of the skateboard, and it responds by flipping upwards, the the edge of the board landing steadily in his palm. “Why not? What are we competing in?”

Bro Zhou shrugs. “I won’t make things hard for newbies. We’ll compete in tic-tacs and going over obstacles. How’s that?”

“Sure.”

[Trivia] Tic-tacs are a series of consecutive heelside-to-toeside kickturns where your feet remain on the skateboard. I copied this from Google and have no idea what it means LOL

-

THUD-

Losing his balance for just a moment, Shaw falls heavily onto the ground. His knees, elbows... waves of pain bloom on every joint. It isn’t a good feeling, but what makes Shaw even more frustrated is the arrogant laughter of Little Fatty. t’s even noisier than the cicadas from afar.

“HAHAHAHA Shaw lost! Let’s see if you still have the guts to be proud!”

He has a lot to say despite being a noob. Shaw rolls his eyes. Enduring the pain, he’s just about to lift himself up by the elbows when Bro Zhou walks over to him, offering him a hand. “Not bad.”

“Thanks.”

The other party continues. “But at your age, it’s best to stick to the basics. There’s no hurry to learn high difficulty moves like the dolphin flip. You’ll definitely fall.”

Shaw’s expression immediately turns cold. “I don’t need your pointers on what I can learn at whatever age.” He doesn’t touch the hand, standing up by himself. Lifting his head, he gives the other party a look over. “Do you come here often?”

“The Qing Xun Team practises here every day.”

“Okay. Next time, I’ll definitely win against you.”

Shaw doesn’t bother about the expressions on Bro Zhou’s and the Little Fatty’s faces after hearing his words. He casually pats off the dust on his body, picks up the skateboard which is flipped over on the floor, and leaves the skatepark.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The moment Shaw enters through the doors of the antique store, the Old Man’s uproar begins. “Little Ancestor, did you wreck havoc in the Heavenly Palace again?”

[Note] Here, the Old Man calls Shaw “小祖宗”, which literally means “Little Ancestor”. This term is used in an affectionate way to address a naughty child

“Wrecking havoc in the Heavenly Palace” is a reference to a novel called Journey to the West (西游记), which features a troublemaking Monkey King Sun Wukong

“I’m hungry. What’s there to eat today?” Shaw doesn’t respond to the shopkeeper’s words. Placing his bag and skateboard behind the counter, he reaches out to play with the silly parrot at the entrance - it’s truly silly. Even after teaching it for a month, it can’t even say “welcome to the shop”. It causes Shaw to wonder if the Old Man was perhaps duped of his money once again.

“All you know how to do is eat...” The Old Man sets down the ancient text in his hands and props up his presbyopic glasses. “Old Qian from next door boiled chicken soup today and is giving us half. I’ll stir-fry two dishes. You can ask if the chicken soup is ready.”

Shaw makes an “mm” of acknowledgement, then turns around and heads next door.

The shopkeeper gets up and takes a few steps towards the kitchen. Then, he abruptly returns to the counter, reaching out to touch the coarse scratch marks at the edge of the skateboard. Inexplicably, he sighs.

The chicken soup is a little bland, and the stir-fried dishes are a little salty. Mixing and eating them together is just nice. Shaw lowers his head and pushes rice into his mouth with chopsticks. In his left ear, he hears the news of how the GDP of Loveland City has risen. In his right ear, he hears the nagging of his mentor:

“...I’m not discouraging you from playing with this thing. It’s good to toughen yourself up while you’re young and your bones and muscles are sturdy. But don’t be too rash. This... this thing of yours...”

“Skateboard.” Shaw speaks.

“Yes, skateboard. I remember that it’s only been a month since it was bought, and it’s already tormented to such a state. You have such an impulsive temperament. You should be more level-headed.”

What does this have to do with temperament? If I were to truly be impulsive, I wouldn’t need a month. Just three days would be enough to break a skateboard. Shaw looks at the chicken leg in his bowl, not saying these words aloud.

“Also, remember to report to the shop early tomorrow. Old Qian and I are preparing to head to the neighbouring city to look for goods. You should come along to broaden your horizons.” The shopkeeper taps his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl, signalling for Shaw to pay more attention. “Isn’t it your birthday tomorrow? I could pick out a gift for you! Sigh, I actually had my eye on an agate snuff bottle, but the guy suddenly decided not to sell it...”

“I’m not going tomorrow.” Shaw interrupts the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper furrows his brows. “Why are you throwing a tantrum?”

“I’m not. I have proper business to attend to tomorrow. The school organised a visit to the museum.” Shaw lifts his eyes, and his thin lips curve upwards. “The things I see there will be much more valuable than those trivial things you fiddle with.”

“You little rascal!”

Shaw laughs, wedging the chicken leg between his chopsticks and sending it into his mentor’s bowl. “I’m full, so I’m heading to the back to do my homework. Chicken legs are really nutritious, so you should have it.”

“Tsk tsk, and you still said you weren’t throwing a tantrum. You aren’t going home again?”

“I don’t want to go back today. I’ll definitely go back tomorrow.” Shaw has already walked to the entrance. He suddenly thinks of something, and turns his head to ask a question. “Mentor, your shop will always be open, right?”

These words came out of nowhere, and the shopkeeper isn’t able to comprehend them. “What?”

“Nothing much. I’m just worried that I won’t have a place to have dinner if an old man like you were to throw in the towel someday.”

The shopkeeper fumes with a glare. “What do you mean by that? You only care about the food? Also, my shop can continue running for a decade or two. I’m still waiting for you to bring back a disciple or a wife to serve me tea!”

Shaw lets out an “oh”, and his eyes crinkle. “In that case, you’ll have to wait for another twenty or thirty years.”

The eyesight of the shopkeeper is no longer as good as before, but he can clearly see that the smile of this child didn’t reach his eyes. After Shaw leaves, he suddenly recalls the fortune that he drew for Shaw half a year ago: “What awaits this catastrophe is a new beginning...”

This child is will meet his predestined fate this year, so what’s left is to see how he endures through it. The shopkeeper shakes his head, sighing once again.

[Note] The actual fortune is “河图数九，洛书数七，脐于九陵，七日来复” but I don’t have the energy to explain it so what I’ve translated above is the overall meaning :>

-

[ Chapter Three ]

When Shaw awakens on the next day, the shopkeeper has already left to inspect the goods. The shop is empty, and he’s the only one left.

Westmoon Street is lined with old houses, and there’s no soundproofing. Lying on the bed, Shaw can hear the chirping of birds outside the window, the yelling of people on the street, and the babble of the Chinese opera from the old bookstore next door: “I’m just like a caged bird with wings that can’t be outstretched. I’m just like a shallow water dragon trapped on a beach...”

Shaw rubs his face, then sits up on the bed.

The school had set the assembling time to be 9am. Heading out now will give him more than enough time. Shaw quickly washes his face and rinses his mouth. Just as he walks towards the front counter with some rice grains from the kitchen for the parrot to eat, he suddenly discovers that there’s something on the counter.

Walking over, Shaw sees that there’s a cake box as well as a t-shirt which has been washed clean.

There’s a slip of paper on the shirt. The strokes are clean and thin. At a glance, he knows that this is the Old Man’s handwriting: You need energy and drive to participate in the school activity. Don’t wear yesterday’s dirty clothes. Change into this.

The shirt look slightly familiar. He probably changed out of it one day and forgot about it, leaving it in the antique shop. Shaw pays it no mind, turning his head to that small cake once again. The various calligraphy and writings in the antique store are considered relatively charming. Yet, why does he always buy such unsophisticated cakes?

When his classmates celebrate their birthdays, what they eat are high quality custom-made cakes - red velvet, matcha crepe, chocolate molten lava... such a traditional longevity cake is probably found only in a place like Westmoon Street. It’s clear from the light red and light green colours that the embellishments on the cake were made by hand. Eating it would definitely dye his tongue. If he were to speak later, wouldn’t he get laughed at by his classmates?

Shaw bunches up his brows, but the fork in his hand doesn’t stop. The cream is plant-based and tastes bad. He eats a small egg shell at the base of the cake and it tastes bad. The “Happy Birthday” was written using peach jam, and it tastes really bad.

The silly parrot at the side tilts its head, watching as the boy eats mouthfuls while shunning it with every bite, finishing the cake entirely.

Shaw wipes his mouth, then rinses it with the barley tea on the table. Picking up that t-shirt, he returns into the house and changes his clothes. 

-

[ Chapter Four ]

“...this ‘Painting of the Elevated and Pre-eminent’ depicts four famous scholars enjoying themselves. Students, do you know who the Seven Sages of the bamboo forest are?”

[Trivia] If you’re interested in seeing the actual painting, search for “高逸图” (“gao yi tu”)

“It’s such a waste that you didn’t watch yesterday’s episode. That scene where the main lead destroyed the opponent like a boss is unparalleled!”

“Aside from the both of us, did anyone else have fun at Anime City?”

“Are you done with the math homework? Lend it to me - I’ll find a place to copy it.”

...

The question posed by the museum guide is drowned out amidst the laughing and frolicking of the kids. He forces a smile while shaking his head. All of a sudden, he notices that a boy with bluish purple hair isn’t the same as the other kids. He’s staring at an ancient painting in the showcase, lost in thought.

As though seeing a saviour, the guide quickly points at him. “Student, why don’t you give me an answer? It’s fine even if you get it wrong. Uncle will explain to you!”

“...” Shaw turns his head, opening his mouth to say some words, but his voice doesn’t reach the guide’s ears.

“Student, what did you say?” The guide raises his volume.

“I said that the four people in ‘Painting of the Elevated and Pre-eminent’ are Shan Tao, Wang Jie, Liu Ling and Ruan Ji.” Shaw’s face is pretty much expressionless, and there aren't many fluctuations in his tone. “The one sitting down with his hands on his knees at the far right is Shan Tao. The one holding the ruyi sceptre is Wang Tao. The one next to him and drinking wine is Liu Ling. A boy is serving him. The one at the far left needs no mention - he’s the first of the Sages, Ruan Ji. So this painting is missing Ji Tang, Xiang Xiu and Ruan Xian.”

“...”

The surroundings gradually quieten down, and only Shaw’s voice echoes in front of the showcase.

"The scholars in this painting evoke a refined and tasteful sentiment, and the lines are beautiful. This is an extremely precious treasure in the realm of silk scrolls. This is why the ‘Painting of the Elevated and Pre-eminent’ has always been kept in the royal palace. It’s a pity that in order for our predecessors to avoid taboos, only Si Ma Zhong’s inscription is left on it.”

The youth lifts his chin, shooting a playful smile at the guide. “Okay Uncle, you can explain the next museum piece now.”

“Shaw, you’re incredible!” His classmates flock over to him, bumping him on the shoulders. “You were staring at that painting for such a long time. Did you memorise the words on the museum label?”

“Tch. These’s no need to memorise the museum labels for such things. You’ll know it from a glance.” Shaw laughs. “Also, I wasn’t looking at this painting...” When he says this, he pauses for a moment, swallowing his words.

If he wasn’t looking at this painting, which one was he looking at? The students follow Shaw’s gaze, and realise that there’s a floral painting hanging next to the “Painting of the Elevated and Pre-eminent”.

“Painting of a Courtyard and Dayliles”, Northern Song Dynasty, Xuan He Imperial Art Academy, anonymous... The students read the explanatory note on the museum label.

[Trivia] If you’re interested in seeing the actual painting, search for “霜庭萱草图” (“shuang ting xuan cao tu”)

The painting seems to depict a corner of a courtyard. A few daylilies display the patterns on their leaves. One big and one small dragonfly are perched on the flower. Aside from that, there isn’t anything else interesting about it. This painting doesn’t seem to have a name or seal, neither does it have a detailed explanation. Even the guide skipped past it. Since it isn’t a rare and precious ancient painting, what exactly was Shaw looking at?

His classmates are a little puzzled.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

All the classes assemble in lines at the entrance of the museum. The teacher very patiently reminds the students not to forget to do their homework over the weekend, and to remember to write down their reflections about the museum. The students drawl out “got it”, but their hearts have long since flown a million miles away, ready to keep toys and snacks company.

“Shaw!” After dispersing, Shaw’s classmates wave at him.

Shaw walks over. “What’s up?”

“All of us know that you aren’t in a good mood because you lost to a senior in skateboarding yesterday. Isn’t it your birthday? Bro Lu bought the newest game, so let’s head over to play at his place.” His classmate smiles while putting an arm around his shoulder.

“Who told you that I lost yesterday?” Shaw speaks coldly.

“Who else but Fatty? He was so proud yesterday.” The classmate gives Shaw a pat. “Relax, we’re on your side. Don’t think about these unhappy things. Next time, we’ll have lots of opportunities to get revenge...”

“If I wanted revenge, I wouldn’t wait till next time.” Shaw purses his lips. “I’m heading to the skatepark now. You guys coming?”

-

Since it’s the weekend, quite a number of skateboard hobbyists are already practising by the time Shaw reaches the skatepark. Very quickly, he locates Bro Zhou from yesterday.

Shaw gets straight to the point. “I lost yesterday. Today, I want to have a race with you. Do you accept?”

A hint of shock is in Bro Zhou’s eyes. He has probably never met a kid who is this unwilling to lose. “You fell so badly yesterday but still want to compete with me? You should practise more!”

“There’s no need to practise more when competing with you,” Shaw says.

With this, Bro Zhou’s temper starts to flare. He tilts his chin. “Fine, come on. Just don’t cry if you fall and break your arm today.”

A short while later, the news of how a “junior high school newbie dared to challenge Bro Zhou from the Qing Xun Team” spreads throughout the skatepark. Everyone gathers at both sides of the race course, curiously sizing up the main lead for today.

“S-Shaw...” His classmate pulls on Shaw’s arm. Looking at the deep bowl in front, he gulps. “Are you sure you’re competing with him in this? It won’t be good news if you fall!”

“If I want to play, of course I’ll only play the fun stuff. Just watch.”

Shaw walks to the starting line and takes a deep breath. When moving his limbs, his hand subconsciously touches the hem of the t-shirt - there’s a small Chinese trumpet vine. The green leaves and red petals cover the hole which was originally on the shirt. It’s just that the stitches are crooked, and it’s incredibly crude. At a glance, it’s clear that it wasn’t sewn by someone familiar with needlework. 

[Fun fact] Chinese trumpet vine is 凌霄花 (“ling xiao hua”)

Shaw’s name in CN is 凌肖 (“ling xiao”)

Mentor is the best <3

He bites his lower lip.

The referee raises both hands. “The old rules apply. After getting past the Cola can obstacles, cross the bowl. The first person who reaches the goal will win. Ready... go!”

In the midst of a clamour, a bluish purple light rushes forward, taking the lead.

-

[ Chapter Six ]

The friction of wheels against the ground results in ear-piercing screeches. The skateboard brings Shaw forward at a high speed, and the cold strong wind accompanies the summer heat waves, brushing past his cheeks. The upright Cola cans aren’t enough to faze him. With the continuous twisting of his waist and a skateboard which moves naturally like flowing water, he and his opponent seem to bypass the obstacles comprising of twelve Cola cans at the same time-

There are three consecutive rows of Cola can structures in front of him. He has to use all sorts of techniques to jump over them. That way, he can rush down the bowl, and enter the final stage.

The arm he injured from the fall yesterday is still aching faintly. His feet seem to be protesting as well. He successfully jumps over the first row, the second row... Shaw holds his breath. He steps on the tail of the skateboard with his left foot. Gravity takes over quickly, and his right foot causes the skateboard to rise. The skateboard beneath his feet is akin to a flying fish jumping out of the water surface, creating a rotating arc above the Cola cans!

“It’s a dolphin flip!” Members of the audience exclaim.

Clack! Shaw’s shoulders wobble slightly when his feet return to the skateboard. When he finally stands steadily, he continues rushing forward. The final bowl is right in front of him. 

The moment the skateboard dives downwards, Shaw feels a brief moment of weightlessness. This feeling is reminiscent of being thrown out of the entire world, making one want to continue falling like this until they plummet into the bottom of the swamp. The deep bowl is like the trough he’s currently going through. If he’s unable to climb out of the trough, he will drown in hatred, anger, powerlessness, disappointment... and lose to that weak heart of his.

But he’s Shaw, and he won’t lose just like that.

With a rapid dash, he soars upwards without trouble - underneath the brilliant blazing sun, the youth leaps out of the bowl!

After flying out of the bowl, the inertia causes Shaw to stumble a few steps. He falls onto the ground, lying on his back while pressing the finish line.

At the same time, he hears a dull thud from the bowl - his opponent had fallen back into it.

“Shaw won!” “Shaw reached the goal first!” “That rascal actually won against Bro Zhou?” “This competition was so awesome!” ...all sorts of voices emerge in the surroundings in a disorderly fashion, and a set of footsteps walk towards him.

“Your name’s Shaw?” A masculine voice asks from above his head.

Shaw doesn't speak.

“I’m Coach Wang from Loveland City’s Qing Xun Skateboarding Team,” that voice continues. “I see that you have lots of talent, and will make a good young successor. Are you interested in joining the Qing Xun Team?”

While saying this, a registration form is handed to him.

The late afternoon sun illuminates the sheet of paper, reflecting a glaring light akin to snow. Shaw takes one look at the registration form, then shifts his lips slightly. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“My shirt’s really expensive, so it isn’t worth tearing them.”

The coach is rendered speechless.

Just as he’s about to say a few more words to persuade the kid, he suddenly spots the small flower at the corner of Shaw’s shirt from his periphery - this is clearly not an expensive t-shirt. These days, few shirts are mended using embroidery. And the fact that he’s willing to wear it despite the clumsy embroidery...

This kid has family members whom he cares very much about. The coach seems to understand this. His lips open and shut, and he swallows back the lines he prepared. In the end, he simply says, “...that dolphin flip you did earlier wasn’t bad.”

“Of course.”

The coach laughs as he leaves. Amidst the cheers from the surroundings, Shaw lies on the ground. Covering his eyes with his hand, he laughs.

“I won. Happy birthday to me.”

🛹 Shaw’s Date Prologue: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc shaw

[bellakitse]

I've got the remedy

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

+

Derek gets sick with werewolf flu, and Stiles is left to watch over him. Their mutual crushes come to a head.

“Werewolf flu?”

Stiles Stilinski looks at his friend Lydia Martin dubiously as she stands in front of the stove, heating up soup. She’d called as he barely crossed back into the town lines – home on break from school, with an SOS text telling him to get his ass out to the Hale house. That wasn’t the surprising part, even being away at Berkeley didn’t stop the wolfy emergency-related texts. However, he could admit that their dear Alpha had a better handle on things these days, and he didn’t get too many ‘the world is coming to an end; we need your google-fu, Stiles’ call these days.

Not that Derek was willing to call his impressive skills ‘google-fu’ in the first place, no matter how much Stiles insists. Just because the big guy had mellowed out over the years doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a sourwolf.

Lydia rolls her eyes at him, probably because she has explained twice, and he’s still not getting it. “Peter didn’t precisely tell us – “

“What?” he drags out sarcastically. “You mean Peter Hale was vague about something?”

Lydia shoots him another look, more annoyed than the last, and Stiles smiles delighted, riling her up is one of his favorite pastimes. “Yes, shocker,” she says, returning his tone. “And he didn’t call it werewolf flu, but that’s essentially what it is, and Derek has it.”

Stiles frowns, looking up at the kitchen ceiling like it’s going to open up and show him their Alpha. “Is he okay?”

Lydia rolls her eyes yet again, and Stiles is starting to worry for her eyesight if she continues this way. “Yes. He’s just more irritating, if that’s even possible. Werewolves barely ever get sick, so he’s handling it oh so gracefully,” she tells him. The aggravation in her voice makes him wince.

“Where is everyone?” he questions. He knows the pack arrived days ago, him being the last one to come back to town due to a late paper he had to hand in.

“Far away,” Lydia answers as she turns off the stove. “I called Deaton. He said that while rare, the werewolf flu is contagious to other werewolves, so I sent them away because I couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with more supernatural whiny babies.”

Stiles snorts loudly at that. “Can’t Derek hear you right now?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. “Like I care about the big bad wolf?” she asks, her mouth quirking upward when a growl vibrates through the house. Stiles shakes his head, amused. It’s times like this when he remembers why he was in love with her for so long.

“Okay, so why did you call me?” he asks, instantly regretting it when she gives him a bright smile. “No.”

“Stiles – “

He shakes his head quickly. “No, you just said he’s moodier than ever – “

“He needs someone to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own snot,” she says patiently, and the house shakes again with another growl.

“His betas – “ he tries over the huff Lydia lets out.

“Will get sick if they come near him,” she reminds him. “You really want to deal with a sick pack?”

Stiles lets out a sigh of his own as he reluctantly shakes his head. Scott alone used to be such a nightmare when he got sick before his wolfy transformation. “What about Allison?” he questions desperately.

Lydia looks at him like he’s stupid, and he knows why. Even years later, Allison and Derek aren’t particularly close. She’s pack because she’s Scott’s mate, but she’d probably just end up putting Derek out of his misery before bringing him tea with honey.

“You?” he questions in a last-ditch effort, knowing it useless by the way she looks at him.

“What exactly do you think I have been doing the last three days when I should have been studying, Stiles?”

“We’re on break,” he argues.

“You don’t win a Fields Medal by slacking off,” she shoots back with a flip of her hair. “Besides, I’m not Florence Nightingale.”

“And I am?” he asks. “What makes you think that leaving me with a sick and, per your words, grumpier Derek Hale is a good idea? I’m just going to annoy him more than usual, which I’m sure is not going to make him feel better faster.”

Lydia gives him a look that Stiles has come to know as her ‘Stiles, you’re such an idiot’ face. He’s used to it, but he’s not sure what he’s said right now to warrant it.

“What?” he questions when she continues to look at him like that.

Lydia rolls her eyes because it seems irritation is her default setting for the day and starts to make her way out of the kitchen into the living room to gather her jacket and purse. “The soup is ready. Make him drink plenty of water, and there are these herbs Deaton gave us. It’s already brewed. He has to drink that too. Word of warning, he says it tastes like death, so he’s going to pout about it. Make sure he drinks it in front of you. The first day the big baby poured it down the toilet.”

“Lydia, please,” he tries again as she puts her jacket on and heads for the door.

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

Proving that she can be even more unimpressed with him still, Lydia rolls her eyes in a way that makes it seem it’s with her whole body.

“I don’t have time for your panic, so let me lay it out for you,” she says, not waiting for him to speak. “You two talk over the phone all the time. When you and I talk, you end up talking about him, and you get stupidly excited about making him laugh. He softens around you like no one else. You like each other, Stiles, and while it’s amusing for the rest of us to watch this little mating dance of yours, it’s also tedious as hell. Now, Derek has been a pain in the ass the last few days, and I guarantee you that you being here will put him in a better mood. So, I repeat, go upstairs and take care of your man.”

Stiles opens his mouth, but nothing comes out as he tries to process the truth bomb Lydia just dropped on his head. Seemingly taking his silence as an answer, she smiles, pleased with the havoc she has just wreaked, and walks out of the house, leaving him alone with a sick werewolf.

“Right,” he says to himself after a moment, closing his mouth and the door. He heads back to the kitchen, working on autopilot as he serves the soup Lydia heated up, pouring some of the herb-tea Lydia mentioned that does indeed smell like death and some water, placing it all on a carrying tray. All the while, he thinks about Lydia’s comments and the truth behind them.

He and Derek do talk all the time, sometimes for hours, about nothing and everything. He does get a ridiculous amount of joy when he can make the man laugh, and he’d been looking forward to coming home and seeing him, hoping to see and hear that laugh in person. There’s also the undeniable fact that he’s had a crush on Derek since high school, something he thought he’d manage to hide pretty well, but if Lydia’s words were true, then maybe not so much.

He feels his face go hot at the idea that the pack might be aware of his feelings, or worse, Derek. Because even if by some chance he wasn’t aware of them before, there’s no way he’s lucky enough for Derek not to have heard Lydia now.

Every part of him is screaming at him to get back in his jeep and drive home where he could hide under his bed until it’s time to go back to school. Instead, he grabs the tray and starts to make his way up the renovated Hale house. He’s faced scarier things than his feelings since learning about the supernatural, and it’s not the first time he’s been interested in someone wildly out of his league.

It’s his M.O.

Besides, there’s no way he could actually leave a sick Derek alone to be miserable if he can make him feel better. Lord knows the guy has had enough misery in his life. With that in mind, he pushes the door to Derek’s room with his hip, ready to deal with whatever is inside.

What he isn’t ready for is how good Derek looks. Stiles hasn’t seen him in person in months since his last break, and he looks amazing. Leave it to Derek Hale to get some strange supernatural cold and still look like a GQ model.

Derek is sitting up on the bed, and except for an impressive bedhead and unusually flushed cheeks under his scruff, he looks as gorgeous as ever.

“Life is truly unfair,” he whispers to himself, getting a raised eyebrow in return.  “What? Of course you would look this good while sick,” he says with narrowed eyes. Frankly, he’s annoyed by just how beautiful Derek is sometimes. “Can’t be like us lesser mortals who look like death when we have the flu? Do you just have to show us up?”

Derek stares at him for another moment before giving him an impressive eye-roll of his hazel-green eyes. “Why are you the most ridiculous person I know?”

Stiles snorts. “That’s simply not true. You also know Scott,” he answers as he makes his way towards the bed, tray in hand, silently apologizing to his friend for the dig.

Derek’s lips twitch for a second before he schools his features, but Stiles still catches it and celebrates the win with an amused grin of his own. It softens a bit as he sits down on the side of the bed, placing the tray on the bedside table to get a better look at Derek.

He stands by his original opinion that Derek Hale is just way too gorgeous in general, much more for someone sick with a magical flu, but this close, he can see the bit of bruising around his eyes from the lack of sleep. His cheeks are rosy-pink from sickness, and before he can stop himself, he reaches out to press his hand against one.

Derek lets out a surprised sound at his touch that startles Stiles into realizing what he’s done. He goes to take his hand off the werewolf, ready to apologize for overstepping when Derek gives him a surprise of his own by leaning into his touch, his pretty eyes fluttering shut, a peaceful look coming over his face.

Stiles holds his breath as Derek lets out another lovely rumbling sound from deep in his throat.

“Your hand is cool,” Derek murmurs softly, his eyes slowly opening to look at him. “It feels nice.”

Stiles bites down on his lip, feeling his stomach clench when Derek’s eyes drift to them, and he licks his own.

Holy shit, Lydia was right. This whole time he had figured that this was just one-sided. That it was him once again developing feelings for someone who would never return his affections. But looking at Derek now, he sees the same want and longing he sees in the mirror every day.

“Oh, screw you,” he breathes out, tightening his hold on Derek when he tries to pull away. “Nope, you don’t get to retreat now, sourwolf,” he warns him with narrowed eyes, proving his suspicions real by the way he listens to him. “You heard Lydia earlier,” he challenges with a raised eyebrow.

“I have good ears,” Derek grumbles back.

“So you heard her when she said we have feelings for each other,” he says, his heart beating faster than usual with anxiety, and he knows Derek can hear that too. Derek’s almost timid, hopeful expression when he gives him a single nod helps ease that worry as he starts to feel hopeful too. “Only all this time, I thought I was the only one with feelings here.”

“I thought you were the smart one,” Derek murmurs, a small grin playing on his lips when he sputters indignantly.

Stiles huffs loudly, even as he’s unable to stop the silly grin that takes over his face.

“Your heartbeat sounds happy,” Derek tells him softly as he looks down to his chest.

“You like me back,” he answers, letting out an incredulous laugh when Derek smiles at him, not denying it. Instead, he looks at him fondly, causing Stiles’ heart to skip a beat at being the recipient of such a rare and special look. “I’m more than happy right now, Derek,” he shakes his head. Happy doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Derek smiles again, pushing off the mountain of pillows behind him, reaching out for him. Stiles does the same, placing his hands on Derek’s bare shoulders, playing with the edge of his white tank top. His face gets inches away from Stiles’ when he stops.

“Wait – “ he starts as Stiles already shakes his head.

“No, no waiting,” he whines, wrapping his fingers around the material of his shirt, leaning forward. He rubs the tip of his nose against Derek’s even as he tries to close the last inch of distance between their lips. “I have had a crush on you since like junior year, Derek. No waiting, no wasting any more time, kissing now.”

Derek chuckles slightly. This close up he can see Derek’s eyes shining with joy, and Stiles wants to be responsible for that from now on.

“I’m sick, remember?”

“Affects werewolves, not humans,” he mutters as he brushes his lips against Derek’s, sighing at the feel of their softness. His sigh turns into a low moan as Derek gives in, hauling him onto his lap, proving that werewolf flu or not, his strength is still superior.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck as he cradles him between his legs. He kisses him slow and deeply, thoroughly, it being such a long time coming. He sinks his fingers into Derek’s hair gripping it harder than he intended, pulling on it on reflex when Derek gives his bottom lip a bite. The pleased growl Derek lets out against his mouth vibrates down his whole body, making his spine tingle. He breaks the kiss to take a breath, only for it to turn into a gasp when Derek ducks to kiss his way down his neck.

“Totally worth the risk,” he gets out, moaning as Derek traces his moles with his tongue.

Derek laughs against his throat. He pulls back to look at him, smiling widely. “You say that now, but don’t complain later if you do get sick.”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders, not really worried or caring right now when he’s in Derek’s arms. “If it happens, we’ll stay in bed together until we’re both better,” he answers, his eyes lighting up as he speaks. “Actually, that’s a great idea. Let’s stay in bed.”

He waggles his eyebrows, grinning when Derek huffs, rolling his eyes at him.

“The most ridiculous person I know,” he mutters right as he rolls them over, ignoring the yelp Stiles lets out at the sudden movement.

Stiles blinks up at the ceiling while Derek throws an arm and a leg over him, settling around Stiles like he’s his own personal body pillow.

“What about the soup?” he questions even as he starts combing his fingers through Derek’s silky hair, scratching at his scalp with blunt nails.

“Mhmm,” Derek hums out, his face tucked into Stiles’ neck, already sounding half-asleep. “It will keep.”

Stiles laughs softly, but still, he wraps his arms more securely around the sleeping wolf, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead because he can now, closing his eyes too.

The soup can wait.

#teen wolf #sterek #eternalsterek #sterek fic #derek x stiles #my writing #my nostalgia for sterek kicked into gear today and this happened

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Primrose, part Two

Rating: NSFW Length: 2124 Pairing: Male Orc x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

Primrose is there the next morning as promised, and all the mornings after that. He brings a packed breakfast from each morning onwards, each more extravagant than the last. I complain that my poor grandmother will have to roll me outside by the time she recovers; he laughs and tells me that he’d be happy to help. He comes out of his shell the longer that he spends time with me, but I’m the one that takes longer to emerge. I’ve been hurt before, and I’m not used to the earnestness of Primrose’s attentions—least of all from a man I’m also attracted to. He likes my biting tongue and doesn’t mind my skittish nature, and after the first hour of sitting in the shade watching me work, he grows restless enough to roll up his sleeves and join me.

He’s hopeless at weeding the garden. I squawk like a plucked hen when he pulls up one of my grandmother’s budding azaleas on the fourth morning, and he’s deeply apologetic for the rest of the day until we find that he’s incredibly talented at floral arrangement. It’s only a shame that we had to find out with the casualties of his “pruning”. He’s much better at working the soil, and I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy watching his shirt come off before he pushes the plough through the dirt, trying his best to get even lines as his shoulders turn almost as pink as his hair in the sun.

It’s gratifying to watch him get dirt under his manicured fingernails, and I have to admit that I like his company. He’s a charming conversationalist and he never seems to run out of things to talk about, and I find myself drawn into conversation even when I’d been feeling reticent before. I learn that he’s the third child in a rich family—well enough off to do whatever he likes, and low enough in the pecking order to do what he pleases. I call him spoiled and he agrees with me, though that particular day he redoubles his efforts to learn how to tend to my grandmother’s flowers. I make him lunch and fresh lemonade every afternoon and we eat with our feet in the cool water of my grandmother’s fish pond, and every evening he packs himself into a carriage and heads home.

“Why do you keep coming?” I ask him after a few weeks of this charade, and I’m startled by the boisterous laughter that bursts out of the giant orc.

“You can’t really be that dense,” he says when he recovers, wiping tears from his sparkling eyes.

“I can be as dense as I like,” I reply with a touch of heat, though I suspect I know full well why the young orc is trying so hard. “Do you want to get into my pants? You won’t succeed.”

Primrose looks as though I’ve lashed him with a switch instead of my tongue. “Is that all you think I’m here for?” he asks, gesturing to our surroundings with a frown. “Why I’m learning how to garden?” He says my name in a chiding tone, and I can barely feel the condensation on my glass rolling down the top of my hand.

“Aren’t you?” I challenge, watching his face warily for any trace of malice or deception.

Instead, Primrose’s expression closes. “I think I’ll call my carriage now,” he says, and gets up to do so. I don’t stop him when he makes the call. I don’t stop him before he climbs into his carriage, and I don’t stop him after. He can go if he likes, I think. They all do, in the end.

The next few days, I find myself growing irritable. I’m upset with myself for letting him into my space, for letting him get under my skin, for thinking, for dreaming—but I stop myself before those thoughts can go far, growing all the more irritable for dwelling upon them, and then the cycle repeats. I find his ribbon when I’m emptying out pockets for laundry, and I have the irrational urge to burn it.

That’s when I know that I’m in deep.

That night, I decide to take a long soak in the bath, using salts and oils that I know have brought me peace in the past. This time is different; there’s a restlessness under my skin, an itch to touch and be touched, and I find that even the bathwater cannot calm me. I can hardly stand to be around myself, and so I pull on my bathrobe and march out of the house through the back door, intent on losing myself to the repetitive task of gardening.

“Whoa!” cries a voice when I throw open the door, and in the light I can see that I’ve slammed it right into Primrose’s face.

“Prim!” I cry, almost gasping around my words as I take in the position of his hands: one bearing a bouquet, the other cupped over his bloodied nose. “What the hell are you doing in my backyard? Get in here this instant! You’re bleeding all over the porch!”

“I was picking you flowers,” Primrose manages to say around his hand, following me into the kitchen and sitting down where I bid him to so that I can get a look at his nose.

“From my own damn garden? You’re lucky I didn’t break this,” I say, frowning and prodding gently at his nose; it will bruise, but it isn’t budging.

“They’re the prettiest flowers there are,” Primrose protests, lips bunching around his jewelled tusks—and that’s when I notice the way he’s dressed.

“Were you at a party?” I ask, incredulous, even as I wiggle a tissue up his nostril.

Primrose grimaces. “Some party,” he grumbles. “My birthday. But I wanted to spend it with you.”

My heart flip-flops in my chest like the day’s catch. “You don’t mean that,” I tut, keeping my eyes averted from his honest blue gaze. “You’ve had too much to drink again.”

Primrose draws himself up. “I haven’t touched a drop since we met,” he declares, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “I haven’t needed it.”

“Needed it?”

“To feel good,” he explains, taking my blood-stained fingers in his and looking into my face. “Not since I met you. Let me court you.”

“Court me?” I feel like an idiot, parroting his words back at him like some nincompoop, but I can’t help but feel as though I’ve missed a step on my way down the stairs.

Primrose laughs, and I ache at how much I’ve missed that sound. “Yes, court you. I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first day we met, but I know now that I want to keep you, too. Let me keep you.”

“I’m not one to be ‘kept’,” I say, bristling at the word that I cling to in the maelstrom of things being said.

“Then keep me instead,” Primrose begs, sliding from the chair onto his knees in front of me.

“Primrose,” I gasp, aghast, but he doesn’t let me speak, instead thrusting the bouquet up at my face.

“Say the word and I’ll never bother you again,” he says, eyes as blue as the summer sky looking up at me from his large, flushed face. “One word and all that I can give you will be yours. Kill me or kiss me, right here, right now.”

So I kiss him. I kiss him, and I touch him, and I climb him like that damn tree I found him under all those weeks ago, and he groans like I’ve just righted all of the wrongs in his life. I smell crushed flowers as he turns and presses me against the dining table, my limbs moving of their own accord to wend and wind around him and pull him close. There’s the distant clatter of buttons hitting the wood of the table as Primrose yanks his overcoat over his head, then the sound of fabric tearing as his shirt follows suit.

I haven’t giggled in years, but I do now, giddy and exhilarated. “Those looked expensive, you buffoon,” I scold, moaning as he takes the opportunity to kiss along my throat and scrape his tusks along my jaw. “Gods.”

“No,” says Primrose, his voice deeper and more guttural than I’ve ever heard it, striking a chord in me that makes a thrill rocket up my spine. “None home at the moment. Come here, you delicious thing.”

In an instant, my arms are woefully empty, but Primrose’s mouth is gloriously occupied. I shout into the rafters when he gives his first hungry suckle, hands gravitating to his hair and grabbing fistfuls as he works me like I hold the answer to his prayers in my balls. “I didn’t dare think about this,” I whimper, gasping when Primrose throws my thighs over his shoulders and settles in for the long haul.

“I’ve thought of nothing but this,” he growls when he comes up for air, tongue delving between my cheeks and finding me still damp from my bath. “You taste like roses.”

“Oh, gods, shut up,” I groan, dragging my hands over my face in mortification—I hadn’t even realised that I’d chosen the rose oil to soak in until now. I whimper and moan as he works me open with his tongue, but I’m not inexperienced enough to think that a little spit will be enough for what I’ve spied tucked in his trousers when he hasn’t been looking. “Let me get oil, at least!”

Primrose laughs and carries me as though I weigh nothing more than a limp kitten, which I suppose I don’t, to a man so large. We grab the rose oil across the house and make it about as far as the bathroom vanity before he has his fingers in me, and I find myself riding them with a lusty abandon I didn’t know myself capable of. “Fuck, you look so sweet,” Primrose whispers, and I watch him watch me through the mirror. “You’ll look so much better on my cock.”

“Fuck,” I hiss. “Hurry up. I haven’t got all nigh—ai! Oh, fuck, my legs.”

“Mhm,” Primrose chuckles, fingers once again working along the most sensitive part of my insides. “I saw that. Do it again.”

“Fuck you,” I manage to choke out, even if my knees do, in fact, wobble again. He takes his time, driving me crazy in fits and starts until he finally pulls his hand away and replaces it with his dick. I’d sooner eat dirt than tell him, but it burns going in even with all the stretching and preparation—a burn I hadn’t felt since the first time I was stretched open and fucked—but I wasn’t going to feed into his ego any more than my body already had; he’d be insufferable. “Prim,” I gasp, reaching back to steady him and slow his onslaught. “Easy.”

“I’ve got you,” he says behind me, and I know that he does. I feel it in my gut, and in the ache of my chest, and in the way he strokes along my quivering back. It feels like an eternity before he bottoms out, and I almost laugh at the way we both heave deep sighs of relief. When he moves a minute later, it feels like he takes my whole body with him, so he stops and adds more oil as I recover a second time and tries again. The second time turns out to be the charm, then, as he moves in me like he’s always belonged inside me, and then the rest is a blur.

I remember pleasure. I remember pleasure and the pain of my hips digging into the vanity, and of my fingers clinging to the edge of the countertop for dear life. He fucks me until my legs give out and we end up on the floor, his big hands guiding my hips as I ride him like our lives depend on it. I don’t remember how many times I come, just that I come until my vision blacks out, and then I come again, fingers tearing at the tiles beneath me as I writhe like a man possessed.

When my consciousness swims back into focus, I find myself in my bed with a blanket made of orcflesh draped over me, Primrose’s legs tangled with mine as the early morning light seeps soft and grey through my curtains. I watch him for a moment, taking in his sleep-soft features and the way his hair falls into his face, and I decide that we could both deserve a little lie-in.

I can always scold him about being too warm to cuddle later.

#exophilia #mlm exophlia #exophilia fic #gay exophilia #orc boyfriend #monster romance #monster lemon #Primrose #happy birthday you beautiful bastard and fuck you for living rent free in my head all this time :) #My work

[letsperaltiago]

show me you're shameless

the one where i upload the 2nd chapter 5 months after the first :)) so sorry skskss. anyways... CLUB FIC CHAPTER 2, BABYYY. And it’s getting smutty! Works fine on its own, but reading chapter 1 first does add that *extra spice*

Rating: E

Words: 5.8k

Read here or on Ao3

Besides the obvious bruising and swelling caused by Manson’s punch, Jake is unharmed and allowed to leave the hospital right after his debrief. Officer Wilson nicely offers to give him a ride home and after the day he’s had, which Jake gladly accepts - the faster he gets home, the faster he gets to see Amy. By the time he steps out of the car, onto the sidewalk framing Amy’s apartment building, and tells Wilson thanks for the ride, it’s closing in on two am. The streets of Brooklyn are as desert as the city that never sleeps can be, rather unusually quiet, but Jake can’t think about anything else but the painkillers he’s about to pop, the girlfriend he gets to kiss, and last but not least the soft bed that’ll promise him a good night’s sleep. 

Or so he thinks. 

The second he steps a foot into the apartment, using the spare key Amy gave him a few weeks ago which he proudly accepted, making him feel that more committed to their blossoming relationship, Jake immediately notices that something is not quite how it usually is. And if there’s something he loves about Amy and her place it’s how routine is everywhere to be found - from the tiny key-hook by the front door that holds Amy’s keys to how he knows the painkillers are stashed in the little pink plastic basket on the right top shelf of the bathroom sink cabinet. Tonight the atmosphere feels out of routine, almost making Jake feel like a stranger in an apartment that’s somewhat his own (they’re not quite there yet but they’re mostly at her place so). 

It’s not just because the only elements lighting up the blacked-out apartment are candles (quite many of them) which in itself is very weird because no way Amy Santiago would go to bed with a candle, let alone tens of them, lit. The scene screams fire hazard. Jake himself has a hard time putting a finger on it, but somehow the entire energy seems different. It’s as if, somehow, the air is charged with a certain electricity, and, for a second, Jake wonders if he’s accidentally let himself into the wrong apartment - but that’s not possible, right? No way Amy’s key works for other front doors. 

His keys make a by now familiar clinking sound as he places them on the key-hook, on top of Amy’s. A routine amidst the estranged feeling of this situation. Although he’d hoped and would’ve loved it if Amy had stayed up and waited for him, he knows his girlfriend’s schedule is highly prioritized (even over him, he learned very early on) and so he ignores her absence. What he can’t ignore is that Amy would’ve gone to bed with multiple candles still burning. Her silver three-arm candelabra on the dinner table, her rose-scented block candle on the coffee table, multiple smaller ones in the windows and around the couch/tv-area…

“Ames?” he calls out, loud enough to catch her attention if she’s awake but low enough to not wake her if she’s asleep. 

Silence.

He quickly shrugs off the absence of her reception, and, as per a routine he likes to think of as “domestic”, a new feeling and aspect being with Amy has introduced him to, he kicks off his shoes. Instead of leaving them to clutter up the room, like he would if it were his own apartment, he neatly aligns them with hers on her little shoe rack. His coat goes on on a coat stand instead of a random chair. It’s small gestures like these that make him feel more in sync with his girlfriend. This also leads him to go around the room to blow out the candles. He knows Amy will appreciate him doing it, but he’s just barely put out one candelabra-light when his beliefs are contradicted. 

Someone clears their throat and it has Jake freeze in his spot by the dinner table, much like a deer caught in headlights - a Jake caught in candlelights, one could say. All he can see is a silhouette standing in the hallway. Only just barely lit by the candles’ tiny flames, casting the otherwise dark room in a yellow and orange glow, it’s hard to see anything clearly. Still, there’s no doubt in Jake’s mind: It’s Amy. 

From the way her silhouette almost looks naked, her curves on full display, he can tell she’s still wearing the infamous red skintight dress. Her now messy dark locks frame her face - her beautiful , amazing face - and scatter onto her bare shoulders which are only covered by the sleek dress straps. She looks flushed, luminous, and Jake can’t help but wonder whether it’s the candlelight or the sudden heat he’s sensing. Did it actually just get really hot in here or just him? 

“You don’t like my candles?”

The sound of Amy’s voice is something Jake is very familiar with by now. Her presence has become something his senses immediately tap into, yet when she speaks, red, perfect lips shaping the words with precision, Jake feels his heart skip a beat as if it’s the first time seeing her. His jaw drops to the floor and he surely looks like an idiot, stuck in the same spot with no audible reaction. It surely doesn’t help when his girlfriend walks up to him in a way that has her look like a goddess on a runway. Slow, sleek, and surely she steps up to him as if she isn’t wearing uncomfortably tall stilettos. If Jake hadn’t previously listened to her complain about how awful these heels were then he’d beg her to wear them forever. 

“I- uh- yes? No? I don’t know?” 

A cocky chuckle gushes from her lips. It’s obvious that she has him right where she wants him, physically and mentally, and from the burning look in her eyes, he can tell she has a plan for them to follow tonight whilst she, hopefully,  wears that dress (at least for some of it). 

“I thought I’d try to make the most of the night...” Her eyes switch to the clock on her wall. Five past two. Her brown irises slot back together with his. “What we’ve got left at least.” 

He’s so entranced by her sultry gaze, mystery and mischief glowing in her eyes, that, until he suddenly feels her hands on his hips, he fails to notice how far across the room she’s made it. Now her warm breath is bedewing his neck, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt and Jake’s never been good at chess but this feels a lot like checkmate. 

He doesn’t say anything. Quite honestly unable to do anything else, he utters just the sound of his breath hitching in his throat, but Amy’s happy; it’s enough to reveal his true sentiments when she gracefully pops the first button with her sleek fingers. She pauses and holds his gaze. 

“I’m really glad we ran into each other tonight.”

Already very much confused and barely able to grasp what reality he’s in at this point, Jake offers her little statement a frown. Ran into each other? They literally went to the club together, what does she mean-

“Most guys I run into at that club are usually barely mediocre...”

Oh… OH. It all suddenly clicks. That’s what she’s doing. 

“... but you...” she interrupts herself by biting into her newly applied lipstick, showing off just how white her teeth are, as she moves on to pop the next button in line. “... you look like someone worth spending a night with.”

The colorful lights, the loud bass, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol, their moment of weakness in the scummy bathroom; the sensation of being back in the club comes rushing back. All of this, along with it the thought of Amy Santiago being his scandalous one-night stand, flicks a switch within him. Being with her every day is indeed a much better deal, one he’d never want to change, but this fictional role of the one-night stand he’s been put in? Definitely works for him too. Now he just needs to get up to speed and make up for time wasted on being utterly obvious. Luckily Amy Santiago can turn him on easily as a faucet. 

“Yeah? You do this a lot, eh-?” He attempts, dabbling and getting comfortable in his newfound role. 

“Cassidy.” 

“Oh yeah, cool cool cool. Cassidy.” 

After this infamous fumbling, figuring things out, he shifts back into gear. His voice descends into a darker tone, as well as his eyes - and don’t even get him started on his train of thoughts. His hands, up until now stuck by his sides, gently latch onto her waist instead and the soft feel of her dress, silk, he guesses, helps him adopt the exact right mindset for this game. 

“So, Cassidy ,” he emphasizes the name as to get familiar with its taste, immediately learning that it savors of something poisonous and addicting. “You do this a lot? Take home guys without even knowing their name or telling them yours?”

Meanwhile, Amy’s already popped another button, revealing a good chunk of his chest, and has to tear her eyes away from it to meet his villainous gaze. There is no fighting it, and she willingly dives right into him as one would in a pool. Although instead of a clear blue mass of water, her’s is a dive right into a sinful twilight that’s slowly but surely consuming them both.

“Well,” she abandons the last two buttons untouched and sneaks her left hand down to the front of his pants to be met what she’s been patiently waiting for all night. A bulge, still quite modest but without a doubt present and growing. After all, they’re just getting started. “All you needed to do was ask for it. Like I’m going to do now: what’s your name?”

She grins, her eyes as well as her lips, and it takes every muscle in Jake’s body to think of a name, stay in the role, all while he’s not to give in to the hand that’s unmistakably cupping him through his pants. 

“I bet you’re used to asking for what you want.” He’s kind of proud of that line, he must admit. “... And I’m Andrew.”

“Good to know, Andrew. And yeah…” she tightens her grip on him just a tad more, “it’s the easiest way to get what I want.” 

“And what exactly do you want?” 

Just like hers had moments ago, Jake’s hands slowly travel south and back, getting two handfuls of her ass and the fabric that’s enhancing its perfect shape. He feels her breath sink into the skin of his neck and lower face, slowly and bit by bit becoming a part of him.

“Whatever you’re willing to give,” she kisses the side of his neck, feeling the dampness her breath has left behind. Turns out he tastes even better than usual, a mixture of him, cigarettes, and alcohol so having her lips let go already seems unnecessary. 

“And what if what I’m willing to give isn’t enough?” 

He shamelessly squeezes her ass, thanking God for this goddess of a woman he gets to call his, and he’d be lying if he said her sucking on his neck and the feeling of her full behind didn’t have him almost fully hard already. 

“Then I’m not shy of a little... begging,” she physically punctuates her sentence by letting her teeth sink into the skin right below his jaw, and it immediately sends her man of the night into another dimension where he can’t hold back and play nice any longer. Luckily, she doesn’t want him to. 

In the bat of an eye, he’s got her face cupped in his hands and their lips colliding with a hunger that makes it seem as if they’ve never kissed before this very moment. The kiss is clumsy, hungry as if they’ve been starving for days, and once in a while they can hear their teeth clacking, colliding. 

“You’re so gorgeous, Am- Cassidy,” he’s quick to correct himself. “Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you at that club. Was wondering how a fucking goddess like you was hanging out in a shit-hole like that.” 

He feels her hands cling onto his neck. In response, he has to let go of her face. Instead, his hands wander back down to his hips. Although rather than both slipping backward like earlier, one sneaks its way down and forward to get a grip on the hem of her dress. 

“And wearing this dress? How could I not notice you and instantly dream of fucking you in it.”

This rewards him a tiny moan, airy and soft right into his ear where her lips happen to be nibbling on his earlobe, and Jake knows he’s giving her exactly what they both want. 

“Touch me,” she breathes almost inaudibly and although he hears her he can’t help but push some buttons. 

“What are you saying, baby?” He smirks, slowly forcing the dress-hem up the warm skin of her thighs. “Say it again - louder.” 

“Touch me, please .”

With two fingers hooked around the red fabric he drags it up to stop right by her pubic bone. “Only because you’re so good at asking for it. I might have you beg a bit later.”

She barely answers, only utters a little uhuh . The same two fingers slowly slip beyond the fabric and slide across the already damp gusset. It’s with a small victory smile that Jake carefully starts rubbing the area, immediately earning himself a small whimper. It falls from her lips as if it’s been waiting to do so for a long time now, and her head drops to rest on his shoulder. 

“What did you say?” he cranes his neck in an attempt to get a glimpse of her face, but it’s mostly hidden in his neck. “Does that feel good?”

He doesn’t hear her but feels her nod against him, and so he adds a little more pressure with his fingers, digging into her through the fabric of what feels like lacy panties. 

“I have barely touched you and you’re already this wet. Do you want more? Is this okay?” His tone doesn’t change by Amy can tell it’s Jake asking, not Andrew. 

“Y-yes,” she whimpers, wishing he’d put more energy into touching her.

For a second Amy believes he can read her mind because as soon as the green light has officially been re-approved, her partner’s fingers force aside the gusset and gather some of her wetness to help embed themselves inside of her. He feels her shuffle on the spot in an attempt to stay on her feet and squirm a bit around him when his middle finger penetrates her, all to be summed up by a soft moan into his neck. 

“God, you’re soaked, baby. Do you know how good that feels? Do you feel good?” he slowly starts moving his fingers inside of her, in a pattern he knows she enjoys, and he has to use his free hand to stabilize her as he challenges her with a quicker pace.

“S-so good. More, please.”

Her wish is his command, and he immediately meets it by switching up the pace to which he can hear and feel her react right away. 

“This is so hot,” he breathes into the top of her head, her hair already mussed and messy from their fooling around. “You look amazing, you feel amazing. Kinda just wanna keep you in this dress. It looks fantastic on you.”

Busy whimpering and grinding along to the pace of his fingers, Amy has no time to reply and instead gives in to his upper hand. There’s something so exciting, so hot, not only about the roleplay but also the spontaneity of things, the way they haven’t even made their way out of the dining/living room. If Jak- Andrew wants to, he can have her right then and there. She wouldn’t mind one bit… 

Caught up in a whirlwind of feelings and thoughts, trapped in the vessel that is her quivering body, it comes as a surprise when suddenly Jake nudges her in the direction of the dining table. Making sure to stay away from the still lit candelabra, Jake backs her up against the wooden surface. 

“Sit,” he prompts and helps her over the edge of the table, safely seating her on it and as a consequence, his fingers slip out of her. They’re glistening with her juices and when he runs his hand across her thigh, her skin is smeared with her own lust. Then he nudges her legs further apart for him to fit in-between. The tight dress has by now suffered a lot of moving, already pushed up above her hips and creased into a bunch around her lower belly, which, once he’s ripped off her panties, leaves him with open access to where they both want him to bee.

“Wanna taste you,” he huffs into the kiss he’s pulled her into, leaving them both breathing hard and yearning for air when he retreats to sink to his knees. He’s left at the perfect height. “I’m gonna make you forget about all the guys before me.”

And he sure keeps his promise. 

He dives right into the sacred space between her legs, tongue first, drawing circles around and with her clit, while his hands are forged onto her shivering thighs, making sure they stay wide open and spread for him. Her heaves and tiny breaths escape her with shorter and shorter intervals, promising them both a climax, which his tongue follows, focusing on all the right spots. He continuously eats her out like he’s been starved and deprived for God knows how long,  and she’s his main course. 

“I-I’m almost there.”

She dares to let go of the table, just one hand, and plants it in his messy locks, which are already sweaty and wild from his rummaging between her legs. The tugging throws him into a higher gear that demands extra help from his fingers, still wet from earlier, which makes entering her easy. The second they sink into her, from the higher pitch of her moans, Jake can tell he acted wisely. She shakes, not only the thighs beneath her hands but her entire body, and he fights to keep up the pace that seems to be succeeding in bringing her closer to the edge. A few more pumps, licks and kisses to her inner thigh a couple of times before his tongue reunites with her clit for the final licks that have her climaxing with a loud moan, right there on the dinner table and his mouth. He pecks her heat a few more times as she comes down, then her inner thighs where he spreads her climax on her skin before standing up to see her leaned back onto the elbow that wasn’t tugging on his hair. The dress looks miserable crumpled up around her waist but something about it, paired with her closed eyes and messy makeup, leaves him with what he believes is the perfect picture. Her breathing is more or less just heaves and he lets her catch some air before he leans in to kiss her, open-mouthed as to allow her a taste of herself. 

“Good?” 

“So good,” she smiles right into the kiss, given a taste herself, eyes still closed as she focuses her energy on assembling herself for what is yet to come. 

“Wanna see what you’re hiding in here,” she breathes but Jake barely hears it as all he can currently fixate on is her hand cupping the bulge in his pants, and her nimble fingers working the button and zipper open. Who said attending multiple meticulous and detail-oriented bomb-defusing classes would never come in handy? 

 “Wanna suck you off. I’ve been wanting to all night, even in that disgusting bathroom we met in. Could’ve sucked you off while you looked at yourself in that disgusting mirror.” 

Though it’s pureoy fiction (at least for now - who knows?) Jake feels lightheaded just hearing her thoughts break free and let out into the open. Despite the fact he could never ask her to kneel on the club bathroom’s disgusting floor that, so filthy it stuck to your shoes when walking on it, just the thought of it does ignite something within him. One second they’re still making out, Amy on the table with Jake standing in between her legs, the next she’s got his pants unbuttoned and unzipped thus proceeding to push herself off the table, consequently pulling both his pants and boxers down at once (which kinda impresses Jake - he’s not gonna lie) as she gets descends to her knees. 

Cassidy, Amy, whoever she is in this moment, doesn’t waste time. Jake admires the adulterated hunger in her eyes as she wraps her fingers around his hard, pre-cum leaking cock to give it a few assisting pumps before leaning in to kiss the head. Her gaze diverts from his hard-on to his eyes, up at him through thick and black mascara-coated lashes, as she gives the very tip a tiny, almost experimental, lick. Just the sight and feel of her tongue on him, her saliva mixing with his pre-cum is enough to send him to heaven, but he sure doesn’t complain when the innocent lap is succeeded by a full-on licking motion that goes around his full girth. 

“Gosh, you’re killing me.” 

He reaches for her cheek, stroking it with his thumb as if to praise her for her actions. “You like this, huh? Hunting down your preys, taking them home… only for you to become the prey.” 

Nothing is answered, at least not verbally. Instead, she slowly goes down on the length, lips stretched to the max around him and batting her eyelids as her gagging reflex is challenged. His hand leaves her cheek and instead travels to the back of her head where it can get a good grip on her hair. Here it settles on following her movement as she bobs her head, swallowing him again and again. The grip on her doesn’t have a real purpose, he doesn’t try to control or force anything with it. All it really does is provide him with another pleasing aspect of feeling her movements, giving him some sense of staying grounded when the thrill becomes too much and he starts losing himself to the thrill of her actions. 

“Fuck, you look so good on your knees like this, and…” He’s interrupted by his own growl, escaping him the second he feels a very soft scratching of her teeth against his pulsing member. It takes him a few seconds to recollect himself. She’s sucking him off like a champion, one hand by the base, the other on his thigh, steady rhythm and small hums in between. Hums that he’ll remember till the day he dies. “Your lips stretched around my cock like this? Like they were made for it, fuck. I’m not gonna last though - not if you keep eating me up like this.” 

Her lips offer him a few more pumps, slowing down to a halt and leaving her in his mouth for a few seconds before she lets him slip out of her mouth, leaving a thin thread of a mix of saliva and pre-cum to hang on for dear life between her lips and his cock. She can taste him and he can see his discharge on her lips glowing in the candlelight. Her knees are pink and raw when she stands back up, hair messier than ever, and dress crumpled, bunched up around her waist. She’s amazing, Jake thinks, in awe of how he landed someone as perfect as her - in every way imaginable. Tonight is just one of many aspects, and every day with her is truly the best day ever

“C’mere,” he pulls her in by the waist, too caught up to let her go for even a second, and without even thinking twice his right hand cups her heat, feeling the wetness seep through her lips and trimmed bush. Just what he’d hoped for. “You’re gonna start dripping on the floor if we keep going like this.”

“Would you like that?” she breathes onto the shell of his ear, grinding into his hand, and sending shivers down his spine. 

“Yeah, I would… But I’d rather put how absolutely soaked you are to good use.” He slips his middle finger in between her folds, gathering wetness, feeling her squirm. “I’d much rather fuck you right into this wall…” he backs her into the nearest wall that’s clear of shelves and pictures frames, a low-risk area per se, “... while you’re wearing this stupidly hot dress.”

She’s sucking bruises into his neck, not allowing him to see her face, but the second her back hits the wall she’s back to kissing her way up to his lips. Here she tugs on his plump, still bruised bottom lip before dropping her head backward, letting it lull against the wall. Her eyes are darker than ever, brown irises borderline black, as she stares right into his. “Do it then.”

“Do what?” he challenges. He wants to hear her say it. Every word, every syllable. 

“Fuck me. Up against this wall. Wearing this red dress.” She pulls down the skirt, just to cover her ass and give him the full dress-experience rather than it just being fabric bundled up around her waist. “ Please .” 

It sure is impossible to not act when she bats her eyes at him, spilling filthy words, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Before he’s even fully aware, his animalistic instinct takes over and has him holding up her leg with one hand, the other giving his cock a few pumps prior to guiding the tip through her folds. 

“Cond-” 

She’s quick to interrupt. She knows it’s his character asking, since, in reality, they both know they’re clean and she’s on the pill - though she appreciates the effort of staying in character and the fact that Andres is a reasonable man.

“Fuck me. Raw.”

“You’re something else, Cassidy,” he chuckles, and having already gathered enough wetness on him he pushes into her, slowly and torturously, feeling her heat take him in and hearing her moan shatter the silence. 

“Yes,” she hisses at the stretch, her uplifted leg leaving her more open and the piercing sensation somewhat smoother. 

He starts slow, rocking into her with ease. 

“You look so hot. Can’t believe you’re letting me take you right here up against a wall. Fucking filthy.” 

He eventually picks up her other leg as he picks up speed and by the time he’s fully slamming into her with a powerful pace that has her legs shaking, he’s fully holding her off the floor and fucking her into the beige wall behind her. She moans with every thrust, every collision between her body and the wall, thumps, as she holds onto his shoulders for dear life, thighs burning from clinging onto his hips. The angle at which he penetrates her is just perfect, hitting and stimulating all the right zones, and, even comparing to the loads of amazing sex they’ve had, this, without a doubt , goes in the top three. The wall is cold against her back, creating a sizzling contrast to the heat forming between their rubbing fronts. His shoulders and arms are flexing under her weight, and now there’s no denying that Jake Peralta the hottest guy she’s even been with. 

“R-right there, ah, yes,” she hisses, head pressed back into the wall, the friction messing up her hair. 

“This feel good, huh?”

“So good- fuck , harder, please.” 

“You feel so good around me, you know that? All wet, all tight… Just like your dress. Fucking gorgeous.” 

He picks up the pace, putting great effort that has him sweating through his nice shirt, never fully removed, as he works her up, almost as if he hopes to leave an outline of her on the wall. Her moans pick up the pace, turning into small squeals that can barely come to an end before a new one takes over, and Jake can tell she’s closing in on a climax. So is he. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, J-Jake.”

It flies out of her, beyond her control. It’s hard to stay in character when your groin is one fire like (almost) never before, but she was the one to start the roleplay and he’s going to keep her in it. You have to finish what you started. 

“Who’s Jake?” the trust going in with his name is extra hard and earns him a loud whimper, topping all other sounds so far, as if to apologize for her mess-up. “Is he some other guy who you’ve taken home and gotten fucked by?”

“S-sorry, bad habit,” she leans in to kiss him in hopes of making him forget or at least let go. 

“Do I fuck you better than he did? Huh?”

She doesn’t say anything but keeps moaning, her pitch gradually becoming higher.

“Tell me,” he momentarily lets go of a leg, feeling her ankles hook together behind his back, to cup her cheek and force her to look right into his eyes. “Have you been fucked like this before?”

“N-no,” she stutters in-between his cocks collision with what he knows is her good spot. 

“Couldn’t hear you,” he growls, provoked, and dying to hear the statement in its entirety fall from her sinfully pink lips now that he’s gnawed off the red lipstick. Almost synchronously to his demand, he picks up the pace, heading for the last stretch, which he knows might not be the smartest when he wants her to speak. But Amy Santiago loves a good challenge. To his surprise, the always so consistent woman completely fails, moans turning into small screams as she chases her peak, and Jake can only forgive her inability to answer him right away. It doesn’t refrain him from insisting a few moments later though. 

“What did you say, baby?”

Every word is punctuated with a thrust, thrusts that go deeper than before, and Amy on her part is a wreck barely clinging onto him and the wall behind her.  

“I-I said…” melts into a groan when he, once again, strikes just the right spot. “I said that I’ve never been fucked like this before.” 

“Didn’t think so.”

Jake grins rather proudly even though, in reality, he’s competing with himself. Beads of sweat trickle down from under his wavy bangs who by now are very much soaked, plastered to his forehead like a wet (but also kinda cute, if you ask Amy) mop. In every which way possible, there’s something very special and satisfying about a chuffing, puffed-up, sweaty Jake holding her like he currently is, taking on this commanding role of Andrew, and Amy is sure: she won’t mind revisiting this act some other time. 

 “Be a good girl: suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me.”

His hand that was once on her cheek presents itself, and Amy doesn’t even have the time to feel embarrassed about how quickly, without any second thought, she opens her mouth for them. Obeying is part of her DNA and dutiful as Amy Santiago is she immediately welcomes his index and middle finger into her mouth, sucking on them with a great commitment that Jake undoubtedly appreciates. 

“Good girl,” he praises, their eyes’ locked in their perhaps most intense staring contest ever. Amy makes sure to take his fingers all the way in, lips reaching his knuckles, and Jake almost forgets his agenda. 

Keyword: almost. 

After slowing down the pace of his thrusts and retracting his fingers, to Amy’s great chagrin, the hand drops to between her legs, and his fingers are added to the mix, the chasing of her climax, and oh it definitely works. Amy’s whining reaches a brand new level, hitting a high note he’s never heard before, and he can feel her tense around his cock and fingers. She’s almost there, and even though Amy, in the red strappy dress, taking him so well, is a piece of art that he’d like to hang on a wall forever, he knows she needs release. And so does he. 

 “Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that. Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s very distracting yet I can’t look away.”

High-pitched moans and whimpers are all he gets in return. His fingers slip out of her heat, now even wetter than after being sucked on, but don’t go far and redirect to give her clit the final attention. 

“If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.” He chuckles, leaning in just far enough to peck her lips, and if they hadn’t only been dating for a couple of months, the best couple of months ever , he would be pretty sure of the fact that he’s very much in love with Amy Santiago, Cassidy, Dora and every other version of his incredible girlfriend. 

“T-then don’t.”

So he doesn’t, her word is her command after all, and a couple of strokes and thrusts later, nibbling on her clavicle with just a bit more teeth than intended but too blown away to be able to control it, she lets out a cry as she comes apart around him. Limbs going limp, just barely managing to cling onto his body and avoiding a fall to the floor, Amy reaches and crashes completely, hitting a climax for the record books. Jake follows right behind, coming into her,  riding it out with her aftershock, and then the room goes silent as if nothing had happened. Only their heavy breathing is to be heard. 

“Shit,” she pants.

“The good kind?” he chuckles pulling out of her, but still carrying her. 

“The very good kind, Andrew . Maybe the best one yet.”

They share a small laugh as she pushes his sweaty hair back, admiring the admiration in his eyes that seconds ago were darker than the pitch-black night sky outside her window. How fast they can switch will never cease to amaze her. 

“Kinda sucks I let another man beat that record.”

“Well…” she leans in, offering him a consolatory kiss that he gladly accepts, before she pulls back, just an inch, to whispers against his lips. “The night is young. Andrew had his turn, now Jake Peralta can show me his worth.” 

“Holy shit- Amy Santiago, you’re going to be the death of me.”

It’s safe to say that Jake wins back the record and Amy eventually ends up washing her dress. Twice. On the warmest setting possible. 

#this is just a pile of filth im so so sorry #very much rated E #peraltiago #smut #jake x amy #jake and amy #b99 #brooklyn nine nine #Brooklyn nine-nine #oneshot

[mommymooze]

Angelic Vision

Claude x Reader

Angelic Vision

“You look like an angel. Have you come to take me to heaven?“ Claude lies on the ground, the back of his hand across his brow.

“No, but when I pull that arrow out of you it’s going to hurt like hell.” You say as you put your knee on his chest and with both hands pull the arrow back out of Claude’s shoulder.

“Yeeowch!” Claude hollers.

You then pour healing magic into his shoulder, feeling the muscles weaving themselves back together. You stand up reaching out your hand for his other hand to help Claude up from the ground.

“Go easy on it. If you reinjure it, go find Marianne because I’m not going to fix it again.” You tell him before running off to the next injured party.

Hilda walks up to stand by the House Leader of the Golden Deer. “Why do the super smart ones always have to be so pissy?”

“Beats me, if they would loosen up or relax a little, they would have a lot more fun.” Claude shrugs.

Mail is delivered and there is a shipment of three boxes for you. Pretty darn heavy boxes. You carry them one at a time from the front gate to your room. Unlocking and opening your door you suddenly find you are not alone. Claude gives a look of shock at the number of books in your room. One entire wall is nothing but books.

“You do know they have a library here.” Claude quips

“It is useless for my research.” You grumble. “The books are old and out of date. They also do not have any ancient texts that may have useful yet forgotten applications.”

Claude is looking at the subjects and titles. “Hey mind if I borrow a few?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ll think about it. “

You’ve been hanging out with Linhardt a lot lately. He’s supposed to be helping with a project you’re working on.

“When I saw them in the library, they were getting pretty cozy.” Hilda snarkily jests.

Claude decides there is a book that he must have right now from the library. He walks in to see you back to back with a very unconscious Linhardt. You’re trying to support him with your back so he doesn’t fall over completely while you are still reading your book. You look trapped?

“Having fun?” Claude grins.

“Yeah. When Lin’s on empty he just crashes. Since Caspar isn’t here, well, I don’t want him to fall and get hurt. I can’t move him.” You groan

Claude helps you get the sleeping cleric to a couch to catch his z’s.

“Thanks. Squishy magic users don’t quite have the strength for these things.”

“I’d be happy to help you out with anything.” Claude smiles. “Call me and I’ll be there!”

You spend the afternoon gathering plants and mushrooms in the nearby woods for your studies. You’ve been working on creating antitoxins and other cures for poisons. You have several bags tied to your waist with different plants in them. Just as you’re about to reach for a particularly ugly and poisonous mushroom you hear a voice calling out your name.

“Hey! Those are really poisonous. You better watch out!”

“Oh Claude, of course I know they are poisonous. How am I supposed to make a potion to neutralize them if I don’t collect them?” You roll your eyes at him.

“Since when have you been interested in poisons?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Since Leonie took that poison arrow last battle. We didn’t have anything to counteract it and she had to suffer for over a week until the poison made it through her system.”

“You’re right. He muses. “Maybe we can work together on them sometime?”

An envelope is sealed and addressed to you. It’s the regular update from your father. Sitting down in the dining hall you groan miserably as you read.

Hilda has to know what is troubling you. “Family feud?”

“Just kill me now.” You whine.

She pats you on the shoulder. “Can’t be that bad, can it?”

“My father. I love him dearly but he meddles so much. He agreed that I could come here to further my learning. But…” You hesitate.

She looks at you, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“He told me I have to find myself a husband, preferably a noble while here. I am extremely busy with class work, spell practice, spell development, antidote, and concoction creation. I hardly have time to sleep. Oh, and don’t forget Byleth’s special projects. The guys want someone fun and outgoing like you. You’re cute and entertaining and I’m a dowdy old bookworm.”

“Awww. I am pretty awesome, that’s true.” Hilda grins. “You just need a fake boyfriend while your father is here. I bet I can find someone to help you.”

“Not Sylvain. I will kill myself.” You frown.

“I gotcha fam. Give me the deets and I will set you up.”

“Thanks Hils I owe ya.” You curtsey to her.

“Sky watch for the next month to start, hmmmm…” She ponders.

Later that evening Hilda corners Claude. “One big fat amazing opportunity has just dropped into your lap, loverboy. You better not mess this up!”

“Do tell…” Claude winks.

Tomorrow is the day your father is to arrive. You find Hilda to see if she has anything set for you. Hilda says she’s got everything under control. You’re shaking in your boots, the only thing going through your mind is that your father is going to drag you out of here kicking and screaming because you don’t have a boyfriend.

The day arrives. Standing next to the gatekeeper you watch as the carriage rolls closer and closer to the front gate. Suddenly an arm slides around your back and a familiar voice speaks, “Shouldn’t we go down and greet your father, my deer?” You look up into the sparkling emerald green eyes of Claude. Blushing terribly, you can only nod as you walk down the steps to greet your father.

Your father rushes to you with both arms open to give you a hug and spin you half way around in a circle. “My baby. It’s been so long. In these few short months I daresay you’ve grown in to a fine woman. So beautiful.” Your fathers’ cheeks are rosy and eyes are filled with love for his only daughter. “And who is this young man?” He curiously asks.

“My apologies, father.” You are gasping for breath. “This is Claude von Riegan.

Grandson to-”

Your father finishes your statement. “The Duke of the Leister Alliance!”

“And her beau.” Claude announces proudly, first bowing to your father then taking your hand and intertwines your fingers before placing a gentle kiss onto your knuckles. Your face flushes redder than a summer tomato.

Claude continues to hold your hand as he escorts the both of you to your room. The future Duke and your father are already excitedly discussing Leister business, trade and the safety of trade routes.

“I will leave you to your visit. I’ll be back in time to take you both for a grand lunch in town just across the way.” Claude smiles as he bows to your father and kisses your hand again before he leaves, his cape swishing as he turns.

You open your door to find a small table with a pitcher of ice cold water and lemons as well as two glasses and a small stack of cakes. A beautiful bouquet of daisies and roses accompanies them. Two comfortable and decorative chairs are alongside of the table. You swear you recall those chairs were in Seteth’s office not too long ago.

“Please take a seat, father.” You pour him some of the deliciously refreshing chilled water. “Tell me about your trip.” Trying to keep him focused on what has been going on at home. Every time he tries to ask about your relationship with Claude, you ask about your brothers or your aunt, anything to steer the conversation away from you. An opportune knock on the door disrupts your fathers latest attempt to discuss your relationship with the grandson of Duke Riegan.

“My apologies, we do have a reservation for lunch in town.” Claude bows deeply to the both of you. As you leave your room, Claude swiftly takes your hand. You smile nervously at him. This man is a master of deception.

Claude manages the conversation with entertaining stories of Byleth and the Golden Deer. He makes certain to include some accounts of your healing accomplishments, swearing that none of the deer would be here without your amazing abilities. You spend the entire time blushing or begging Claude to stop praising you, but he keeps going, his smile wider and wider.

At the restaurant, the waitress brings you to the table and Claude attends your chair for you. The waitress comments that it is always lovely to see you two lovebirds in here again. Does Claude have the entire town in on this? Geeez. Claude orders lunch for the both of you, as if he has done this a hundred times.

Lunch is anxious yet enjoyable. You are on the edge of your seat at all times. Claude explains how you met through the Golden Deer. You’re both supportive and loyal to the class. You found common interests in seeking cures for poisons and are very supportive of each other in battle, that you fell for his charm and good looks and that he is incredibly impressed by your intelligence and knowledge. Nothing he says is a lie, except that you two aren’t really together.

The waitress asks about dessert. Your father declines, Claude tells her the usual and your eyes get big. He squeezes your hand that he has clasped in his on the table and gives you a wink.

A small cake with two forks is placed between you. Claude quickly takes a fork and holds a piece of cake in front of your lips. You glance at him and your father. Feeding you? That’s pretty intimate. Claude smiles wider as you open slowly while he feeds you a bit of cake. You look into his eyes and tell him it is wonderful.

He cuts off another bit and takes a bite. “Delicious.” Is that an indirect kiss?

Your father is grinning at you as the cake is finished. You slightly roll your eyes with embarrassment and that fact that you can’t believe Claude is doing this.

The men argue a minute over who will pay the tab, Claude graciously thanking your father for a delightful lunch as your father foots the bill. Your father commenting that this has been the best and most entertaining lunch he has had in a long time makes you blush harder.

The conversation is quieter as everyone his happily full walking back to the monastery. Claude happily swings your hands back and forth together as you walk. Your father asks what things you will be doing soon. Claude advises they have a mission at the end of the month, and also the two of you have a date this Saturday just before sunset.

As you head back to the grounds, your father’s carriage is ready to go. Saying your goodbyes, your father gives you a long hug and whispers “Don’t let this one go, he’s a great catch.” He steps back and gives you one long admiring look.

He shakes Claude’s hand warmly, asking him to watch out for his baby girl.

“I’ll do everything in my power to protect her, sir. You can count on that.” Claude gives him one of his classic winks.

Standing at the gate, holding hands, you both wave as your father’s carriage rolls out of sight.

Claude holds his hands out to you, “A kiss for your boyfriend?” he says as he closes his eyes and puckers his lips. You laugh as you lightly slap his shoulder.

“I cannot believe you pulled this off! I thought for sure I’d be riding back with him, but you actually had him eating out of your hand!”. You laugh as you walk away. “Maybe you should see about getting into acting or the opera. I don’t think Dorothea could have pulled off a performance like that.”

You get back to your room and thankfully Seteth’s chairs are missing. The pitcher of water is still there and the flowers. You didn’t notice before, but there was a card with them.

Every day is heaven with you, my angel ~Claude.

P.S. You keep the date on Saturday at sunset.

#fe3h #fe16 #feth #fe3h x reader #fe Claude #claude von riegan

[modernpaw]

It's a Beautiful Day for a Wedding (Part 3)

Charlie Barber x Female Reader

Summary: When your ex-husband shows up at your cousin’s wedding, old wounds can’t help but resurface. Lucky for you, a certain theater director is also in attendance.

Notes: I had to write this whole thing twice because right after finishing it the first time, I accidentally pressed something and deleted much of the text, with no way to undo it. My last draft had been hours ago and so much had already changed in the scenes. You guys have no idea how much I wanted to cry, so I'm just glad someone's reading this. SNIFF. Lesson learned.

CW: N S F W, SMUT, swearing, unwanted advances, PIV sex, divorce, painful breakup, implied past infidelity, unprotected sex, AFAB reader

Words: 4.3k

Read Part 1 here

Read Part 2 here

The sound of knocking brings you back to your senses, and you push Charlie away in alarm. A look of hurt crosses his face, but it only lasts for a second. Before you can even open your mouth to apologize, however, the knocking starts again, and your attention returns to the door.

"Hellooooo," the person on the other side calls out. "Anyone there?"

"Sorry, occupied!" you shout, voice hoarse.

Aren't there other bathrooms in the house?

"Oh, honey! Are you okay?" You now recognize the speaker as one of the bridesmaids. "We haven't seen you since the reception began!"

"Y-Yes!" you answer, looking around for an alternative way out. Your eyes land on the frosted glass window on one side of the wall, which you know for a fact faces the back of the house.

You look back at Charlie. You may need him to climb out that way, but you're not sure how you can ask him to do so without offending him more than you probably already have.

"Are you sure? You sound like you're coming down with something!" the bridesmaid replies. "Let me in! Maybe I can help!"

The doorknob jiggles.

Panic surges in you, and you feel like throwing up. You're going to have to choose between making Charlie leave, knowing full well that you're the one who pulled him in here in the first place, or getting caught in a compromising situation. Either way, you're going to have to deal with the fallout.

Fortunately, Charlie seems to have come to the same conclusion. He taps you on the shoulder and points wordlessly to the window.

You nod at him before opening the faucet, hoping that the running water will help mask the sound of his escape. As he slides the glass up, you flush the toilet and slam the seat down, trying to make as much noise as possible.

For good measure, you shout back at the bridesmaid. "Uhm, on second thought, you might be right. I think I might have caught a bug or something."

"Oh dear!" she cries out. "You know, there's a stomach bug going around! Half my family is coming down with it!"

You say something in reply, rambling on and on about how sick you feel, while leaning your forehead against the door. Much of what you're saying probably doesn't make sense, but it only helps sell the idea that you're not feeling quite like yourself.

"Do you think you're well enough to come out? Perhaps you need to drink some water," she says helpfully.

You look behind you to check if it's safe to open the door. Charlie is nowhere to be seen, the open window the only indicator that he was ever there in the bathroom with you.

Aside from the taste of his lips on yours, of course.

You let out a sigh as you look at yourself in the mirror, recomposing yourself as best as you can. You fix the smudge of your makeup and rearrange your dress, all the while thinking about how his absence doesn't make you feel relieved, only hollow.

From experience, you know that you need to talk to Charlie right away. So many things have been left unsaid, and the longer you leave things unresolved, the harder it will be to sort out later.

You open the door abruptly, surprising the bridesmaid waiting on the other side. She takes one look at you and shakes her head. "Honey, you look so pale. I think you need to lie down."

You admit that you feel faint, but you also know that you need to go back to the reception to find Charlie. "I'll be fine," you say with a placating smile. "I just need to get something to eat."

She doesn't look like she believes you, but escorts you back to the garden anyway. You station yourself right by the dessert table, so you can nibble on a slice of cake while you scan the crowd for any sign of Charlie.

The party is still in full swing. From your vantage point, you can see your cousin and her husband engaged in an animated conversation with another couple. Everyone else is either talking, laughing, or eating, all having a good time.

There's no sign of the theater director anywhere though, and you blink your tears back, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you.

It's very likely that he's already left the party.

He probably doesn't want to see you again.

You really fucked this up.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice your ex-husband approaching you until he's right by your side.

"Look, I'm not really in the mood for you, Steve," you say when he calls your name. You keep your face turned away, eyes still searching the crowd for Charlie. Maybe if you don't look at him, he'll go away.

"I just want us to talk, sweetheart," he says, using his pet name for you.

The urge to vomit returns in full force. "D-Don't call me that," you say, putting your plate down when you feel a cold chill seep through your bones. Your hands turn cold and clammy, and it feels like you've actually caught a bug.

"You used to love it when I called you that," he continues, moving closer to you, lips brushing against your ear. "Remember the first time I called you sweetheart?"

You know where this story is going, but you don't want to hear it. "You lost the right to call me that a long time ago," you say as firmly as you can, finally looking him in the eye, and pushing him back. "Please just leave me alone."

Steve doesn't seem to know how to take no for an answer. "That wasn't the case a few months ago," he presses. "Weren't you my sweetheart when we spent that whole weekend in bed?"

You feel a dizzy spell coming on, and you sway a little where you stand. You steady yourself, trying to block Steve out as he recounts the details of your time together. Does he really think that reminding you of that weekend would make you want to jump back in his arms? If anything, it only reinforces your decision.

You've just about had enough, but when you try to walk away, he takes your hand and pulls you back. "Let me go, Steve," you hiss quietly, not wanting to call any attention by struggling harder, not that you have the energy to.

At this point, a stiff breeze would blow you over.

Before he can answer, you feel a strong arm curl around your waist, freeing you from Steve's grasp.

"Baby, here you are," Charlie says, putting himself in between you and your ex-husband. "I couldn't find any meds for your nausea, but maybe this watermelon drink will help."

On instinct, your body curls around Charlie's, one hand resting on his back, the other on his chest. He holds the glass before you and gently lets you sip from it, much to Steve's bewilderment.

Improvisation isn't necessarily your strongest suit, but it's not difficult to play along when your partner is Charlie.

"Better?" he asks.

You nod. "Can we go?" you ask in a small voice.

Charlie deposits the glass on the table. "Of course, babe," he says, before giving Steve a smile. "If you'll excuse us," he says before gently walking you back to the house.

You don't spare your ex-husband a second glance, choosing instead to focus on Charlie's arms around your waist and the feel of his body so close to yours. His presence is warm and comforting, and you feel the symptoms of what might have been a panic attack recede.

As you lean closer to Charlie, you think you feel his arm tighten around you, but you're not certain. It might have just been your imagination. You keep your hands on him anyway until you're safely inside the house, only letting go when he breaks away from you.

"There's a guest bedroom upstairs where I'm staying," you say as soon as you're out of anyone else's earshot. You don't want to risk getting interrupted or Charlie leaving before you get a chance to explain. "Do you think we can talk there?"

Charlie considers you for a second. "That depends. Am I going to have to climb out of a window again? Because I don't know if I can manage it quite as easily as from the second floor."

Guilt floods you and you look down on the floor. "No, it's my room. No one will—" You cut yourself mid-sentence, realizing that you couldn't, shouldn't, impose this conversation on him if he doesn't want it. "But if you don't want—"

Charlie sighs and gently cups your face. "I'm sorry. I meant it as a joke, but I think it came out the wrong way."

You blink up at him in surprise. "So you're not... you know...angry?" you ask.

He bops his forehead gently to yours. "No, c'mon. Let's talk."

+++

Upstairs, in your room, you sit on the side of bed, while Charlie, after unbuttoning his coat with one hand, takes the desk chair right beside it.

You take a deep breath, not really sure what to say first.

Do you say that you're not normally that promiscuous? That that thing in the bathroom was your first time acting on your desires so indiscriminately? Do you apologize for pushing him away earlier? For making him leave through the window as if you're embarrassed to be caught in the bathroom with him?

Once again, however, Charlie beats you to it. "I'm sorry if I overstepped," he says.

"No!" you say, quick to contradict him.

You don't want him to think that you didn't want any of it or that he was alone in his actions. You're just as responsible for what transpired. "I wanted it," you say. "And I'm sorry for pushing you away. I was just surprised."

He studies your face for a moment, wanting to make sure he doesn't miss any important non-verbal cues from what you're saying, that it's not just wishful thinking on his part. "I understand," he finally says.

And he does. While he did feel hurt earlier, it was more of a reflex than a conscious emotion, and it wasn't something he would allow to take root without talking to you first. After escaping through the window, he went in search of another bathroom where he could compose himself and make himself more presentable before rejoining the reception.

That was when he saw you standing by the dessert table with whom he assumed was your ex-husband. As a director, Charlie is very used to reading body language, and he could tell within a second of watching you that you were very uncomfortable in the other man's presence.

He had already been on his way over, but when Steve pulled your hand, Charlie had to stop himself from making a scene. He grabbed a drink on the way, so he wouldn't accidentally break your ex-husband's nose for putting his hands on you, knowing that that last thing you wanted was to call any attention to yourself.

Now that he has you all to himself, all sorts of thoughts are running through his head, such as the fact that he probably should have asked you to dinner first, and he says so as much.

"But I can't say that I regret what I did either, unless, of course, you do," he says, watching your face carefully.

You stare back at Charlie in awe. "I-I don't regret it either," you say. "I like you Charlie."

Charlie smiles as he holds his hand out to you. "Well, just in case it's not obvious, so do I."

You reach out to place your hand in his, returning his smile. "It's been quite a day, hasn't it?"

He squeezes your hand. "I think we deserve a break."

The break is apparently a nap, which, according to Charlie, you desperately need. You don't have the energy to argue, especially not when you know he's right. Your emotions have been running on high since earlier this morning when you heard that your ex-husband was attending the wedding.

Charlie admits that he may have exacerbated the situation.

"Exacerbated," you yawn, "is one way of putting it."

Now, lying on your side, you feel your eyelids start to get heavy. The bed is so soft, and Charlie is so warm. He's taken his coat off and is positioned right behind you, one arm slung over your body, pulling you close to his chest.

You put a hand over his and hum in contentment. Charlie smiles when he hears it, likening it to a cat's purr.

He drapes one leg over yours. "Sleep now," he commands, and you find yourself obeying without question. His weight is a welcome anchor for your frazzled emotions, and soon, you find yourself dreaming.

You're on a boat, bobbing up and down, in the middle of the ocean. There's nothing but water for as far as your eye can see, no other person around you, not even land on the horizon, but you don't feel scared or alone. You just feel at peace.

When a large wave rocks the boat gently, you rush over to the side of the craft, only to realize that the wave is actually a blue whale. Its sheer size should have been overwhelming, but its presence only calms you.

Then the dream changes, and you feel lips pressing against the back of your neck and hear sweet nothings whispered in your ear.

You're gorgeous.

Stay here.

I'll be right back.

You try to shift closer to the warmth behind you, and that's when you wake up.

Blinking your eyes open, you register the fact that you're alone in bed, alone in the room, in fact. You push yourself up on your forearms. Charlie's side of the bed is still warm, so he probably hasn't been gone for long.

Before you can even speculate about his whereabouts, however, the door opens to reveal the man himself with a plate of food in one hand and two bottles of water in the other. "Hey," he says, placing them all on the desk. "Thought I left you sleeping."

You crawl over to the edge of the bed before standing on your knees before him. While you appreciate him taking the time to bring you food from the reception, it's not exactly what you're hungry for. You reach for his belt, pulling him towards you, before laying gentle kisses on his stomach.

Charlie swallows. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, cradling your face.

You look up at him and nod. "Very sure."

Charlie leans down to kiss you softly on the lips before joining you on the bed. You move back to make room for him, until your head hits the pillow and the entire length of his body covers yours.

"You look so beautiful," he says, before gently parting your legs. He nudges your left leg to the side, and slides his hands up the smooth expanse of your skin, bringing your dress up as he does.

Your breath hitches in anticipation when he raises it to your waist, revealing your seamless underwear. A new wet patch is already forming on the crotch.

Charlie gives you a heated gaze before devoting his attention back to your core, his undivided attention making you feel even more aroused.

"Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted earlier?" he asks softly. Before you can even comprehend his question properly, however, he leans down to sweep his tongue across your slit through the jersey fabric.

"Oh f-fuck," you whimper as soon as you feel him on you, the panties barely a barrier from the warm, wet, and firm assault of his tongue. The soft, sensual motions of his mouth make you hotter and wetter, and one of your hands lands on his head, while the other clutches wildly at the sheets.

As he proceeds to lick long stripes up and down your core and lap at your clit through your panties, your desperate pants and gasps redirect blood flow to his cock, filling it up even more. He groans against you as he palms himself through his trousers. He can't wait to be inside you, to plunge himself in so deep, he'll never find his way out again.

Charlie moans against your pussy and wonders if you know just how much more depraved his thoughts about you can get. He's never felt this way before, has never wanted to give in to his desires as much as he does with you.

Leaving one last kiss on your pussy, he pulls away to make quick work of his pants and his shirt.

Despite feeling lightheaded, you sit up to follow his lead, pushing the straps of your gown down until the entire dress slides off your body. Without breaking eye contact, you stand back on your knees, and reach behind you to unclasp your strapless bra. Before you completely release the band, however, you hesitate for a moment, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It's ridiculous, you know, but even though he's already had his lips on your most intimate places, this is the first time you're going to be baring yourself to him.

Will he like what he sees?

Before you can back out, you remove your bra and lower yourself to sit on the backs of your legs, hands on your lap, inadvertently squeezing your tits together.

Charlie is silent for a moment, staring at you unabashedly, and you wonder if you're not what he expected.

Finally, he kneels down on the bed before you. "How are you even real?" he whispers, reaching out to touch your chest. Your hands fall to your sides, as he caresses your tits up and down, over and under, tracing their natural shape, letting them bob against his palms. At his ministrations, your breasts start to swell. They become heavier and seemingly fuller in response to the largeness and roughness of his hands. You arch your back, offering yourself up to him, as your pussy quivers and flutters in anticipation.

He has yet to touch your nipples, but he doesn't have to, they're already hard and swollen, waiting for him to lavish his attention on them. Charlie licks his lips. You can tell—or maybe you hope—that he wants to lick them, suck them, but that can wait another time. There's something else that needs attention.

You reach for the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging them down. Charlie helps you pull them off, and you barely contain your excitement when the head of his cock slips out and the rest of his length is finally unsheathed.

It's big, bigger than what you're used to, and it looks—fuck—it looks so hard and heavy, the head barely managing to lift itself. The tip is shiny with pre-cum, the balls drawn tight and large. Your mouth waters at the sight. You've always had a bit of an oral fixation if you're being honest, and you can't wait to have his cock between your lips.

Charlie groans as he watches you watch him with undisguised desire. He gives himself a few strokes, but you stop him before he could get anywhere, pulling him down to the bed. He soon finds your positions reversed, him with his back against the headboard, you right between his legs, kneeling down on all fours.

Seeing your ass up in the air and hearing your delicate moans as your nipples rub against the sheets—it's all nearly too much for Charlie, and more pre-cum gathers at his tip. He stops breathing altogether when you hover your mouth over his cock and raise your head to look up at him. He feels like he knows what you're about to do, and he's not disappointed when you hold his gaze as you give his head several experimental licks.

"Ungggggh!" he moans, his hands digging into his thighs at the sensation. He doesn't want to rush you, not yet, but god does he want to thrust up into your mouth.

"That's it—fuck—take it," he groans when his cock finally slips between your lips. Holding the base of his erection with one hand, he pulls your head down with the other, gently feeding you his length one inch at a time.

"C'mon, baby girl," he groans encouragingly as you take in more of him. "You can do it."

You close your eyes in pleasure, and you take him in further, sucking softly as you do. You're not a world champion at deep-throating, but you do enjoy giving head. In fact, you enjoy it so much, your pussy's already salivating.

"You feel—fuck—you feel so fucking good," Charlie says. You moan in reply, and he involuntarily tightens his fist in your hair when it sends vibrations through his cock. You hardly feel it, however, focused as you are on the singular task of taking in as much as you can of his length and the sheer pleasure you get out of servicing his cock.

Charlie nearly loses it when he looks down to see your eyes half-lidded and strands of saliva around your mouth. You look so thoroughly debauched, so fucking dirty and unrestrained in your pleasure, that he can't help himself. He begins to face-fuck you, hand urging your head to keep up with his thrusts.

You gag slightly, eyes tearing up immediately when Charlie's dick hits the back of your throat, but you try to relax your muscles, taking what you're given. You love how he sounds above you, his groans raw and broken, his growls bordering on animalistic.

Just as you think he's about to come, however, he pulls his dick out and pulls you onto his lap. You place your hands on his shoulders, moaning when you feel the full extent of his hardness against your core. You feel your cunt throb, swelling up at the prospect of having his cock inside.

"Y-You want my cock?" Charlie asks with a hiccup, still breathless after nearly coming in your mouth.

"Mmmhmmm," you answer, as you lean back, hands on either side of his hips, indulgently rubbing yourself against him. Charlie allows it for several seconds, knows how much you deserve it, before lifting you back up on your knees. You're still wearing your panties, but he doesn't care. He simply pulls the crotch of the fabric, wet as it is, to the side. As he positions his cock right under your pussy, he inhales sharply at the sight if your glistening folds. Slick. Sopping. Dripping. He can't wait to get inside you, can't wait to feel your wet pussy ride his dick.

Slowly, you sink yourself on him, and although he's larger than what you're used to, your cunt instinctively makes room for his cock. Not enough that he can just slide all the way in, but just so that you're taking more of him with every move. It's a tight fit, but it's comfortably snug, and you can't stop yourself from moaning at how good it feels.

"Mmmm... yeah," you cry out. "F-Feels so good."

Charlie groans as he watches your pussy swallow him down. "Fuckkkkkk," he swears. One of his hands hovers just over your shoulder, resisting the urge to push you down. "So damn greedy for this cock."

He's not wrong. You gasp when you finally seat yourself fully on his lap. You've never felt this full or this close to bursting before.

While he waits for you to get used to his size, Charlie distracts himself by running his hands all over your body and leaving feather-light kisses everywhere—on your shoulders, your neck, your ears, your breasts.

"Oh, Ch-Charlie!" you cry out when he catches one nipple in his mouth, the suction of his wet warmth making the already sensitive bud ache. The delicious throbbing causes your walls to contract, which then squeezes his dick in a solid grip.

Charlie lets your nipple go with a raspy plea. "Baby, need you to move now," he says urgently.

You lift yourself back up and try to find a rhythm, but when Charlie sees how much of your slick is covering his dick, he decides that you can go a bit faster. Grabbing you by your waist with both hands, he takes over the pace and starts bouncing you on his dick, the constant fwap-fwap-fwap sound of your fucking filling the air.

"L-Look at how well you're taking me, baby girl," he groans, watching as his cock disappears in and out of your pussy.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh!" you moan as his thrusts repeatedly hit your g-spot and your clit rubs against his pelvic bone. "Ch-Charlie, Charlie, Charlie!" you chant his name as if it's the only name you've ever known.

"Th-That's right—fuck!" Charlie exclaims, thrusting upward frantically now. He wants to leave his mark in you, wants to ruin you for any other man, wants you to know only his touch.

He's so, so close, he can taste it. "So fucking good!" he groans.

You're not that far off yourself, but then Charlie lets out a deep, rumbling growl and bites down on your shoulder.

Oh fuck.

You let out a high-pitched whine as pleasure sweeps through every cell in your body. You feel yourself literally crying out in ecstasy. Without a doubt, this is the best orgasm you've had in a long time.

Charlie grits his teeth when he sees the tears in your eyes and feels the exact moment you reach your peak. His balls draw themselves up, and his cock prepares to ejaculate. He wants to come in you, but you haven't had the chance to discuss anything, so he lifts you up and pulls out at the very last minute.

"F-Fucking—"

As soon as his hand touches his dick, it spurts out gobs of semen, painting your pussy, your stomach, and even his chest and your breasts white. Some even land on your face.

Charlie groans when he sees you slip your tongue out to lick the spot near your lips where a bit of come landed. He doesn't have it in him to get hard again, but his dick still twitches at the sight.

"Come here," he says, pulling your head close, so he can kiss you. Chest still heaving, you part your lips for him, letting his tongue in. Charlie kisses you tenderly and lovingly, and then pulls you closer so he's cradling your body on his lap sideways. You two remain like that for some time, kissing away the aftermath of your orgasm, oblivious to the rest of the world.

When you two eventually break apart, it's not because you two get tired of kissing, but because your tummy finally makes its hunger known.

"Looks like someone's finally ready to eat," he says, chuckling.

You smile back at him. "Well, I'd say we deserve it."

END

Tagging: @cornmousequeen, @fizzywoohoo, @paper-n-ashes, @morby, @shygirl268

Tagging (for this story): @clydesfavoritegirl, @alpha-lobito, @gurl-ly, @boltonbritreads

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#charlie barber x you #charlie barber x female reader #cw: N S F W #cw: sex #cw: swearing #cw: PIV sex #cw: AFAB reader #cw: unwanted advances #cw: unprotected sex #cw: smut #cw: implied past cheating #cw: divorce #adcu community #adcu fanfiction #adcu